New Mountains

I'm a bit shocked how truly awful I've been at blogging since being home. I suppose its a mix of not having the overwhelming urge to keep family and friends informed of our goings on since we see them or can visit much more easily these days. We also have been concentrating time and energy on our family, on the here and now, and sinking into a more private existence when possible.

I've also found it hard to find words when so much of our life and plan felt partially on hold, up in the air, unclear and uncertain.

But we've found a direction.

Its not where we were hoping to be heading. It leaves us mourning a way of life, a type of work, a community of friends and partners we'll be living away from for a while longer. At the same time, we are energized by finally having wheels set in motion after 6 months of waiting. Limbo is not as glamorous as it sounds.

Almost 2 weeks ago, we had a discussion with our executives at Global Ministries, giving them our final resignation after hoping not to have to do so for so long. We were running out of time on paid leave and needed to make some decisions to ensure an income and health insurance in months ahead. After 6 months of living in other people's spaces (lovely, generous, adored people), after the 4 of us sharing a bed with varying degrees of sleep success, it was time for our family to find a space of our own, a routine, a consistency.

The US immigration office has been giving us mixed and changing messages. Our kids MAY be eligible for visas, but information regarding the processing time as well as their eligibility seems to change every time we make a call--even if calls are made on the same day. Citizenship--at this stage of the game--requires us to live in the States for a few years. And if our family wants to do international work or mission in the future (we hope to), we need to get all family members' paperwork secured so we are free to go and do when and where we please.

And so, after a lot of talk, a lot of tears, a lot of anxt, a lot of prayers, we have decided to step away from jobs we love and the wishful hope of a magical ride back to Haiti and instead plan for a life here, in the States, for a while.

Now you can find us back in Colorado. Our belongings are housed in a storage container waiting for us to find a rental house. We are job hunting, car hunting, apartment hunting while once again grateful for the hospitality of generous friends who endure the Bentrott Traveling Circus stopping a while in their homes.

Certainly these last 6 months have challenged us--and gifted us--in ways we've never experienced before. In fact, our days have been such a complete mix of tragic and heart breaking and uncomfortable swirled together with joy and rebirth and gratitude. Life has felt so big, so raw, so confusing, so certain at times I even find challenge in writing about all it has entailed. I have found it grounding to simply attempt focus on the routine of mommihood and the incredible transformation children make minute to minute.

You never wish to have the kind of life situation that puts your friends and family to the test, but we did, and we are overwhelmed with the generosity and patience of the people we call our most beloved. Space was made, doors have been opened, extra plates set at the table. Its humbling because we know in no way will we ever be able to repay the kindness shown. We only wish that we could have been sunnier, brighter house guests, but truthfully, so often we were tired, struggling not to let mourning show too much on our faces in consideration of the kids, tired from new parenthood, tired from living out of suitcases and boxes, nervous with the uncertainty of the unknown. Through it all we've gotten to spend time well past brief visits with family and friends we've long missed; we've enjoyed long stretches of time on the farm, falling into the routine of the place, letting our children fall in love with their grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. We've had time to meet up with friends without schedules pressing down on us. Most of all, we've had time to really get to know our children, love them in this time of uncertainty, let them love us back.

I can't play the "what if" game because it makes me sick to my stomach... If the earthquake hadn't happened we would still be in Haiti, classes in session, the clinic busily treating patients, many lives would be saved, but we wouldn't have Valancia, wouldn't be celebrating finished adoptions. If we hand't decided in a blink of an eye to change our adoption approval from one child to two, our family would look different. I can't do the if's because it doesn't involve straight forward just and unjust, good or bad. Its a mix, like life, so I just have to sit in what IS, and be extraordinarily grateful for our survival, our health, our safety, our family, our incredible-amazing-challenging-gorgeous children, our perspective, our resilience. And we take what IS and move forward.

We are happy to be back in Colorado, glad to start dreaming about where we'll live, what our lives are going to look like. As we face the realities of future jobs, I realize I'll miss working side-by-side with Patrick. We were a good team. Are a good team. I'll miss the complicated urgent yet laid back agenda of Haitian lifestyle. But as surreal as our memories ofHaiti seem at times, our love for the place and the people resides deep in our bones and I have to trust that we'll summon the courage again one day to dare to live an unconventional life again. Truthfully the real challenge comes in trying to live an unconventional life HERE, challenging the routines and systems that are easy to relax into. I hope we can rise to the occasion.

