What was I thinking?

This weekend is one of the biggest of the year for our family. It's Relay weekend! Besides it being the culmination of a year's worth of planning, it's the time we set aside to formally recognize how blessed we are. We began Relaying five years ago to celebrate Rob's (and our dear friend Lisa's) fifth year cancer-free. We drank the purple Kool-aid, so to speak, and here we are five years later, ready to celebrate Rob's TENTH year free from cancer. Relay is not just my full-time job, it's an enormous part of our identity as a family.

It's gotten to the point that the Becker name is synonymous with Relay For Life for many people. We both bleed purple, so when it came time to film a new recruitment video for Relay nationwide, my lovely coworker decided that Rob was the perfect spokesperson for survivor involvement.

Some background: There are 3.5 million people involved in Relay, including 500,000 cancer survivors. We know that we can make a huge impact (even beyond the $400 million we'll raise this year) if we mobilize those participants to do other things year-round that fight the disease. Rob is a textbook case of someone who dipped his toe in the Relay pool, and went on to be on the front lines of the cancer fight. I'm proud, can you tell?

Back to my story... Because Rob was chosen to be in this new video, we have a four-person film crew joining us at the Relay this weekend to capture his story and footage of all of us celebrating together. Because that film crew is coming, the local paper has decided that they want to do a feature on Rob, too.

I work in PR. That means I like to promote good stuff that can help other people. It also means I like to stay behind the scenes! So, you can imagine my horror when I found out that the paper, with a circulation of 80,000+, wants background photos. I was digging through our stash, trying to find a few good shots of us at Relay, and came across the photo you see above.

Which brings me to this bit of well deserved self deprecation. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

No one should be so dedicated to an event that they see fit to go out in public, much less be photographed, like that.

I do recall that I started out the day in jeans and that tshirt. My hair was not covered, and the boots made sense in the wet grass.

Let's review what's wrong with that picture:

1. Purple bandanna? It says "cancer sucks" on the back. I promise to leave that bit of headgear to the teenagers from now on. It looks like a costume on me.

2. Since when did my ears look like I belong with the Keebler elves?

3. Turquoise shirt (that I had no control over... it was the committee shirt), olive shorts? I was not getting dressed in the dark, so that should never have happened.

4. White crew socks, brown hiking boots with that same turquoise shirt and olive shorts. Even worse.

5. How many things can I possibly attach to my body and clothing?

6. Can you tell that I am also wearing sunglasses with that outfit? All of this is resurfacing like a bad, repressed memory.

I have several quite stylish friends who will probably have a hard time forgiving me once they see this picture. They will say that years of hard work and training were clearly lost.

I will say, to redeem myself even a teeny bit, that I work for the American Cancer Society. Those pasty white legs are proof that I'm living up to our cancer prevention standards. There. I'm at least good at my job, even if I look like a nightmare doing it.

Invaded

I owe this blog a nice post about all of the birthday festivities of the past weekend, but that's bound to take some time. I'll get right on that.

However, let's just say we wrapped up Sam's final birthday soiree with a few new housemates that made me none too happy. I recall saying last week that I had NO IDEA how I got Lyme Disease. Now I know.

You don't need to live in the woods to find deer ticks. You just need to come to my house. INSIDE my house to be exact. I found not one, but TWO deer ticks (a male and female -- according to Google Images) in the house on Sunday evening. They were both taking nice leisurely strolls, one on the ledge upstairs and one on the kitchen table.

I think everyone who was here might have thought I was crazy for calling at nearly 10 p.m. to tell them to do a check, but I'd feel awful if someone actually ended up with Lyme Disease on my watch.

Rob, who's been quite nonchalant about the whole thing (with the exception of fogging the whole backyard before guests arrived. Twice. But, really, that was probably just to keep me quiet) is now stripping down to his shorts to have me check him out at least twice a day. Those little bugs are a bit more threatening when they might actually bite him!

Sam's big day!

Sam's the big THREE today! He's been waiting for this for a long time... though he tried to convince us he was about to be FOUR for more than a few weeks. He's satisfied at being just three for now, particularly since he seems to know that cupcakes, parties and presents are involved.

