Moving to www.gillianmarchenko.com. Join me!

After careful consideration, I have decided that in the interest of sanity, design, and simplicity, I will no longer post on Pocket Lint.

Instead, I will post at least once a week at www.gillianmarchenko.com. I hope that all my friends from Pocket Lint will join me over there. Please? I have so enjoyed our interactions here and look forward to continuing relationships in my new digs.

Do you spend more time with facebook than your kids?

Or, for those of you who profess faith, do you spend more time with facebook than Jesus?

I'm over at Dancing With The One You Love today confessing my addiction to social media. Would love for you to pop over and share your thoughts.

The importance of a voice

These last two weeks, I actually sensed God's desire for me to open up more about my personal life. I've written about my struggle in telling the whole truth in the memoir I recently finished writing, and about the severity of my experience with post-adoption depression after we brought our daughter Evangeline home from Ukraine. 

A little bit of electricity zapped my fingertips as I hit the publish tab on both posts. What would people think if I put myself out there? I should just keep these things to myself.

This year, in addition to therapy and after school activities and church and writing and querying agents for my book, I've also had the privilege to speak to a handful of MOPS groups in the Chicago land area. I talk about the birth of my daughter in the former Soviet Union and her diagnosis of Down syndrome and about the grief that ensued for almost a year over the loss of the child I expected. I have other presentations about how to teach our kids to be good friends to those around us with special needs, and about loss and grief in motherhood. 

Every time I have a presentation, there is a part of me that is afraid of judgement. Maybe I shouldn't share all of me. Maybe I should just share the good Christian/ pastor's wife/ missionary parts of me and tuck away the other parts: the mom who didn't want her child. The mom who went to a bottle of Chardonnay instead of to the Lord. The mom who adopted another child with Down syndrome; a quasi stab at redemption, only to find that she, of course, was still the one who needed redeeming.

But each time, and I'm serious when I say this, I can almost hear God's voice saying, "share all of you, Gillian. Because in the hard parts, in the times you made bad choices, in your brokenness and lack of faith, I was there. And that's MY story in you."

Before I speak, I usually run to the bathroom and grab a wad of toilet paper to sop up the sweat underneath my arms. I smooth my hair, and look at myself in the mirror. 

I think of God's voice telling me not to waste the life he's given me. I think of one mom who may be struggling. If my voice encourages her to speak up to someone about her struggles, than sharing the ugly parts of me is more than worth it.

And I think of Polly's voice, chattering in my ear non-stop throughout the day. I think about her reciting the Star Spangled Banner with her class in the morning at school. I think about when she tells me that she loves me, and how it fills me up to the brim of my existence with thanks and praise that I get to be her mom.

I think about Evangeline. Oh, how I long to hear her voice. I anticipate it. I wait for it. And until then I stand up for her as her voice.

So, I step out in front of strangers and tell them my story, and I keep querying agnets for my book, and I keep writing down my rambling thoughts here. 

I include the embarrassing parts for sure. But I also include the best parts, how Polly and I are crazy in love now. How thankful I am to be Evangeline's mom. How awed I am that God knew I needed to be broken in such specific ways in order to be used for his purposes and for his glory alone.

Last night, I got an email from someone who attended one of my talks in September thanking me for my willingness to be vulnerable and for sharing my dark moments, thoughts and actions in my presentation. She is a mother to a child with special needs. Here's a little bit of what she wrote:

 

What you said made me feel “normal”, connected and accepted.  (I’m tearing up as I write this to you, even now, because it meant so much to me and I understand how difficult it is to be honest like that with others…even if they are “strangers”.)

That's really the point of why I do what I do. 

I have a voice, and I am learning not to be afraid to use it.

What about you? How are you using your voice?

The wrong diagnosis, one mother's struggle with post-adoption depression

 One of the first times I was with my daughter in Ukraine in 2009

Second opinion

Last Thursday I took Evangeline, our adopted daughter from Ukraine, five years old, diagnosed with Down syndrome, to a developmental pediatrician.

"I heard this doctor is good at what he does, and I want his opinion about Evie's lack of development since she's been home from Ukraine," I affirmed rather loudly to my husband Sergei in an effort to hide that really, I was taking Evangeline to this doctor for a second opinion.