We certainly aren't done with our advocacy and love for Haiti. We hope to weave work with projects in Haiti into whatever lives we build here. Truthfully, Patrick and I have some big ideas and are waiting to see what we find here and how we can put our ideas into motion. So stay tuned...

I write this post for you who read this blog and who wonder what hole we all fell into. You may read it for a variety of reasons; maybe for descriptions of Haiti and an American's life there, maybe for news about Global Ministries or CONASPEH, maybe because you have a heart for children and issues surrounding adoption, maybe because you are suffering from insomnia and want to see how many words I can shove into one single blog entry. What I hope for future writing is a smattering about adoption (although there are people who do it better), about issues of citizenship and immigration, about reentering the American Life, and a teensy bit about Pip and Squeak who challenge us to be better people and who make our lives intensely more interesting and purpose driven. Ultimately I hope our future dreams and projects for partnership in Haiti can be worked out on these pages, recruiting like-minded folks and inspiring thought and feedback.

So if this is your last read, thanks for following our journey through the last few years. As our family has visited various churches and schools, we've felt honored meeting people who have made our family theirs through connecting to our blog. No, its not weird. Instead it helps recreate the feeling of an extended community we came to absolutely love about life in Haiti.

So on to a new chapter. I can't imagine how it will compare to the chapters freshly written. But I dare not tempt fate. It loves to surprise us all.

Legislative Hope

Dear Friends,

You have all been so supportive of us through the tragedy in Haiti, your advocacy in helping us get back safely into the United States with our children, and in the months that have followed as we've taken time to heal, process and get strong. We've had such love and support shown through the frustrating challenges of seeking out the legal adoptions and as we try to understand the immigration process.

At this time, there are three U.S. Senators who have proposed legislation to help the Haitian children that came into the U.S. under "Humanitarian Parole" status after the earthquake gain more immediate citizenship status.

Currently, the USCIS is requiring Haitian children who entered the U.S. on a Humanitarian Parole visa after the earthquake to remain in the country for a period of two years prior to being eligible for US citizenship, even if their adoption has already been finalized in the U.S. judicial system. Without the rights of citizenship, these children and their families could face multiple challenges. In our own family, it may very well limit or prevent international travel and thus force us to give up our work in Haiti for the next few years.

The Help HAITI Act of 2010 (also known as the Help Haitian Adoptees Immediately to Integrate Act of 2010) was introduced to both the House and Senate in May and has already been referred to the corresponding Committees on the Judiciary. If passed, these Acts “authorize the Secretary of Homeland Security (DHS) to adjust to permanent resident status an alien who was granted parole admission into the United States pursuant to the humanitarian parole policy for certain Haitian orphans announced on January 18, 2010” (www.opencongress.org).

In order to give these children every benefit and assurance of stability after an already stressful ordeal,please contact your U.S. Senator or Representative in the House of Representatives and ask them to support this legislation (HR 5283 in the House and S 3411 in the Senate).

Contact your Representative:

https://writerep.house.gov/writerep/welcome.shtml

Contact your Senator:

http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm

In the name of all orphans looking for a permanent home, we ask you to please share this information with your friends and family and supporters of international adoption everywhere.

Thank you once again for advocating for the children of Haiti, for adoptive families in the States, for us.

Adoption Day!

OH HAPPY DAY!

We just heard from our lawyer! Good news and big celebrations. The children's adoptions were aproved in the courts today!

Happy adoption day to our two beautiful children! You've been ours for a while now, but its nice to know the law agrees! We have so much to celebrate!!!

Thank you for holding our hands through this process, for making us laugh, for allowing us to love harder than we ever knew possible, for making us a mom and a dad.

We love you.

A Visit to Downtown Port-au-Prince

Thursday proved to be an incredibly intense day. It started off pretty low key. Our good friend Miguelson stopped by the guest house and we headed out to run errands and see people around the city. Miguelson is currently working for the Southern Baptist Convention as an interpreter. He is able to make a little money right now with this job, which helps his family out a great deal. Miguelson told me that his father, who is a farmer in the countryside, is no longer able to sell much of his produce in Haiti because farmers cannot compete with the free food coming in from abroad. His father has a contact in the Dominican Republic so he can sell most of his stuff there.