I woke up this morning with many of the same emotions I recall from last year... I am thrilled to have this amazing boy to call our own, but am a bit sad at the thought of how much his birth family must be missing him today. I hope that they can somehow know that he's loved by many and a happy, if mischievious, little boy.

Happy Birthday, Sam!! We love you!!

Sneaky little buggers

Five weeks of fevers, way too many needles, regular doctor visits and an xray thrown in for good measure and I finally have a diagnosis.

My doctor's office called today to say that I have active Lyme Disease. I have absolutely NO IDEA how I got it. New Jersey is a high risk area, but I haven't been laying around in the woods lately! I am sure there are other ways to come in contact with deer ticks, but I'll be darned if I know what they are.

I have to take horse doses of a antibiotics for three weeks, then see if I'm cured. I guess my fever finally going away will tell for sure.

Not fun news, but it's at least good to know what the deal is. "Fever of Unknown Origin" is not a fun clinical label. My silver lining? I get fabulous service at my doctor's office and the lab. They know my voice when I call and have been quite helpful. Let's hope I don't need their services much longer!

The doctor's office made sure to tell me to take my pills with food and get plenty of rest for the next three weeks. Um, I have a son who's turning three tomorrow and Relay is in nine days. Rest isn't exactly easy to come by in these parts!

Still no answers

Either my doctor really is worried about my "fever of unknown origin" or he's practicing voodoo on me illegally.

I got sent for MORE bloodwork. He's testing for more specific ailments now. We had a nice long chat in the office on Friday. He pretty much told me that he's thinking two things right now: it's possible that I either have rheumatoid arthritis or that I'm just plain weird.

No joke. He actually phrased it by saying, "Well, we know you're weird. This just might be more proof." Gotta love a doctor with a sense of humor.

In addition to a funny bone, my family physician also has a keen fashion sense. I own the footwear pictured in black. I had those shoes on when at the office. He was checking, ostensibly, for swollen lymph nodes in my lower legs when he stopped and said, "those are really cute shoes."

Totally deadpan. Which is not surprising if you know my doctor. To say his delivery is typically dry is an understatement. Who knew that a snazzy pair of Rocket Dogs would liven him up so?

He followed the cute shoes comment up with, "I've never noticed before that you have incredibly small feet. Seriously. What size shoes do you wear?"

All I could think was that I'd wound up in the Twilight Zone somehow. I'm at my quiet-as-a-church-mouse doctor's office for a disease with no symptoms whatsoever. A sizeable percentage of our conversation ends up being about my little feet with fancy shoes, not the underlying illness that, so far, has necessitated multiple diagnostic tests and trips to be physically examined by every doctor in the practice. (There are only two, by the way, but that sentence sounded more dramatic than if I'd said "both doctors in the practice." It's my blog. I can be dramatic if I want.)

Before I sign off, I want to wish the very best of luck to my bud Leslie... She's one of the approximately 4.2 people who actually read this sorry blog and she got a very fancy pants job with the Billy Graham Evangelical Association this week. It's the American Cancer Society's loss, but she is, after all, going to work for God. (Leslie -- I should tell you that my brother-in-law, when I was pondering my offer from the ACS a few years ago, likened working for the Society to working for God Himself. Now you'll be able to tell me if that's true or not.)

A teeny update

Frankie got out AGAIN. He must have figured that he knew the tricks now, because as soon as we tried to leave for church yesterday, he ran... Rob tackled him just two doors down, though. It helped that he had real shoes on this time. He'd been wearing mandals for the Saturday excursion.

Mother's Day was so nice. Rob let me sleep a little bit. He insisted it was because it was Mother's Day, but I also think he was tired of hearing me roll over all night, audibly wincing.

On that note, I don't heal as quickly as someone Sam's age does, but I am getting better. I will see how much fun traipsing through the airports turns out to be a bit later today. I'm grateful to have been assigned seat 2A by trusty US Airways. No bumping into my left elbow. My right knee is another story. Enough whining.

For those who have followed the great fever trials of the past few weeks, in a weird way, I have a new symptom that actually makes me very excited to know that I might get this figured out FINALLY! Now I know it could be from falling, but I started coughing a bit last night (again, normally not at all exciting) but it really hurts near my left ribs when I cough now. I sound like a glutton for punishment, but if it hurts to cough, I have a fever and my xrays turn up any fluid in my chest, I'll have diagnosis and be able to move on with my life. Yippee!!