A year ago, Evie was evaluated at the Erikson Institute here in Chicago for Autism. At the time, her main activities included rocking back and forth, sitting on her bed, and looking at a light-up toy. Her eye contact was sporadic at best and she could not tolerate textured food nor touch (unless it was rough housing). I was certain we would come home with a dual diagnosis of ASD (autism spectrum disorder) and Down syndrome because almost every time I reached out to my beautiful blond little girl, my hand would get slapped.

After several appointments, Erikson concluded that Evangeline was not on the spectrum, but probably suffered from the debilitating effects of orphanage life paired with cognitive and developmental delays that can accompany Down syndrome.

But I wanted an answer

When the report came in the mail, I opened the letter while sitting on the toilet seat behind a locked bathroom door and cried. On some level, I wanted the dual diagnosis because I wanted answers. I wanted to know why Evie ground her teeth constantly, why she sought out dust and dirt to eat but refused real food. I wanted to know why she scratched her sisters when they tried to hug her, and cried at loud noises, and sat off to the side of our lives alone, most days, rocking.

But I did not get a concrete answer. I got a "keep doing what you are doing. Find more therapy opportunities, give her time to bond with your family." And slowly over the next few weeks, I started to shut down. I found it too painful to try to connect with my daughter. For months, I went through the everyday motions of caring for my family as best I could, all the while holding back from climbing into bed. I no longer attempted to bond with Evie. If she was fine being a part of our family without really being close to me, than maybe, I could live like that too.

Wrong person diagnosed

I was seeking out the wrong diagnosis for the wrong family member. Sure, it was good to have Evie evaluated a year ago. She certainly had characteristics that could point to ASD. But really, I was the one who needed the most help. I was struggling from post-adoption depression, which could have only been aggravated by a little post-traumatic stress disorder thrown in after Polly's stroke, diagnosis of Moyamoya, and two brain surgeries. After our time at the Erikson Institute, I quietly unravelled.

I have struggled with depression all my life, but alas, it is kind of like that pesky monthly period for women. Every month I am shocked that my foul mood results with menstruation. And I am 36 years old!

Depression is like that for me, too. It sneaks up on me: a few aches and pains, feeling a little down in the dumps, sleeping poorly. I fight, I do what I absolutely need to for the family and then when I can't anymore, I get into bed and I don't get out.

I started to see a doctor and a therapist, but I wasn't feeling better. I cried out to God to help me, to show me how to trust him and get back on track, but to no avail. I struggled for months, but still, somehow managed to post perky facebook stati often enough so that people outside my direct family wouldn't suspect a thing.

But I was drowning.

About three months ago, God gave me the strength to try again to get help for my depression. I went back to my doctor and let her put me on a higher dosed anti-depressant. I started seeing a different therapist and we clicked right away. I started to wake up in the morning and notice that the sun was shining.

And I saw Evangeline, a little girl considerably changed from a year ago.

Since Evie has been with us (over two years) there have been little breakthroughs here and there in our bonding. I liken them to nicking the surface of a frozen lake with a BB gun.

Now that I am above water again in life, the ice is starting to thaw. I can sit a stare at Evie for a while, marvel at her button nose, appreciate her smell, want to pull her to me.

Why the second opinion?

So, why did I take Evie for the second opinion last week?

Because I wanted to make sure that a dual diagnosis isn't in the picture for our girl. A lot of her behaviors have fallen away but she has a lot left. And although we are doing much better, I am now struggling with the guilt of that missed time when a shadow of a mother was parenting my daughter.

At the appointment, Evie climbed up into a chair, uninterested in the train set the doctor attempted to entice her with. But she laughed when he tickled her, and followed his finger as he played with her, and looked both the doctor and me in the eye almost the whole time.

I loved the doctor. He was a bit brash and un-orthodox (took a text from his wife during our interview and laughed out loud at what she wrote :). But he cut to the chase with me and it was just what I needed.

"I don't see any definite red flags regarding a dual diagnosis off the bat, of course, if you'd like, we can do a full evaluation of Evangeline to get more in-depth. But I have to ask, why are you here? You've already had your daughter evaluated at Erikson?"

"Because, well", I took a deep breath. "Because I am afraid I am not doing enough. Our other daughter got sick and ended up needing two brain surgeries six weeks after Evangeline came home from Ukraine and I. . . well, I've struggled with depression." I kind of left my answer there but in my heart I added, I am afraid that I have already failed her.