Obviously right now there are many people who do not have jobs and therefore cannot afford to buy any food. They are completely dependent on foreign donations and whatever they can scrape up on a daily basis. On the other hand, Haitian farmers are struggling because the population that can afford to buy a little food is seeking out the free food that is being delivered by foreign aid organizations and foreign governments. This is just one of the numerous complexities when trying to understand post-earthquake Haiti. People are hungry and more aid, including food, is needed in the country. Yet a system of dependence is being created that will have to eventually be removed for the country's economy to move forward.

I had the good fortune of spending the morning with Sylvia and her family, which was great. They are doing well and seemed happy as always. We talked about her community and how people were doing. She told me stories about receiving ration cards for food and then standing in long lines to receive rice, beans, and water. Sylvia said that she has not been given a ration card in over a month, but her family is finding ways to eat. We talked about the recovery efforts, the looming rainy season, and my family's ambiguous future in Haiti. If we return we will hire you again I promised her, but I also told her that I'm not sure when that will be. She handled the news well, but I know that on some level she has to be concerned about the future income of her family. Sylvia is a part of our family now and we miss her dearly.

I spent the afternoon in downtown Port-au-Prince where the situation was the worst that I have seen in Haiti thus far. The large old buildings that once made up the downtown were reduced to roofless one story buildings, if not completely destroyed. We passed by the National Palace, which laid idle and seemingly untouched since the earthquake. The National Cathedral was missing its roof and one side of the building was completely knocked down. Downtown Port-au-Prince was in ruins, but vendors lined the streets and the chaotic environment of downtown still existed amongst the destruction. It will take months, if not years before downtown Port-au-Prince can return to a level of normalcy.

Miguelson and I journeyed into a tent city across the street from the National Palace. All of the beautiful parks once filled with fountains and monuments were nothing but an endless mass of humanity living on top of each other. Tent after tent covered the area. Many of the makeshift homes were nothing but sticks and sheets, others were created with pieces of metal and cardboard with donated tarps serving as the roof. People were cooking, doing laundry, bathing, and sleeping like they did in their old homes. We would occasionally stop to talk to people who told us stories of sick children, crumbled homes, lost relatives, and hunger. One man introduced me to a 12 year-0ld boy that lost his leg when the building he was in fell on top of him. "Ten people died inside that building and he was the only one that survived," he informed me. The boy insisted that I take his picture. He even smiled. Many complained that the Haitian government has once again done nothing to help its people and that there is food and water coming into the country, but not everybody can access it. They fear the coming rainy season that has already begun to make its presence known. Last night I awoke to a downpour and immediately thought of the families sleeping on the ground with only tarps to keep them dry. I cringe when thinking about the various diseases that could breakout and spread in a tent city like the one I visited, especially when the rains begin falling daily. I shudder to consider what it must be like to try to maintain a little living space for your family when rain and mud are everywhere. How many children will lose a piece of their childhood here?

We finished our day with a trip to a neighborhood called Fort National. The neighborhood is located on a hill towering above downtown. The scene was catastrophic as the entire neighborhood was wiped out. Houses lay in rubble and large piles of concrete lined the roads as dozens of government workers tried to clean up the mess with only hammers and wheel barrows at their disposal. The government workers were almost exclusively young men and women and they wore bright yellow t-shirts that read, "Ann Leve Kanpe" (Let's Get Up and Stand). I can only imagine the amount of life that was lost in this area and I wonder how people here can possibly get up and stand again? How do they move forward amidst such pain and loss? The Haitian people have overcome colonization, slavery, economic oppression, hurricanes and floods. They are the strongest people in the world. They will indeed rise again.

Miguelson and I concluded our day with a trip to his house to visit with his family. Miguelson's mother is such a beautiful, dignified woman. She put on a good face for me even though her family is struggling and her children are sleeping outside in tents. Miguelson took me to visit a local CONASPEH pastor and to tour a little tent city where members of his family sleep. There were no clement floors to sleep on here, just bare ground. The tents were not really tents at all, but pieces of woods and plastic tarps pieced together. While Miguelson's neighborhood was not hit particularly hard by the earthquake, most people are afraid to sleep inside their homes so they hang out at home during the day and sleep outside at night. I suspect the rainy season might force some people to take the risk of sleeping inside their homes again.