If I bruised ribs or something when I fell, I'm going to be really irritated. I'm only turning 33, not 93. I don't need new aches and pains. I'm sleep deprived enough to make me feel plenty old enough, thank you very much.

I'm off to Atlanta now...

And he's off...

Ah, how easy it is to take for granted how well trained your pets are. My seven-year-old dogs, usually too lazy to do much other than bark at the mailman, recalled the good ol' days tonight.

I remember when they were just wee pups, all too eager to watch for the first glimpse of a crack in the front door so they could take off running, their weary humans chasing them down, screaming like lunatics the whole way. We had more than one such episode before deciding the doubts we might have had about invisible fencing were nothing in comparison to our very real fear of two adorable dogs getting squashed on the King's Highway.

Turns out there's not much warning when the batteries for said fence go kaput.

Frankie's were apparently shot, and he took off like a shot out the front door. I know it was a combination of the commotion of the company over for the evening and the thunder that was rolling through, which he is absolutely terrified of.

He got out the front door, realized that he could escape, and did just that. He RAN straight down the street, Rob chasing after him. I tossed my purse on the sidewalk, yelled at Sam to stay with Aunt Kim on the driveway (thankfully Ethan was staying, too, which helped keep Sam in place) and hopped in the car. Ted, thank goodness, was already running down the street, too.

The biggest mishap came when we got to the corner. I thought Frankie looked like he wanted to jump in the car, so I leaned over and opened the door. He ran off again, straight for the busiest street in the area. I ran around the car, shut the door and attempted to run back to drive off again, when I slipped on a few wet leaves. I was airborne long enough to think about how much it was going to hurt when I hit the ground.

In one fall, I managed to scrape both hands, both elbows and my right knee. My left knee got a nick or two, but not much. I had no idea I could hit so many parts of my body on the ground on the way down. I'm not tall. It's not like I had far to fall!

I yelled for Ted to drive the car, leaving him to frantically wonder if it was more important to run after my husband and dog or ignore my request so I wasn't left laying in the middle of the road. Thank goodness he followed Rob, because they caught Frankie soon. They even had time to come back and get me as I hobbled down the street toward home.

I did get an interesting lesson in human behavior through all of this. We must have looked like loons too crazy to help as we tore through the neighborhood. There was a couple sitting in a minivan right near where I wiped out. They didn't even roll down their window as I lay in the street to see if I was ok. Once I got up and literally drug my sorry rear back home, they did seem as though they were following me. At that point, I decided that I didn't want to deal with them, so I forced myself totally upright so that they wouldn't ask me anything. They turned around and left.

A nice lady down the street must have seen me coming because she came outside and asked if I needed ice or to sit down. That was nice, but Ted and Rob arrived just then.

I'm all patched up now, and remembering how much it really does hurt when you scrape skin off of your body. I'll remember that next time it happens to Sam.

A quick Sam funny... I told him we were going to Fort Dix to see Ethan and the airshow. After a hundred questions as to why we were going, he moved on to "why does Ethan live there?"

I replied that Ethan's daddy is in the military, so he has to live there.

Again... "Why, Mommy?"

"Because he works for the government..." (That should end the conversation, right?)

Not so much...

Sam stopped asking "why?", long enough to squeal... "EEEWWWW! I don't LIKE the GOVERNMENT!!"

I swear, he did not learn that from me.

Reason to hope???

I had stopped visiting Rainbow Kids for a while for my own mental health. Seeing JaeHo continue to be listed was too hard to see and just left me feeling frustrated and helpless. I caved today and scoured the Asia list, but don't see him on it.

I HOPE that means good news for him. I want to believe he's found a forever family to love him!

A few things have delayed our formal application, but I think we're just going to send it in now, and figure things out as we go. We ended up having to take out a small loan we're weren't expecting to be responsible for, but are going to keep working to get that resolved and focus on the exciting parts of a new baby. I think any social worker who reviews our case will understand our situation and be more than willing to see that we're capable of raising two kids.