"Mrs. Marchenko, your family has been through a very difficult time these last few years. I want you to know, you are doing a good job with your kids."

I had to look away as the tears pooled in my eyes.

"And now, Ms. Evangeline," the doctor turned to Evie and let me attempt to compose myself.

After the visit to the doctor, I realized I had been looking for two things: 1) the wrong diagnosis, and 2) validation that I am the right mom for my child.

I share all of this with you because I am notorious for putting it all out there. It doesn't occur to me to keep things to myself. My husband takes issue with my need to tell people how much I spent on the sales rack at Target.

But more importantly, I share this because adoption is beautiful, but it is also very hard. I share this because  other parents and caregivers are struggling today. Post-adoption depression is real. I want you to know you are not alone. At some point, your feelings may be out of your control. Get help. There is no shame in taking care of yourself in order to care for your family.

One last thing: With God's help, we all can be the right parents for our children.

Post-adoption depression resources:
Adoptive Families
Baby Center
Adoption Issues

Jen Hatmaker, After the Airport

Why it is hard to tell the truth in my memoir

 (NOTE: I added this post to Joy in this Journey's life: unmasked linky. Read more here.)

Most of you know I recently completed a memoir and am now querying agents for representation.

So far no one's bitten. I have received a handful of polite rejections regarding my project. I suspect I will continue to get rejections for a while. There are just too many aspiring writers trying to get their work in print. Some agents claim over 100 new query letters hit their inbox every day. EVERY DAY! And so I trudge on, do my research, send the queries, and continue to work on my craft.

But I have a confession: sometimes when I get a rejection, I breathe a slight little sigh of relief. It's not that I love rejection ( I mean, come on, I was in Junior High once). It's not because I want to tell one more person in my life that I have spent over three years writing a book and it seems that no one, as of yet, wants to read it.

I breathe a slight little sigh of relief because of fear. I made a commitment to the story and to God to tell the whole truth about those first years of Polly's life. In memoir, (as in life) its a no-no to lie. When I got serious about writing our story, I knew that I would have to be real about everything that happened after Polly was born. As a missionary and pastor's wife, my response to having a child with Down syndrome was much less than Christian. The bottom of my faith easily fell out. I got depressed. I stopped showering. I drank too much Chardonnay. I struggled to love my baby.

Do I really want people to read all of that?

To tell the truth, the answer is no. I don't want people to read the whole story because I am afraid of what they will think of me. I would rather hide the hard parts of my life and let them think that I scooped up my child with special needs and said a prayer of thanksgiving for her life and moved on. I would rather them think that I am always a woman of faith, worthy of the call to be a child of God.

But Flannery O'Conner says the truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.

I would also add that truth loses its power when altered.

Even though I am afraid, I realize that my story isn't worth telling if not told in its entirety. The very essence of my memoir's power (if there is any) is brokenness. The fact that God came in and rebuilt me and my faith and my relationship with my baby after I fell apart is the real story. The redemptive story. And I am convinced the very thing people need to hear to truly get a clear, non-superficial, non-judgmental idea of Jesus.

I used to think of redemption as a one time thing. I believed in Jesus when I was sixteen years old. His payment for my sins on the cross equaled a done deal. I still believe this. It is the very core of my beliefs.

But I also believe that we are all a work in progress. There is a continual need for everyday redemption. The kind of redemption that heals a mother's heart. The kind that sets a person back up on the wagon after he has fallen off, that helps someone apologize to her kids for freaking out over spilled milk, or causes a shoplifter to put the bra in her purse back on the shelf in Target. A redemption that showed me that the child I was afraid to mother was the exact child I needed to reach depths of joy and wonder otherwise unknown in my life.

So I will keep putting myself out there. If my memoir publishes one day, not everyone will like it. There will be criticism (well deserved, I should add). There will probably even be disappointment. But most importantly, there will be the truth of everyday redemption and unexpected beauty, displayed in the birth of a child with slanted eyes and the widest smile on the planet.

And I think, that's enough.