Today I leave Haiti. I now sit in the airport trying to finish the blog and one last Prestige. The bartender is happy that I speak Kreyol so we talk about everything Haiti. He has a job, so he is more optimistic than most Haitians I have spoken with this week.

I love Haiti. While it can be extremely difficult and frustrating to live in this country, it is also a truly amazing place. The people have mastered the art of being. They know that there is one God and that we all are equal children in the eyes of this God. While there are certainly a lot of needs in Haiti, especially at this moment, there are also many things the people of Haiti have to offer the rest of the world. We need each other. They know this already and my hope is that many others outside of Haiti will begin to recognize it too.

Checking Things Out

The last couple of days in Haiti have provided a mixture of joys and frustrations. After romanticizing life in Haiti for the past three months since we left the country I have been given a reality check about all of the challenges that come with living here. The traffic, heat, dust, and the inability to get anything done quickly...all of these things have served as a reminder of what life is like in Haiti. However, all of these things pale in comparison to the gift of living amongst the Haitian people. Perhaps it is the three months away that is allowing me to really appreciate the people to the degree that I am on this trip? Regardless, I am falling in love all over again with the population. I feel a profound sense of gratitude and luck that Kim and I have had the opportunity to live in a place that has incredible people that are willing to share their lives, be patient with my language and cultural inadequacies, and to live together and laugh as if I am one of them. Even the U.S. government cannot take that away.

Monday and Tuesday were somewhat frustrating as I waited and waited and waited some more for access to our old vehicle. It finally arrived Tuesday night, which allows me the ability to get out and see more people and projects and to run the type of errands that need to be run after not being in the country for a while. I woke up yesterday morning with great plans of all of the things I would accomplish and all of the people I would visit. It is amazing how a few months in the States can ruin your memory and cause you to forget what is possible to accomplish in one in Port-au-Prince. I set out for Petionville in the morning to get our mail and any boxes that may have arrived. I was met by the familiar stand still traffic of Delmas Road. Things are moving especially slow in the city now as aid vehicles congest the streets and other roads are blocked off due to rubble or tent cities. Delmas Road was much as I remembered. There were several buildings that were completely destroyed and others that still stand, but appear ready to collapse at any moment. Small tent communities lined the road and the familiar faces of the street children approached my window looking for a few goudes or a piece of candy. After nearly two hours I finally arrived in Petionville to find a bucket load of mail awaiting me. I was glad I made the trip as I found a couple of care packages from a good friend in the States that contained children's clothes, shampoo, and cliff bars. All of these things went to a CONASPEH orphanage that is struggling to care for its 40 children. I suspect our friend who sent the package would be happy with how it was used. I also found a generous relief check from an American church.

I happily went down the mountain back into Port-au-Prince where I stopped by the above mentioned orphanage. The situation at the orphanage was not great. The children were dirty, scantily dressed, and there were signs of malnutrition. The pastor seemed in good spirits, but he expressed to me how dire the situation is day in and day out. I donated the few bags of children's clothes and some money, but it was merely a drop in the bucket of what was needed. I tried to lift their spirits by teasing them and speaking really bad Kreyol, but I'm not convinced it did much good. The children sang for me...a song about Jesus' unending love. They sang verses in Kreyol, French, Spanish, and English. Afterwards we said goodbye and headed to my next stop: the CONASPEH headquarters.

The scene at CONASPEH was both uplifting and saddening. I was reminded of the horror that took place on January 12th. I think part of me was expecting to see the building again. Of course the building wasn't there, but neither was the majority of the rubble that I last saw two weeks after the earthquake. The area had been mostly cleared of the rubble and a new wall had been put up around the parameter of the land. It was an encouraging sign. I spoke with Patrick and Francois Villier who seemed in good spirits and optimistic about the classical school reopening next week. There are numerous people working diligently to clean up the land so that they can put tents on it and begin classes as soon as possible. The land looks cleaner that it ever has before and when I visited today the Villiers were bringing in toilets for the students. It was a blessing to be able to see a positive sign of life progressing in a country that looks very much like it did three months ago.