I have proof, too, that Daddy is ready for another baby. He asked me out of the blue the other day what we were going to name the next kid! As some people know, this is not the easiest of subjects for us (as Rob only likes super traditional names or insists on the goofiest nicknames for the names we do agree on) but during a rare lunch alone last weekend, he brought the subject up on his own. Not only that, he'd been doing some thinking...He'd made up his mind on a girl's name!

I think he'll still let me vote, though.

The secret of toddlerhood... and some good news.

Being back on the road after quite a few welcome weeks at home has taken its toll. I'm tired! I've spent most of my time at home just hanging out with Sam and Rob. Someone has to be there to keep the tendencies of a headstrong three-year-old in check.

For anyone who's not a parent, there's a little secret that other parents don't let you in on until quite late in the game. The glass-is-half-full side of me thinks it's those who have been there trying to protect the vulnerable sensibilities of newer parents. The secret? The Terrible Twos? Yes, they can have moments of terribleness, but overall, it's just nature's way of inching you into the real jungle of child rearing, otherwise known as life with a three-year-old.

My adorable child has a will of steel and a vocabulary that would make any school marm proud. Sounds cute when you see it presented on a pretty blog page. When it's screaming, face down, fists pounding on your kitchen floor... not so much. The thing is, it's kind of endearing to hear Sam repeat words like "delectable" that are beyond his years. When he repeats phrases like, "Don't be fresh with me" as "No, Mommy. Don't YOU be fresh with ME," THEN throws in "1...2...3" with his finger held up for good measure, you know you're in for it!

He's also decided AGAIN that his bed is no place to spend a night alone. Why should he stay nestled in his cute Cars sheets, surrounded by puppy, blankie and about 42 of the 60 Thomas the Tank Engine trains that he holds so dear when he can wedge himself between Mommy and Daddy, randomly talk (in that one, single volume that toddlers seem to have) just as we've fallen back to sleep and flop around like a sea otter who just can't quite make it back to water?

I went to the doctor today and she asked if I have any unexplained bruises. I replied that I can explain all of them. They come from sleeping with a 36-inch-tall kid who seems to need the space of Shaquille O'Neal to get any rest.

I did say I have good news. I do.

I posted to a thread on DigiShopTalk that turned out to be a conversation about why the same dozen or so scrappers make all of the creative teams. I bemoaned the fact that creative teams should be about promotion. Ostensibly, that's something I'm expected to know a thing or two about, but apparently that credential doesn't go far in scrapbooking circles. However, one super sweet designer saw my post, checked out my gallery, and asked me to join her team. Her designs are great, so I can't wait to get started.

Maybe scrapping with nice, soft, pretty things will soften the stories of Sam's crazy antics that are bound to come over the next few months.

Leonard Revisited

You may recall reading about Sam's new friend "Leonard Lewis Lion." He's turned out to be a keeper. Sam still plays with him daily, but his name has changed. To Leonard The Lion King!

I might add that we had not yet seen the movie "The Lion King" when Leonard got this grand promotion. Aunt Jenny took care of that and sent a copy home. Now our house is a symphony of Disney/Pixar noises. We go from Lighting McQueen gutteral engine revs to a *different* engine rev representing Frank the Combine Harvester to an all-out roar in homage to Simba. Sometimes if it comes out really deeply, Sam tells us that it was Mufasa or Scar.

He either has quite the imagination or an incredibly discerning ear.

I do know that his hearing has allowed him to nearly memorize The Lion King after having only seen it a couple of times. Even though he never truly appears to be watching it.

Case in point: After Sam's bath and the ritual of where-is-Sam-I-can't-find-him-he-must-be-down-the-drain antics, I toweled off his hair the other night. Sam never likes this, but on this particular night, rather than just whining and insisting I stop, he put out his hand and said "Mommy, you're messin with my MANE!" Needless to say, I laughed hysterically, so he's repeated it hourly ever since.

We had a great weekend... Sadly, it was the first Saturday we could recall spending together in a while. We just hung out together, I scrapped during naptime, and we ended the day dyeing Easter eggs for the first time. There's a reason the boxes say it's an activity intended for those older than five years. What a mess! And even pretty colored, Cars-wrapped eggs could not get Sam to do more than lick the outside of a peeled egg. Still just chicken. Stay tuned for future protein updates.

