Busy-ness and trees

It's a crazy time at our house. Everyone in the family is moving into a new bedroom. The set up will allow Elaina and Zoya each their own rooms (desperately needed... the shared room just wasn't working; Elaina is a light sleeper and Zoya has been getting into trouble with her for horribles things in the middle of the night, like, for instance, ...coughing.) Polly and Evie will still share, but are moving into Elaina and Zoya's old room. Zoya gets the guest room, Elaina gets our old room complete with a big closet (the clincher for her) and Serg and I will move into the largest of the four rooms in order to provide a bigger writing space for me at home.

I cleaned out the basement. We have nine Rubbermaids full of clothes that will be sold (hopefully) at the end of May at a garage sale in Michigan. And I'm slightly obsessed with Craigslist. I've sold the guest bed and the bunk beds and a dresser and bought Elaina's bed, Zoya's loft bed and a dresser, all in a week. My poor husband has acquired a second job as a furniture delivery man. Two rooms are being painted, and I've purchased new bedding. At some point, this all should be finished and we may get back to some semblance of normal around here. Maybe.

We are busy in other ways too. Polly and Evie each have yearly checkups in May and June: Ophthalmology, audiology, spinal scans, neurology, pediatrician general check ups, ENT, what else?, I am probably supposed to be somewhere right now... crap, where did I put the family calendar? I am thinking about schooling for Evie and Polly next year and their upcoming IEPs, forms for the older girls' summer camps (Elaina, theatre camp, Zoya, day camp) and carving out hours to finish the second draft of my book.

I'm not showered, but I did brush my teeth. There are two loads of clean, folded laundry on the dinning room table. Evie is playing with a push toy (big progress!), Zoya is home from school with the flu, Sergei's at the church and Elaina is at a friend's house mommy helping.

To be sure, it's too much. As I write Polly sits beside me, working on her lines and circles. Pre-writing skills are coming slowly. She is poking me gently on the cheek with her pencil. "Mom, write with me?" she asks over and over.

And somehow, I am thinking today about trees. In Ukraine, after Polly's birth, there was a tall, lifeless tree outside my window at the hospital. It was the beginning of April. There were no leaves, no green, hardly any sunshine. A bird sat at the tip of the tree every day, all day, for twenty days, while I waited for my daughter to gain strength and be well enough to go home. The bird became my friend. My world had been picked up and shaken like a snow globe with Polly's diagnosis of Down syndrome. He was still and peaceful. His presence soothed me.

While I've been running up and down the stairs of our two story house, flowers have bloomed outside. The trees are full of luscious, green leaves. Dandelions are growing on the front lawn.

I am drawn to the trees. I position my writing desk to look out the window. The tall limbs help me to breathe. I watch for birds and think and write. I love to look at an oak tree against a bright blue sky.

We are busy. And most days I am stressed, and worried, and unsure of parenting and writing and the new pair of jeans I bought at Target and if I am giving my best to God. But we are in a good spot, a time of peace and joy. A time of sunshine and tree leaves and for that, I am truly thankful.

I have a secret, though, something I didn't know before Polly came along. Something I wouldn't have learned had my life gone exactly as planned.

It's this:

The barren tree has purpose. How else could I appreciate spring blossoms without experiencing seasons of of emptiness? I've grown , my family has grown, and when I see a beautiful green tree I can give thanks. I realize more barren trees are in my future. That's just life. I hope I remember my secret about purpose and growth. The busy-ness of Spring will come back around for us in God's time.

And there is untapped beauty in empty trees.

Snowmaggeddon has started in Chicago!

We are hunkered down at home. They say Chicago will get over 20 inches of snow in the next 24 hours. Wow. I'm thankful for a warm house and four little girls happily playing library in the playroom.

Her Mother?

Last year, in a Ukrainian court room, a stern looking judge had Sergei and I rise. "Mrs. Marchenko, do you think you can be a good mother to this child?"