Driving back to the guest house I drove past countless tent cities. Some of them sprawled out as far as the eye could see. Each day I have been increasingly moved by the number of tent cities. They are literally everywhere. Tomorrow I may try to enter one if possible. We'll see what the day brings. Bon nwit.

Back Home

As expected a wide range of emotions have greeted me as I returned to my beloved Haiti: joy, sadness, surprise, frustration, and gratitude to name a few. I ran into Patrick Villier at the Miami airport as we were on the same flight back to Port-au-Prince. In typical Patrick V. fashion he explained to me how difficult things were in Haiti and then he stopped to provide comical relief. He told me a story about a professor that had died at the CONASPEH building during the earthquake. I know, it's hysterical so far. Anyways, while Patrick was attending a service for the 17 staff and students who died at CONASPEH, including the professor, he looked over to see this man sitting in one of the pews behind him. Patrick burst into laughter and then explained to me, “They gave me the wrong list of victims.” His ability to laugh amidst the everyday struggles of Haiti is why Kim and I have missed him so much. As we boarded the plane we agreed to meet up on Tuesday where I can begin using our old car again and start visiting CONASPEH churches and projects.

It has been wonderful to see familiar faces and to be reminded of the community of friends that Kim and I have made in Haiti. Everyone wanted to know how Kim and “King” Solomon were doing? Many were unaware that we added Valancia to our family, so I was happy to give them that news too. Of course, they all wanted to know when we would be moving back to Haiti? While our future is very much up in the air the thought of not being able to live and work in Haiti again has me feeling a tremendous sense of loss. I cursed our government and USCIS many times in my mind as the reality of what we might have to give up struck me last night. However, if this is my “swan song” in Haiti for a while I will give thanks for the amazing experience we have had and for the incredible people we have had the privilege of living amongst. I also had the thought that Kim and I are in many ways made to live and work in Haiti. It is certainly not the easiest country to live in, but it is a place that we love and it is home for our family. I am putting out everything I can into the universe so that we can return soon.

In many ways Haiti seems very much the same as when we left two weeks after the earthquake (almost three months ago). However, there are some things that have changed. My first impression of post-earthquake Haiti came from my window seat on the airplane. I was shocked to see the amount of tents that dotted the earth below me. There were long drawn out tent cities everywhere, sprinkled with individual tents throughout the city. While the tent cities were a phenomenon that began hours after the earthquake hit I was nonetheless surprised to see the massive volume of them that have sprung up all over Port-au-Prince and the outlining areas. There have been reports that 1.3 million people are displaced from their homes in Haiti. From what I have observed from both the air and the ground it seems likely that this number is too low. Nearly everyone I have seen and talked to are living in tents or under plastic tarps. Last night I journeyed with our good friend Veniel, who is also the manager of the guest house I am staying at, to a small facility for children with HIV/AIDS where one of the guests is volunteering. They needed help putting up a large tarp that had been blown down by the wind. This tarp was protecting the three tents where roughly 30 children are sleeping. While the organization’s building seemed intact they were not risking sleeping inside for fear of another earthquake. This fear has gripped the country and the continuous aftershocks, including a small one that hit last night, are not quelling peoples’ fears. After a little planning, and some tree climbing, we were able to get the tarp back up and tie it to a couple of mango trees before heading back to the guest house for the night. This is just one example of how insufficient the tents and tarps are for the Haitian climate. Pray for a light rainy season because I am afraid that the rains could bring a whole new level of misery for the people of Haiti.

Today was one of those days that can only happen in Haiti. First of all, I slept until 9 am, taking full advantage of not having two 18-month old babies in my room. When I awoke I saw one of my favorite people Josie who is a cook at the guesthouse. She promptly scolded me for not bringing Kim and then insisted I eat an egg even though I missed breakfast by more than two hours. After breakfast I headed out to see our old house. I was curious if it had completely come down or was still standing. I arrived to find it in the same condition as when we departed. The gate was locked, so I couldn’t enter, but a neighbor had our landlord’s phone number so I made a quick call. Of course, he told me not to enter the house, but I think I might try to retrieve a few things tomorrow with Veniel. We’ll see.