We did a long day of family visiting today, but it was great. Sam had a blast playing with everyone and finding that the Easter Bunny locates him wherever he goes! I tried to explain that the day is less about chocolate and jelly beans and more about Jesus, but I don't think he got it. He knew he was more spiffed up than usual for church and did manage to repeat that it was "Jesus' big day" a few times, but I think the lesson about the Risen Lord will take a few more years.

JaeHo update

My hope has some basis in reality, as it turns out. There's been a flurry of activity on the Holt board when we noticed that older children are now being listed for adoption in Korea.

Under the "old" system, children were removed from any possible referral list upon turning three years old. It seems that the upside of the new rules is that older kids are being referred!

I'm SO happy to know there's still a chance that JaeHo will find his permanent home. I know he's being taken good care of where he is, but no one can doubt that a family of your own is the best place to be. He seems to be doing well, so I hope a family that can help him progress will see his file and bring him home.

Lessons Learned at McDonald's

First, to update my last post, we're sitting at T minus 5 hours now till Daddy lands and, truth be told, I'm a wee bit sad. I'm really going to be happy to see Rob and missed his company even more than I imagined I would, but Sam and I have had a great weekend together. It's been really nice to have some special Mommy time.

Well, nice except for the burst of energy he got last night that ended with me clutching a bag of frozen peas to my bloody, swollen nose. It's not broken. just bruised, but it was ugly and painful (and still is if I sneeze or scrunch up my nose!) It went like this: sticky hands needed wiping, Mommy bent over hyper son to wipe said hands, son -- apparently quite elated at the sight of a fresh wipe -- bolts STRAIGHT up out of his little chair and directly into Mommy's nose. My last deviated septum repair was no picnic. I hope not to repeat it.

So... back to the lessons I learned in McDonald's today.

After church, Sam said he was hungry (not surprising since he fed Ellie his breakfast.) A quick mental inventory of both the refrigerator and my cooking skills landed me at McDonald's for a McNugget treat. We rarely go to "Ronald McDonald's house," (we're a Wendy's nugget family) so Sam was delighted.

He behaved like a perfect gentleman, which translated into eating very slloooowwwwllly. His meandering pace left plenty of time for chat.

I learned a few things:

1. Sam DOES know how to whisper. You wouldn't know it most of the time, but the child IS capable of lowering his voice.

2. He also rather enjoys the particular brand of Muzak piped into this McDonald's location. As if he wasn't eating slowly enough, we stopped every few minutes to "groove" to a new song. It was mostly MoTown, which I like, too so it could have been worse. Each time the music caught his attention, he'd put down his nugget, swing his arms in the air, and wiggle around in his highchair with his eyes squeezed shut. He'd occasionally peek out at me mid-groove and demand that I "rock on" with him. Those quotes really are his.

3. He might possibly be getting ready to sample a new protein source. We're still all about beige food in our house, but he's starting to take notice of beef when it's nearby. He even asked if he could try another child's cheeseburger. She just stared at him as if he had horns. I don't blame her.

I also had a sweet moment with an older man who was hanging out enjoying his coffee with some pals. I am fairly used to being noticed when in public. I'd be less conscious of it were I even remotely convinced that it was my stunning good looks attracting attention or if I hadn't been approached one too many times by rude strangers demanding to know all sorts of details about Sam's place in our family. (For the record, the answer is always that I AM his REAL mom and that NO, he'll probably never speak Chinese.)

Anyway, this particular man was definitely noticing us, but not in a way that seemed offensive. He was just a cute guy trying to make Sam smile from across the room. When he got up to refill his coffee cup, he paused at our table and introduced himself to Sam. He asked him what his name was. Sam replied, "I'm Sam Andrew Becker!" in garbled toddlerese.

When I translated that his name is Sam, the man's face just lit up. He bent down to look Sam in the eye and told him that his name was Sam, too. (I later heard him marvel to his pals that he hadn't met too many kids named Sam...) They shook hands, gave each other a high five and he was on his way.

He seemed to take a few extra seconds to fill his cup and then turned back to us. This time, he bent down next to me and had tears in his eyes. He told me how lucky I was to have such a beautiful son and that he could just tell that we were going to have a wonderful life together.