A blanket of snow

We had our first real snow in Chicago yesterday. It came late in the season, after shimmering Christmas lights had been taken down and stored away for next year. After the two-week winter break from school, a time when kids typically layer clothing and snowsuits to burrow in the snow, build forts, and come back in and sip steaming hot cocoa, had come and gone. Instead, my kids played outside with their neighbor friends during their time off in sweatshirts and light pants.

The snow started mid-morning. I noticed it falling outside my kitchen window as I rinsed out the breakfast dishes. It clung to the empty tree outside our living room. I hurried to finish my chores and make my phone calls so that I could cuddle up on the sofa with a cup of coffee and watch.

I love how a blanket of snow makes my surroundings beautiful and fresh. It reminds me of beginnings. It reminds me of starting over. It reminds me of redemption.

The snow is important to me because it was on such a day that I first realized four years ago that I was head over heels in love with my little girl who had been born with Down syndrome. Up until that morning I had loved her for sure, but it was more of a duty. I loved with fear. I loved at arms length.

But that morning; a blanketed snow morning when Polly was a baby, she and I played on the floor while the other girls were at school. We looked out the window and watched the bits of cold and ice fall from the sky. She gave me a million slobbery kisses and my heart cracked open with the most unbelievable sunlight I could imagine. It reminded me of when Lucy steps out of the wardrobe into Narnia for the first time.

And now every year the first real snow fall is the closest thing to magic in my life. When the ground is heavy with white I clear my calendar. I leave the laundry for another day. I turn off the computer. I gather my children to me and revel in their love. I thank God for cold places in my life that warrant me the outside-of-myself ability to appreciate the warmth.

I am thankful for a blanket of snow.

(Please note: I have a new website: www.gillianmarchenko.com. Thanks!)

Perseverance

I had a nice little exchange with Zoya today after school.

"Hey Zo, did you have a good day at school today?" I asked, as my middle daughter crawled up into my lap, a challenging task in and of itself when a kid is nine years old.

"Yeah, it was a good day."

"Did you think about your dear, old mom at all today while you were at school?" I cuffed her under her chin, teasingly.

Zoya sat for a moment, started to shake her head no and then her eyes lit up and she changed the direction of her head movement.

"Actually, yes, Mom, I did think about you today. My teacher read us another part of the book we are listening to every day and afterwards she was talking about the main character and how he perseveres through his trials in life. And then our teacher asked us if we knew anyone who has persevered in life... and I thought of you."

"You thought of me?"

Zoya's words surprised me. Sometimes I worry that I am too open with my girls. They know too much. They know when I am struggling with my depression, or worried about Polly or Evie, or preoccupied with writing and getting my memoir published.

"Well, because you persevere, Mom. You persevered through Polly's stroke and brain surgeries and with trying to help Evie learn to talk. You persevere when you are sad and try to feel better, and you are persevering with your writing. I thought of you, Mom, because you persevere."

I grabbed Zoya to my chest and squeezed her as tight as possible. Even though it was a rainy day outside, for a second I could feel the sun on my face.

Now, I don't know if I entirely believe her. One could always do better in the area of perseverance. But hearing those words from one of my kids: she sees my struggles but she also sees my attempts to get through them and make things better. What a gift.

This nice little exchange with Zoya will keep my love tank filled for miles.

Polly Update, is full inclusion of kids with special needs always the best choice?

Polly's most recent big news is that she no longer requires glasses. We saw her Ophthalmologist at Children's Memorial Hospital a few weeks ago, and he said her lazy eye has strengthened and her far sightedness is minimal for now. She does still have Nystagmus, a condition where the eye ball shakes, but that has died way down too. We will visit him again in three months. Polly looked adorable in glasses, but she was always losing them and breaking them. One less thing to worry about makes a Mama happy!

Polly is healthy. She had her annual Moyamoya brain scan and the blood was flowing well! We have not detected any other incidences of strokes or seizures. Thank you, God!

We are working on finalizing her potty training so that she will be accident free and ready for class in the fall, she still is head over heels for Evie and includes her in her activities at home all day long. She jokes, she follows conversations, she contributes. And when one of us are hurt or sad, she is right there with us, hugging, talking, making us laugh.

She continues to amaze me every day.

Full Inclusion? Is it always best?

In June, Polly graduated from preschool. She had a great year and we were sad to say goodbye to her beloved teacher Ms. Barbara. After much worry and prayer, and touring other schools, and weighing the pros and cons, it has been decided that Polly will attend our neighborhood school and be fully included for kindergarten next year. She will have a one on one aid.