All I had to do was say yes. 'Da,' in Russian.

Instead, I burst into tears.

The judge's face softened. "Sit down, woman. The answer is in your tears."

I slowly sat down and tried to hush my sobs in an attempt to catch a few understandable words in Ukrainian. The court room business continued and a little girl abandoned at birth by her parents because of her diagnosis of Down syndrome officially became Evangeline Sergeyevna Marchenko.

Today, I sat in a observation room at The Erickson Institute, holding Evie after playing with her while a woman watched us. She took notes.

We've started evaluations at Erickson for Evie to see if they can help us determine if she is on the Autism spectrum or if what she does, stuff like eating dirt and rocking, is left over from being orphaned in Ukraine.

The thing is, after her tonsils came out and her ear tubes were put in two weeks ago, we've seen drastic changes in our daughter. She seeks me out throughout the day now. When I pick her up she smiles. She wraps her chunky little arms around my neck and squeezes.

I love it, don't get me wrong. But it scares the hell out of me too. Because I'm afraid I'll wake up tomorrow and she'll be back in her own world again.

Today in the evaluation she waved 'hi.' And then she said "hi." She interacted with toys. Simply put, she was on. Sergei and I looked at one another in amazement.

If these skills would have emerged a few weeks ago, I would not have made the appointment to have her evaluated.

I kept talking to the social worker about how Evie was, even a month ago, compared to today. She asked me to give her five adjectives that describe my relationship with Evangeline now and how I would describe what it was like in the beginning with her.

It took me a while to answer. I struggled to get words out. I muddled around. Finally I give her the allotted ten words she expected. I have no clue what I said tonight because it was so emotional. The words were so different.

"So, do you feel like her mother now?" The woman with the clipboard asked, blinking, her face a dead pan.

And I started to cry, again. Just like I did a year ago in that Ukrainian court room.

"Yes. I am her mother. I feel it."

I cried not because I was sitting in an observation room having my daughter evaluated for a dual diagnosis. I cried not because at three and a half Evangeline is still non-verbal or because she only eats pureed baby food.

I cried because she has come so far. I saw that plainly today.

I cried because today I realized that I'm the one who has farther to go.

There but for the grace of God go I.

Three Years

We moved to Chicago three years ago fourth of July weekend. This is a picture of the girls that year. Don't they look little?

I'm surprised to still be in the same place. At Thanksgiving I marveled at the crisp deep red leaves outside my window on the Japanese Elm. At Christmas we added more lights, stringing them around the door frames and on top of the bookshelf. I knew where everything should go; the stocking nails were still there from last year. And then the birthdays, Sergei, me, Zoya, Polly, all one after another shooting me out to Target every other week for presents or supplies like a little metal ball in a pin ball machine. The end of our string of birthdays welcomed spring and now here we are smack dab in the middle of summer.

Fourth of July.

Polly (with my help) waved around her first sparkler tonight.

Three years ago Sergei and I were here on our own. We spent the weekend scrubbing down the kitchen and bathroom with bleach in ninety degree weather while Elaina, Zoya and Polly played in Grandma's back yard in Michigan.

Tonight we visited with neighbors in the alley (city life) and watched dads light up smoke bombs and fireworks and sparklers. I met a new mom, Ana.

"How long have you lived here?" She asked.

"Three years."

Three years. It's been a heavy three years; difficult ministry at first, kids acclimating to new surroundings, adoption paperwork, seven weeks in Ukraine, Evie's continued adjustment, Polly's stroke, Moyamoya diagnosis, two brain surgeries.

And yet through it all we've made this house a home, again, as we always do whenever we move. As a family we've never lived anywhere longer than three years. Sergei and I have moved eight times in twelve years.

All things considered, God landed us in a pretty good spot.

And I think we may actually break our three year rule and stay here in Chicago a bit longer. Which sounds nice, and settled.

Just what I need.