After my trip back “home” I walked over to Solomon and Valancia’s old orphanage. Along the route I saw dozens of houses and businesses still lying in rubble. From what I have seen thus far it appears that little to no rubble has been removed from the city. Veniel confirmed this observation and complained that only people with money are able to get rubble removed. Of course in Haiti this means that most of the fallen buildings are in the exact same shape that they were immediately following the earthquake. I saw one house that had been removed and cleaned up. One.

My time at the orphanage was fantastic. There is probably no place that I enjoy spending time at more than this orphanage and it felt really good to spend the day speaking Kreyol again. I was greeted at the orphanage by smiling children wanting to be held and staff who were eager for reports on Solomon and Valancia. When I told the woman who was Valanica’s primary care taker at the orphanage that Valancia had gained 9 lbs and was almost walking, she laughed out loud, threw her hands in the air and gave thanks to God. “Valancia is fat and eats like a donkey,” I explained to the workers, but they didn’t believe me. I promised to bring pictures of her tomorrow to prove to them just how far “little” Valancia has come.

I spent most of the day at the orphanage holding babies, learning patty cake games in Kreyol from little girls, and talking with staff. One highlight of the day was lunch. I was served a big plate of rice and beans by the orphanage staff. I quickly devoured it as I have missed Haitian food a great deal. The staff asked me if I wanted seconds, which I declined. One of the women then began making fun of me saying that I eat like “a little doll.” She proceeded to tease me the rest of the afternoon calling me "little doll" in Kreyol. God I have missed the Haitian’s sense of humor.

Amidst all of the laughter of the children and staff I ate lunch next to an eight year-old girl whose father died in the earthquake. Her mother decided that she could not support both her and her older brother without the help of her father so she put this young girl in the orphanage. The girl began crying after talking about the death of her father. A staff person sitting next to me then went on to point out several children who had lost a parent in the earthquake. It was a sad reminder of what 230,000 deaths really means. Amongst other things, it means children without their parents.

When we departed Port-au-Prince in late January the orphanage had 135 kids. They were able to get Humanitarian Parole Visas for 120 of these children, which left them with only 15. They currently have 65 children and have had to turn back numerous others because conditions at the orphanage don’t allow them to responsibly care for more. The children are still sleeping outside, but they now have nice tents donated from USAID. The baby tent even has a cement floor that was poured inside it. However, at 3 pm this afternoon it felt like it was 200 degrees inside that tent. All of the babies were sweating profusely and the workers were busy swatting flies and wiping sweat off themselves while trying to care for all 20 babies. I have always been amazed at how these selfless women care for so many children in such challenging conditions. The staff at the orphanage are some of the most remarkable people that I have ever met. I was thrilled to see them again and to brag about how great my children are doing. Kim and I are continuing a job with our kids that began long before we took them into our care.

So I wish you all farewell for the evening. I need to bathe in the worst way and to hit the sack early in hopes of getting up tomorrow in time for breakfast. Bon nwit.

Bronzing A Memory

I dare something brave. Blogging on a Sunday morning with no backup and two toddlers toddling.* We have enjoyed a happy and charmed morning AND a long one since the little tykes squawked reveille at 0500. They've been in a particularly good mood despite a fractured night's sleep, super quick-forming snot tusks, and raspy coughs. I've miraculously gotten through nearly 2 cups of coffee and my e-mail with only the minor distraction of keeping Solomon from using Cici's head as a drum or changing a little toxic waste out of a diaper.

I have a friend who is really good about putting in writing the moments and antics that define the days of her kids' childhood. I strive to be more like her... if only to document the evolution of these incredible little personalities I have the privilege to get to know. Last night held a memory I'd like to keep always, to pull out when the kids are older, to remember these beautiful baby-ish days, to heal after a fight or just to remember how perfect loving them feels.

I had a moment in the middle of the night where I was a better version of myself, and the experience of being a mom was saturated with happy. At 2am. Like I said, a better version of myself. And I want to remember it always, as raw and beautiful and funny and perfect as it was.