This decision scares the crap out of me, even though the growing trend is for kids with special needs to be fully included in school. I am nervous because she is coming out of a blended pre-k where she got the best of both worlds; both typically developing and kids with IEPS in one classroom, and two teachers, one of whom was focused primarily on kids with IEPS.

Polly did well in that classroom setting but it was still a challenge. She struggled with transitions. Her fine motor skills (pre-writing, etc...) were slow coming. She was behind her peers both socially and academically and gave the teacher she loved so much a run for her money several times a week.

When making this decision, Sergei and I tried to find a blended classroom for kindergarten, but Chicago has done away with it for that grade level. We toured a school that kept kids in the typical program as much as possible, but also had a self contained classroom that would include other students for math, and writing and reading. We tried to get Polly placed there, the rest of her IEP team agreed that was the best option for her, but the school denied our access. Our awesome neighborhood school (where Elaina and Zoya both go) stepped up and agreed to meet Polly's needs at home.

My question is this: Is full inclusion always best?

My concern for Polly fully included is that she will actually experience even more exclusion. When she'll need help with academics in kindergarten (and she will) she will be pulled out of class with her aid. I'm worried she will be working alone, a lot, in another room away from her classmates. Also, Polly is a smart cookie. Will she notice the difference and feel the pressure as she struggles to hold a pencil and write the letter "P." Will she notice her peers fly through their names and move on to another assignment?

She'll probably do fine. Polly is smart and confident and has taken on every challenge in life with grace and determination. (And if it is too much for her, I can always call another IEP meeting and we can work on another placement.)

I see her placement as an experiment. If she is not doing well fully included, we will re-evaluate and if need be, we will find a better fit for her. I believe in full inclusion, but I do not believe that it is always the best choice for every child. I love to see kids with special needs in typical classrooms. I want full inclusion for both Polly and Evie. But I don't want it at their expense, to either stroke my pride or to impress other people. I think that there are many instances where a self contained or blended classroom could be more appropriate for a child. Evie is a great example. She would not flourish in a typical classroom, at least for this next year.

As much as I believe in inclusion in school for kids with special needs, I even more so believe in seeing each child as an individual. Therefore, a decision regarding school that fits the child and family and situation best is individual. Sometimes it will be full inclusion, sometimes blended, sometimes self-contained.

***

Do you have a child with special needs? What's your take on inclusion? I know this is a hot topic, but courteous, respectful dialogue is always welcome here at Pocket Lint.

Update on Evangeline

I haven't given a Marchenko family update on Pocket Lint in quite a while. So, here goes!

I will take a day to cover each kid; or else this post will be longer than Santa's Christmas list of who is naughty or nice. I think I'll go youngest to oldest.

Let's start with Evangeline: four years old.

First: The Business...

We've recently completed her yearly specialty appointments: vision, hearing, dermatologist, general pediatric. What else? Oh, we still need to get her in for a spine x-ray because she has a small, but stable gap between two vertebrae that deserves a yearly check up.

Everything looks good. Evie doesn't require glasses. She hears well. She's healthy. We're thankful.

Evie is non verbal. She does not use sign language, but did start to wave bye consistently. When she is hungry, she goes to her chair and climbs in. She gets her coat and brings it to us when she wants to go outside. Sergei noticed she keeps eye contact more often and for longer amounts of time. She smiles a lot. Her laughter is high pitched and sweet. We are encouraged.

Evie completed four weeks of summer school and now has a break until preschool resumes in September. She is out of her crib and into a big girl toddler bed in the room she shares with Polly. She likes musical toys and hand over hand activity to sing songs and she absolutely loves swinging at the park and at home in her therapy swing.

Seond: The Bonding...

It's still hit or miss with our bonding. Honestly, I am sad about it. Some days I think, we got this!, she loves me and I love her and all is right in the world and other days she's the nonchalant love interest and I'm the brooding teenage crush. I crave her attention. She blows me off.

Our mother-daughter dance is memorized; two steps forward and one step back. She is learning how to be a daughter. And I am learning how to be her mother.

Overall, Evangeline is comfortable in our family. She loves to play with her sisters and has a precious relationship with Sergei. She brightens when he comes into the room. If he is sitting reading or watching a show, she climbs up into his lap for a hug.