Of course, I know this to be true, but it was so moving to have someone else phrase it that way. So often, people tell us that Sam is lucky to have been adopted by us. I suppose that could be true, but I know that it was Rob and I who received the real gift when he joined our family.

T minus 49...

As I type, it's just under 48.5 hours until Rob comes home, and I must say, it's actually gone by faster than I thought it would.

It's incredibly silly for me to note the length of his absence given the frequency with which I travel. It's actually beyond silly. It probably borders on obnoxious, but I figure he was a bit concerned with how things would go, too, the first time I left town and he had to manage the situation all alone.

I know people do this every day, but it's clear that I am just not very organized. Sam's fine. He's happy. His routine barely seems disrupted. I know it's all going swimmingly on the surface, but it's become apparent that I can just barely take care of myself on a regular basis.

I've always been conscious of not taking my superhuman husband for granted, but perhaps I will have to try even harder from here on out. Rob makes our house function. I am mere window dressing, and not necessarily good at that either.

Seriously, I'm feeling like I can't keep up with my almost-three-year old. How is it that someone who regularly requires 12 - 14 hours of sleep to be a civil human being can outlast me like he does? By bathtime, I'm pooped myself!

The secret of all of this is that I'm guessing the weekend will actually be more exhausting than trying to juggle Sam's schedule, my work, an entire department in from out of town for three days worth of meetings and a bunch of laundry to boot. I'm feeling a great deal of pressure to be fun. I bought him a bag of contraband Cheetos tonight, so I think we're well on our way.

Still a chance?

I swore I would stop looking at JaeHo's listing on RainbowKids, but I caved tonight. I still think about him all the time... Well, as I know the rules, children over three aren't eligible for adoption from Korea. He turned three nearly a month ago, but he's still listed. I HOPE that means that perhaps they're still actively searching for a permanent home for him.

I had the thought, too, that he's still listed as an active case because someone is in process for him. That would be the best news ever at this point. A few people have come out of the woodwork in my Holt circles to say they got the same response we did about not being allowed to view his file. The biggest blessing is that the conversation about so many families being rejected actually caused more people to take a look at him. I REALLY REALLY REALLY hope some good news will come soon. It happened when we were sponsoring Rogette... She'd been in a group home in Haiti for eight years when we started sponsoring her, and she ended up getting placed just four months later!

Cute Sam story of the day... It's not news that he adores the movie Cars. He seems to recall different lines from it regularly, then repeat them until even he can't stand the thought of them anymore. The last one to have worn out it's welcome? "To not to." Prounced "Tuh Not Toooo" by Mater. As in "Sam, what did Daddy say about touching the buttons on the TV?" Uh..."Tuh Not Toooo."

The new fave is "WAKE UP, SLEEPING BEAUTY!" It sort of sounds like "Way UP, Seepin Booty" when he says it, but we know what he means. Thanks to my never-ending rash of germiness, Rob has retreated to the guest room for the past few days, completely terrified that he'll have *gasp* sniffles while out of town for work. I want to sympathize. I do. Traveling while under the weather is for the birds. It can be done, however... Sometimes a wife just needs to know her husband isn't completely skeeved by her, ya know?!

Anyway... I woke up just as Sam did this morning and went into his room. He asked where Daddy was. I took him right to the guest room, where he proceeded to SCREAM "Way UP, Seepin Booty Daddy!!" Rob actually jumped!

I am easily amused.

Rejected

Ok, that sounds a bit too harsh. I knew it was a longshot to get chosen for the creative team of a well-known designer, but such is life... I wasn't chosen. She was very sweet, though. She just chose scrappers that have been around a while. Can't blame her. Their stuff probably gets looked at more. Being the PR guru that I am, I knew how that cookie would crumble.

I'll try not to sulk as if I was chosen last for the dodgeball team. ;-)

Seriously. Enough with sounding sad... I'm really just happy to have been considered. (I know I'm very often saracastic, but I'm really not in this instance!)

In other news, I've decided that Sam is a low-level germ factory. Well, it would be more accurate to call him a carrier... He picks up germs at school, goes about his playing-eating-sleeping life, giggling all the while MOMMY gets deathly ill.