We waved goodbye to Patrick yesterday as he drove back to Kansas City in order to catch an early flight out to Haiti this morning. As much as I wanted to be the brave, solid-as-a-rock wife, I couldn't help the tears. Partly it was watching my toddler-tag-team-parter drive off into the sunset leaving me suddenly out numbered in the parent-to-toddler ratio; mostly it was because he was going to Haiti without me. Without us. The reality of what has changed for us hit, and I didn't like it one bit.

The kids were clingier last night than normal... I attributed it to feeling anxious over separation. Or maybe they were tuning in to my own anxiety. Especially Solomon who is a full-on Daddy's boy and often wakes in the night crying for "Dad-dad" until his Super Papa finds him and snuggles him. No one else will do. So I anticipated a difficult night. Solomon has never been a very sound sleeper and consistently gets up several times a night no matter what "healthy sleep" strategy we try. So at midnight when my little boy sat up in the darkness and called out for his dad in his heart-broken, raspy voice, tears running rivers down the rounds of his cheeks, I could only sympathize. Instead of getting my feelings hurt that it wasn't me he wanted, I gave him a little space. Cici was up shortly with all the racket, so we three beings padded through my parents dark house. Solomon instantly quieted in the search, his pudgy hand in mine leading the way. One room after another I lit, noted it was empty, and darkened the lights again. After searching the whole house for the Elusive Daddy Wonderful, Solomon seemed to understand that I wasn't keeping him from his favorite snuggler, and a truce was waged.

Back in bed, my children snuggled on either side of me, and I settled into one of the dreamier moments of motherhood---the time when you stop moving, stop problem-solving, stop worrying, stop the"nos!" and the "watch out's!" and just simply soak in the little lives that you are lucky enough to hold.

Neither sleepy despite a world that snored and dreamed around us, Solomon and Valancia commenced in happy baby chatter. I imagined they were telling me about the dreams they just had, telling each other secrets they knew mommy couldn't decipher or that they were waxing on how much they really loved the smell of my deodorant given the proximity to my pits. Rather than their usually tease-and-screech interactions, Valancia giggled as Solomon poked her cheek; Solomon held back when Valancia reached for his hand across my chest. Suddenly the farm dogs started barking at coyotes howling in the distance, and Solomon soon was barking along with them in his raspy "ooh-ooh" imitation of a woof. A few seconds later Cici threw in a moo. 'Cause a guard cow is just what you need on a night like that. Off you go coyotes!

They soon quieted down, but certainly didn't settle into sleep. Solomon put his head on my shoulder and played with strands of my hair, then grabbed my nose in his fist and gave my head a shake. Cici entertained herself thoroughly by rocking her head back and forth recreating the suction sound made by her chubby cheek pulling away from the skin on my chest. She laughed endlessly at her new trick. Me too. Good thing I'm not one of those bony hard body ladies--oh the free entertainment we would have been deprived.

Cici finally threw in the towel at 1am after her delicate hands stopped exploring my face, fingers attempting to go spelunking in my mouth. Her body relaxed and breathing fell into that beautiful deep rhythm of sleep. Solomon, on the other hand, had another hour in him. That was ok. Rather than sighing out of exhaustion, throwing up my hands in "what-are-we-going-to-do-with-this-sleepless-child!" exasperation that often defines our reaction to our middle-of-the-night, not-soon-to-be-snoozing rendezvous, this better version of my self simply enjoyed my cuddly, funny, sweet-tempered night-owl of a boy knowing such moments with him are fast fleeting as he grows and changes every day.

I rained kisses down on his round face, landing them on his forehead, cheeks (oh the cheeks), eyelids, tip of the nose, corner of the mouth, fold of the neck. He laughed an open-mouth laughed. When I stopped, he'd lean his head in for more. Eventually the kisses made him sleepy, and somewhere between laughing and smooching, we both fell asleep.

Despite colds, and coughs and runny noses today for the three of us, it will be a good day. Today is a lazy Sunday and I don't yet have a job that will demands large portions of daylight away from my kids, I'm not yet immersed in the over-scheduled race that sometimes feels like life in America. I'm just a mom with two incredible children on a farm with hours ahead of us to just be. And the gift of that does not elude me today.

Today, I soak it in.

*It is no longer Sunday morning as I post this. But of course.