My relationship with Evie reminds me of what it must be like for God to have me as his child. I often ignore his loving attention. He has all this goodness to share but I am too suspicious to let him in. All God really wants me to do is come quietly and climb up into his lap. And yet, most of the time, I choose to sit off to the side alone.

Of course, the comparison doesn't pan out. I am so not God, and God is not the type to sulk when I ignore him. And Evie is not the problem child. She is just a little girl learning to love.

I am an impatient mother who wanted love at first site, but got real life instead.

Evie has been home two years and I am still frustrated with our relationship several times a week. I want us to be farther along by now. I look around at other adoptive moms and assume they are better at this than me. I so want to be passed the dating stage with my daughter.

But sometimes I look at her, and she is smiling or laughing or thoughtful, and I am blown away that I get to be in her life. I learn from her. She is the mirror God knew I desperately needed to realize hard truths I choose not to look at about myself.

She could be sitting in an orphanage alone somewhere. She could be sick, or sad or even dead. Instead, she just went to the grocery store with Sergei and will go for a walk with the rest of the family later today. She is here, with us.

She is right where God wants her to be.

And for that, I am glad.

(Interested in special needs adoption? Go to Reece's Rainbow to learn more)

A Dream Deferred

A Dream Deferred

By Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Wordless Wednesday, What are you looking at? LINKY*

Menard's, an open can of paint & a cute girl with Down syndrome

Fourth of July weekend, Elaina and Zoya and Polly went to my parents' house in Michigan. Evangeline stayed with us in Chicago. I got a tell you, having one child when you are used to four is great. Sergei and I thoroughly enjoyed our time with Evie. She seemed psyched to have us to herself as well.

So, when the other girls were in Michigan, we decided to do some painting and minor remodeling to the basement because my friend and her kids are coming to visit.

Saturday morning, three sets of friends from church came over to help paint. We turned on classic rock, passed out donuts and roller brushes and got to work. Sergei and I took turns hanging out with Evie upstairs because she didn't feel like painting.

After two coats of white paint in the laundry room, it was obvious one more was needed. But we were out of paint. So I volunteered to run to Menard's to get another can.

I took the empty paint can, because, well, I'm NOT handy and I knew I'd forget what to buy at the store, and it actually seemed like more work to find a pen and paper and write stuff down. I put the empty, open paint can in a very old beach bag in the car. I was set, had my paint, and was ready to make the purchase.

At Menard's, I found the paint and made my way to check out. In line, I saw a neighbor and we chatted about summer camps; the good, the bad, the ugly. And then, mid-sentence, I spotted a cute, little girl who had Down syndrome. She was with her parents (makes sense, she is two; Polly and Evie weren't allowed to go out on their own until they were at least four :). I excused myself from the neighbor (in retrospect, very rude. Should have stayed and chatted with him). I walked over to the family with the child with Down syndrome and introduced myself.

"I have two little girls with Down syndrome."

"Your paint is dripping," the mother said.

"Oh, sorry, here, let me get that." I looked down at my porous beach bag and noticed the opened paint can still had paint in it, and it was spilling out of the bag. It got on me. It got on the mother's foot. It got everywhere.

"Oh my goodness. So sorry. Just a second, let me find you some paper towel."

The story gets worse. I should have just said goodbye then. Something comes over me when I see families who have children with Down syndrome. It's like we already know each other. I have to hold myself back from hugging their children.

I went up to the check out counter and interrupted the person working there.

"Excuse me, do you have a trash can." I handed her the bag of paint before noticing that she was trying to ring up my neighbor. How embarrassing. I don't know him well. I'm sure he just wanted to get out of Menard's and here was his strange neighbor, running around flinging paint all over the place.

I went back to the sweet family with the cute little girl, gave them paper towels and tried to transition into mellow mom, just saying "hi." It didn't quite work. I was all jazzed up by then. I should have just complimented their child and moved on. Instead, words tumbled out of me. I got out my phone and showed pictures of the girls. I gave them my card. Sigh.

The family was accommodating and the little girl was smart as a whip and gorgeous but I think they really just wanted to shop.

Then, Sunday, after church, we had to do another coat of paint. Off I went to Menard's again. This time, I wrote down the information and left the paint can at home. But we needed sealant for the bathroom. I grabbed that empty tube and decided beforehand to adhere to the advice I give my kids, "don't talk to strangers."

