Thursday, July 23, 2009

Baby Kitty Daddy

A few years back we had a cat named Floyd, born in our barn and named before we found out she was a girl.

Floyd was a sweetie but Floyd had one major fault. Floyd had a rather advanced "up" button and no "down" button whatsoever.

Over the course of a few months, Floyd was rescued from trees by ladder, bucket truck (four times), and chain saw (we cut an actual tree to get her down).

Given that we have enormous trees all over our yard, that our land borders thick woods, and that it was likely O would have died of embarrassment if he'd had to call the tree service one more time, Floyd had to find a new home . . . an INSIDE home.

Floyd went to live with the golf pro at O's country club and is now fat, happy, and loved. The highest she now climbs is the back of the sofa.

So when I rescued our most recent 3 kittens O and I were, of course, worried that we might have a repeat of what we like to call "The Floyd Situation".

As a preemptive measure, O started kitty tree climbing (down) classes. He'd work with them a little bit at a time and it looks like they are all getting the hang of it, knock on wood.

I took this picture about a month ago and couldn't help but think, "Won't my husband make a good daddy some day?"

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

The H Word Returneth


Know why it’s been over a month since I last wrote here? Nope, me neither. I’ve sat down several times to do just that and never seem to get past the first couple of sentences.

It’s been a really lovely summer thus far. Lots of time spent with family and friends, beautiful fresh veggies from the garden, a huge gathering for the 4th of July. We’ll definitely look back on the summer of 2009 with a lot of fond memories.

The three new kittens are a huge source of delight as they continue to grow and explore their world. Almost every night after dinner, we go sit in the yard and watch the kitties run and play like wild banshees. There are few things cuter than a kitten trying to catch a lightning bug.

I’m asked several times a week if there is any progress on the adoption front. Oh how I dread that question. I realize that it comes from a place of love and genuine interest, but when the answer is “no”, I feel like I need to immediately go into the “but-that’s-okay-we-are-content-to-wait-for-the-right-opportunity-to-come-along-no-REALLY-it’s-fine-these-things-take-time-and-we-really-ARE-okay-with-waiting” song and dance so they’ll feel better about it.

There has been some activity – I wouldn’t call anything a “development” though. We’ve received four or five calls from Good County’s D*C*F*S for foster placements, but haven’t been by the phone when the calls have come in and the worker(s) have never left any messages, so the kids have gone to other foster homes.

To be perfectly honest, I am glad about that at least for the time being because our hearts seem to be “on hold” for the moment – so hopeful that we’ll have the opportunity to adopt two out-of-state babies as summer turns into fall.

Yes, I said it. The “H” word. Hope.

I’ve have a strange and strained relationship with hope since entering the world of infertility a few years back. In all other aspects of my life, I embrace hope without hesitation but when it’s come to hoping for motherhood, I’ve been slapped in the face more often than I can count. For a long time, it was just easier to refuse to hope – to push it away with both hands and simply assume that things WEREN’T going to work out. That way, I wasn’t nearly as disappointed when they didn’t.

But for some reason, hope and I seem to have come to some sort of a truce the past few months.

Perhaps it’s because the pain of infertility has faded so much. Perhaps it’s because we were finally approved to adopt. Perhaps it’s because operating from a negative place just isn’t me. All I know is that hope is back.

Now, I can’t quite say that I’ve thrown my arms wide open to hope just yet. I’m more holding it at arms’ length, keeping a watchful eye on it. But I know it’s back.

Occasionally I’ll sit on the bed in our “child’s room” and mentally arrange furniture to accommodate a second crib, or see a cute story book and buy it just because, or start thinking about kids’ trick-or-treat costumes as I’m working in our newly planted pumpkin patch. Stuff like that.

Of course, with hope come TESTS to that hope.

Like the time one of my friends from the state D*C*F*S called and said she couldn’t find our home study and wondered if I had any idea who might have it. Ummm, no. Her response was something along the lines of “Don’t-freak-out-it-must-be-here-somewhere.” It was, apparently on the desk of someone who was considering us for a child.

Or the time that I contacted our wonderful worker J to get an unofficial copy of our home study. Which she was happy to provide. Except that the last copy she has of it is incomplete – the one that Bad County never finished. (Ummm, you were supposed to finish it and get it to the state office. That’s why we switched to Good County in the first place. Remember?) Her response was “Well it must be complete because you were approved to adopt, so I’ll contact the state office for a copy.” Oooooooohhhhhhkay.

Even at moments like that, I find myself at peace. I believe that if we are meant to be parents, God will help us find our child(ren). If we aren’t, I am happy – truly happy with the life that O and I have created just as it is. So there’s nothing to do really, except sit back and yes, HOPE that we’ll get a call from out-of-state worker one of these days letting us know that she’s interested in us for the babies she’s placing.


In the meantime, I’ll be chasing three feisty kitties, obsessively checking our pumpkin patch, eating as much fresh corn on the cob as I possibly can, enjoying time with our family and friends, and loving the heck out of my husband.

It really is a wonderful, hopeful life.