I'm exaggerating a lot today. I'm not deathly ill, but perhaps a bit miffed that all week he's been frolicking on the playground at school while I trudge through my job with eyes too gooped up to see (now cured thanks to outrageously expensive bottles of drops) and a lovely chest bug of some kind that somehow manages to make both breathing AND thinking difficult. So, I'm off to the doctor for my second visit of the week.

I wonder if I can accrue US Airways miles for each doctor's visit? I think there's a marketing opportunity there somewhere.

Our new friend

Every night when we take Sam out of the tub, he wants to "hide" from whoever hasn't been the one to wrap him up in his lion or puppy towel. Basically, I wrap him up, carry him to his room, and tell Daddy that I've lost Sam. Daddy runs in, looks all around the room while Sam hides his face but audibly giggles, and then Sam jumps out and "scares" Daddy.

This game apparently never gets old. Ahh, what joy there must be in being two.

Well, last night it was my turn to get scared. Daddy had Sam wrapped up in the lion towel and I came into the room to search for him. When I looked on the top bunk for him, I noticed the coordinating lion puppet washcloth that we rarely use. I guess I thought I'd mix things up a bit by pretending I'd "found" Sam when I found the little lion.

Sam found this to be hilarious.

Then, he started talking to the lion puppet. Not just "Hi, Lion" like he might usually do, but Sam needed to know his name, where he lives, who his friends are, who his favorite train is, if he wanted to read stories before bed... You get the picture. They made fast friends.

When he got up this morning, we found "Leonard Lewis Lion" neatly arranged on the pillow, where he'd been sleeping. He needs more shut-eye than Sam, as it turns out.

I thought this might be a one night thing, but he was all about Leonard tonight, too. The good news is that he's decided there are no monsters with Leonard by his side. Not quite an imaginary friend, but serving the same purpose, I assume.

It's fine with me. The Monster Spray thing is only fun when you're not getting wet at every turn. Which I was.

I finally got inspired to scrap a story of Sam's arrival today. I realized that I could easily do a whole album on the subject, but I loved how the first page turned out. A nice designer who just retired a couple of weeks ago surprised me with an email that includes links to every single thing she was selling in her store, including several templates, so I used one of them to do this brief journal entry of how we "found" Sam online. People have been telling me to write the story down for a long time and for some reason, I can never do it. It's kind of like the story about what I experienced when I lost my first ectopic pregnancy. It was an overwhelmingly emotional experience and, even being a writer, I've found it hard to commit to paper. Having fun scrap stuff for this page helped me wrap my mind and words around it. Not sure there's a kit for the other story, but maybe someday I'll discover a therapeutic scrap remedy for that one, too...

An addiction gone mad...

For the approximately four people that I think may ever read my little blog, you all know me well enough to know two things. One -- I have a wee tendency to overschedule myself. Two -- which compounds the aforementioned -- I am addicted to digiscrapping. (Thanks to Noel, who totally enables the habit!)

So... I decided that, should some particular fun thing come to pass, that I will absolutely find time to live up to my duties. What duties? Those bestowed on the members of a digital designer's creative team. I am already an "Oh Girl," happily helping my friend Randi get her design business promoted, but I also decided to challenge myself a bit more. A designer I really like posted a Creative Team Call this week, and like a loon, I applied. We shall see what happens... (The curious can check her out at www.laurenreiddesigns.com/blog. Cool stuff.) I won't say more here for fear of pandering. Assuming she even looks at my blog, the URL of which was required in the application, I don't want to look disingenous.

Yesterday was our buddy Ethan's first Gotcha Day! His parents, Kim and Ted, are great friends who experienced the whole process with us. Next to Sam's arrival, there was no other travel call that got me as excited at Ethan's. We love to take silly pictures of Sam and Ethan, and joke that they'll hate us when they're 15. It's just nice to think.. KNOW... that the boys will still be in each other's lives then. And their siblings, too! Kim and Ted and Rob and I are all ready to get things moving again, so we have plenty of additional opportunities to commiserate over paperwork, waiting, waiting and waiting.

Monsters no more

Well, it worked!

Mommy's Monster Spray, along with a fierce Diesel 10 resting next to Sam did the trick!