At Menard's, I found the paint and the sealant and headed to the check out.

"Good morning, did you find everything alright?" The cashier asked.

"Yes, thanks. Oh, could you please throw out this old tube of sealant? I brought it with me to ensure I get the right replacement. I tend to do that, bring empty things to Menard's, that is. Like yesterday, I brought an empty paint can and got paint all over the place."

"That was you?" the cashier looked at me in wide-eyed astonishment.

Apparently, she worked yesterday and I was the crazy lady with the empty paint can, bothering their customers.

"Yes, it was. But, look, I've learned my lesson." I held up my scratch paper to show my notes.

The cashier smiled at me and laughed, shaking her head.

"Thanks so much! Have a good one!" I grabbed my supplies and my receipt and high tailed it out of the store.

I think next time I'll go to Home Depot.

Wordless Wednesday, Summer Fun LINKY, 6/29!

I ask you: What's more fun than a hot day and a furniture box?

And don't forget about my Kindle giveaway!
It ends Friday, July 1st!!

13 years today!

Happy Anniversary to my husband, Sergei.

When a writer has no words... you know it's love.

Evangeline then, Evangeline now

On June 24th, 2009, we stood in a court room in Ukraine before a judge, and were granted the legal request of making Evangeline our daughter.

Two years ago, today.

Where does the time go?

The last two years have been up and down. Sometimes, Evangeline feels like the very fiber of my being, and other days, I still wonder if her mom will show up to take her home.

But I love her. God is teaching me so much about myself, and about him, through her.

She is a precious child. Worthwhile, valuable, purposeful.

Thank you, Lord, for bringing her to us.

Want to guest post on POCKET LINT? Now you can, with Friday Feature!!

What is Friday Feature?






Every Friday (hopefully!), Pocket Lint will feature a guest post.

There are so many great things in the world:
-Great people
-Great causes
-Great writing
-Great teaching

If you are interested in guest posting on a Friday Feature, double check the topics below, subject matter near and dear to my heart, and if what you do/want to do/should do applies at all to one of the topics, I'd love to have you.

Topics include:
-Down syndrome
-Special needs
-Adoption
-Parenthood
-Writing
-Memoir
-Christianity
-Being a pastor's wife
-Moyamoya disease (or some other life threatening illness to children)
-Chicago
-Ukraine

Don't see a topic you fit into but still want to guest post? OK, pitch me, I'm listening?

To get on the Friday Feature schedule, leave me a comment on my Friday Feature page AND email me at gillian(at)rcn(dot)com (note, two steps: comment and email :). Pitch me your post. If it is a go, then you need to have your post emailed to me by the Wednesday prior to your Friday Feature. As admin on this blog I reserve the right to ask you to change or delete something and can also opt not to publish your feature if it doesn't fit here at Pocket Lint.

If you guest post for a Friday Feature, I encourage you to do a couple things:
-Write well!
-Be open and honest
-Publicize yourself at the end of your guest post :) (facebook handle, twitter, the works, bring it on!)
-Publicize your guest post at Pocket Lint so new readers will check out my blog. (Blog about it, facebook, tweet it etc...)

I'm not sure how well this idea will take off. If there are many guest post offers, please be patient as your post may be scheduled a few months out. But if it fits for Pocket Lint, it will be published. Also, please alert me in your email if you want to write about a time sensitive matter. I'll do my best to bump you up.

Friday Feature! Yay!

Oh no, now I need someone for this coming Friday...

KINDLE GIVEAWAY!

THIS GIVEAWAY IS CLOSED!

The votes were counted and the Kindle won!

Hurray! It's my very first giveaway on Pocket Lint!! Exciting :).




WOULD YOU LIKE TO WIN A KINDLE??

Here's how to enter:

Main Entry: Like my author page on Facebook Gillian Marchenko - Author - Chicago, IL

Extra Entries: (each extra entry gets you another chance to win the Kindle)

Follow me on Twitter, GillianMarchenk

Follow Pocket Lint on Facebook Network blogs

Subscribe to receive my articles about special needs at Examiner.com

Subscribe to Pocket Lint via Google reader

Publicize this giveaway on any site and in any way and leave me a comment that you did (on your blog, tweet it, post it on your facebook profile, etc.)

IMPORTANT! LEAVE ME A COMMENT HERE FOR EACH ENTRY, SO THAT YOU GET ALL YOUR CHANCES TO WIN!

And a bonus prize! What? You betcha!

A second winner will get their choice of one of my favorite books to date about Down syndrome. Go to my post here on Pocket Lint about my favorite books and leave me a comment saying which book you would want to win for another entry to both prizes!

This giveaway is open to readers in America and in Canada.

I will choose the winners on Friday, July 1, 2011 using random.org.

How my Dad pointed me to God

Here's a short excerpt about my dad from my memoir, "KRASATA." Happy Father's Day, Dad!

I have this memory from the day I moved into the dorm my freshman year of college. My dad wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Bible College for me.

“What kind of job can you get with a Bible education? You need to learn something marketable. I had hoped you would go into journalism, maybe consider helping out at my newspaper later in life.”

He consented though, after learning that the college was tuition free, a two-hour car ride from home, and that I would major in Communications and minor in Bible.

The day I moved in to the dorm, after my brother-in-law Bill, a friend, and my father had moved everything up to the eighth floor to my room, mostly without elevator assistance, my dad and I stood in the foyer. We were trying to say goodbye,but both of us were distracted. Another family near us had formed a circle by holding hands. They bowed their heads and the father began to pray. My dad looked at them and then looked at me.

“Come here, Gill,” he said, sweeping his arm towards the hallway. I followed him out the door.

He put his hands on my shoulders while other new students and their families walked by, some turning around to see what we were up to. “Now, I know this is a big step for you. Do well, and, um, call us if you need anything. And, uh, here’s twenty bucks.” He handed me a stiff twenty dollar bill and kissed my cheek. Even though we don’t share the same core beliefs about God and the world, I was assured of his love and support that day, as I have been for my whole life.

While I hugged my father after our long trip back from Ukraine with our newborn daugther who had Down syndrome, I imagined that we were in the corridor of another huge shift in my life: we were stepping into the world of special needs, and the hug evoked similar stirrings in me, as it had on the first day of Bible College. Although my dad didn’t understand what it felt like to have a child with a disability, his presence was a sure thing. He would be there for me through this transition and he would love our baby more than life.

Part of God's plan for my life was to provide me with a dad who loves me and supports me unconditionally. When I was sixteen years old and my friend told me that God was someone I could trust, that he was a good heavenly father, it was no stretch of the imagination to believe her. I believed easily partly because of the stability and love I receive from my Dad, love that provided me a quasi-healthy self esteem (I mean, I am still a girl and I hate my jello-like tummy) and the belief that I am valuable. My Dad has always made me feel like I wasn't alone in this life.

I don't take this gift lightly. I know many daughters do not have these thoughts about their fathers.

And today, on Father's Day, I am thankful.

Summer!

It's the last week of school. I have to say, I am looking forward to less homework and more time outside.

I am not a play date mom. I forget to call or email, hence nothing is ever scheduled. But God has blessed us with a neighborhood in the city with neighborhood kids. Many go to the same school with Elaina and Zoya. They play in the parking lot and have lots of fun. A blessing for me, a mom who can't seem to schedule.

I look forward to watching the kids make up new worlds in the parking lot with friends.
It's good for them to feel the stretch of a long afternoon, to get past boredom and tap into the vat of imagination they each hold.

We also look forward to a few weeks of camp for Elaina and Zoya. Elaina is going to a theatre day camp a few times a week and Zoya opted for typical camp. And Polly and Evie will do four weeks of summer school. This year it's at their school with the teachers they love. Hurray!

My plans for the summer include finishing the second draft of my memoir, hugging my children more and sitting out on the porch with Sergei at night.

We may take a family vacation in August, but that is still in the works.

What about you? What are your summer plans?

Twit on Twitter

So, I am attempting to utilize the wonderful world of Twitter. The problem is, I am totally confused, I don't understand the acronyms and I read somewhere that you should have the same amount of people following you that you follow.

Right now I follow 384 people.

174 people follow me.

At least the 4s are the same.

So, help a Twitter twit out.

What must a newbie know about Twitter?

Oh, and if you'd like to follow me, that wouldn't be so bad either.