My little boy slept like a brick for yesterday's nap and again all night last night. No night wakings, no screaming, no early morning wake-up (well.. he was up at 6, but that's normal for him!)

Let's hope it sticks! Mommy and Daddy feel like new people having gotten a whole night of sleep.

Things that go BUMP in the night

I bought Sam an adorable pair of Sully slippers from The Disney Store about a year ago. They were so cute that I bought them long before they'd ever fit him. Every so often, we'd pull them out and try them on. It should have been a clue that this day was coming that he was never very happy to see the fuzzy footwear, complete with claws.

When I say "this day" has come, I mean that we've reached the there-are-monsters-under-my-bed phase. Since Sam's bed is a bunk with the bottom mattress right on the floor, we don't actually get goblins *under* the bed. Ours hang out on the walls with "eyes" that stare at my poor kid as he's trying to sleep. They follow him to our room, too. If we bring him in to our bed to help him get some rest, he just stares at the place on the wall where a bit of a glow from the streetlight comes in, certain that those are moster eyes, too.

He's complained about it before, but not to the point of fearing his own room. He apparently was working his way up to all-out terror. I feel AWFUL about it. He's been waking up for a few nights, whining that he wants to come into our room. He usually starts at about midnight, and we have been thinking it was just a ploy (because he's gotten pretty good at those, too.)

Now I realize that he was probably just dropping off after a long time of fighting sleep for fear of being joined by monsters in his bed, and waking soon after, scared to death to open his eyes. Seriously, it would break your heart to see it.

As soon as Sam woke up for real this morning (at 7 a.m.... Hallelujah! He may have finally gotten past the 4:30 wakings, though I'm half-guessing those might be monster-related, too.) he started telling us all about the "scary, scary monsters" hiding in his room. We told him that monsters aren't allowed in our house, so it must have been his imagination, much like when he pretends to make us blueberry pie.

He wasn't buying it, so he and I went off to Target right after church today. If you didn't know, the store that has everything you'll ever need also carries monster spray, cleverly disguised in a 79-cent spray bottle that we filled with H2O at home. (Funny aside: when I picked up the bottle and held it up to show Sam in the cart, he squealed at me "Don't point that at me, Mommy! I'm not a monster!")

Just for good measure, we also got a Diesel 10 engine because Sam firmly believes that big metal claw is just the thing to threaten large monsters, and a little kiddie lantern that he can keep by his bed.

Perhaps it was overkill, but I remember being terrified of the scary old faces that I swore popped out of my Holly Hobbie curtains as soon as my mom tucked me in, too. Not gonna happen to my kid.

One more funny that's too good not to share (because there haven't been enough poop stories around here lately.) Sam's Sunday School teacher Susan saw him standing quietly in the corner of the room this morning.

SUSAN: Sam, are you ok over there?
SAM: Yes.
SUSAN: Are you poopin'?
SAM: Yes.
SUSAN... approaches Sam to change his diaper.
SAM: Stop. Please go to the other side of the room now. I poop by myself.

Spicing up my name

I'm in a hotel room in Boston (feeling incredibly guilty that Rob is home with my double-pink-eyed son... and that I made a bad call/erroneous diagnosis and took him around both his cousins and his daycare buds before the green goop arrived and confirmed the verdict.) and ran across a blog that made me crack up. Seriously, a couple of these made me laugh out loud all alone. I think that alone is a sign that I needed the break!

Your real name:

Karen

Your Gangsta Name: (first 4 letters of real name plus izzle:}

Kareizzle

Your Detective Name: (fav color and fav animal)

Purple Wolf

Your Soap Opera Name: (middle name, and childhood street)

Christine Nall

Your Star Wars Name: (the last 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 3 letters of mom’s maiden name)

Kerkaloh

Your Super Hero Name: (2nd favorite color, favorite drink)

Green Gimlet

Your Iraqi Name: (2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, any letter of your middle name, 2nd letter of your mom’s maiden name, 3rd letter of your dad’s middle name, 1st letter of a sibling’s first name, last letter of your mom’s middle name)

Achoumn

Your Witness Protection Program Name: (grandmother/grandfather’s first name and Jones)

Darlis Jones

Your Goth name: (black, and the name of one your pets).

Black Eleanor