Will the child who stole my turkey baster and filled it with dirt and gravel please come forward?

While we're on the subject, I would also like to know which one of you thought it would be a good idea to cut triangle shapes out of my bed sheets?

Please understand that I am irritated and will continue to be irritated until you have grown up and are living in a house of your own. When that happens, you can rest assured that I will get my revenge, and it will be ugly.

I will body slam your couch until the frame is busted.

I will pee all the over your toilet seat and then laugh when you sit in it.

I will smear toothpaste all over the sink, counter, toilet, walls and hand towels.

I will wipe boogers on your walls and smash cheese crackers into your carpet.

I will flush 3/4 of a roll of toilet paper and a bag of marbles down your toilet.

I will slam every door I walk through and lick your windows.

I will run through your neighborhood wearing nothing but snow boots and a cape.

I will melt popsicles on your garage floor and poor bubbles all over your driveway.

I will sword fight your bushes until they are nubs sticking out of the ground.

I will karate chop your blinds and throw balls at your windows.

I will bury every tool you own in the sandbox, and then leave it uncovered so cats can do their business.

Just for kicks, I will blow dandelion seeds in your front yard, and smile while doing so.

**Please note that in order to keep your dignity (and mine), you must repent right now and turn from your evil ways.**

Sincerely,
Your Crazed Mother

This is Caleb.

He's my baby.

He'll turn 5 soon.



I tend to think that Caleb is similar to a cat.

He's quiet, playful and cunning.

He always has some sort of ulterior motive going on in the background, and because he remains a slightly mysterious character, you have to do a little digging to figure him out.



If there is one thing that gives Caleb away, it's his beloved 'Pooh Bear'.

'Pooh Bear' used to be a blanket, but over the years it has been loved into a thinned out strip of frayed cloth, with the once vibrant pictures of Winnie the Pooh having slowly begun to fade with each cycle through the washing machine.

I don't know what it is about this blanket, but I love to bury my face in it and just breathe in my baby. His sweat. His drool. It's every bit a part of Caleb as the strange concoction of clothes he prefers to wear, and it's very comforting to me.

And to him as well.

As I lay next to him in bed, I listen to his breathing become rhythmic as he twists the frayed edges of Pooh Bear between his fingers. I watch as he gets lost in thought, forgetting for a split second that I am next to him - watching him - while he buries his face into Pooh Bear, and he takes a deep breath.

For comfort perhaps?

Reassurance?

He unknowingly allowed me to see a little part of the inner struggle he was having, but after looking contemplative at being asked if he was okay, he insisted that he was fine.

I know better, of course, but Caleb is not one to be pushed into anything. He will express his feelings when the time is right for him, so I am left to wait it out.

Then out of the blue it happens, just as it always does. Caleb strikes up a conversation that gives me a glimpse into his mysterious heart.


Caleb: Mom?

Me: Yeah?

Caleb: Um, I was just gonna say that, well...how long is our sister gonna stay with us?

Me: She will be with us forever.

Caleb: Hmmm.

Me: How long do you think she should stay?

Caleb: Well, I was thinking that she should just stay for 20 days.

Me: 20 days? Why do you think that?

Caleb: Well, I was just gonna say that she is kinda whiney.



It's those types of comments that continue to reassure me that I will never fully understand my baby. But like I said, he prefers it that way.

I have had a load of clean laundry sitting on my couch for two days.

I also have four more loads that need to be washed, and unfortunately, it will all end up piled in the exact same spot, getting more wrinkled by the minute as it's pushed from side to side in order to make room for some lazy person who just can't be bothered with it.

That lazy person would be me.

Oh, and speaking of laundry, did you know that adding a 17 month old child to an already full house exponentially increases the amount of dirty clothes laying on the floor in the laundry room? It's true. And I think I've even heard it curse me when I walk by.

Or maybe I'm cursing it. I can't be quite sure at this point.

Either way, I have become convinced that laundry is something created by the devil. I will even go so far as to say that it just might be what hell is really like. Can you imagine spending all of eternity in a poorly lit laundry room that smells of dirty boys, soiled pants and sweaty cycling jerseys? And the only thing that would keep you sane in the midst of the endless suffering would be knowing that you are not alone when you hear distant voices saying, "WHAT THE...WHO KEEPS FILLING UP THIS LAUNDRY BASKET?"

There is the possiblity that everybody will experience their own personal version of hell. If that's the case, then my version would be sitting a little row boat that is perpetually sinking into a sea of mayonnaise. But that's stemming from an entirely different set of issues that I have.

Oh well, I suppose I should just get off this computer and face the devil that is piled on my couch, but... wait a minute...I think I hear Naomi waking up from her nap. Could you give me a second while I go check on her?

Yes, she's awake and guess what has just been added to the laundry room floor...

Another pair of soiled pants.

Goodbye Forever.
Anna

While we were in Russia, we received a lovely e-mail from Isaiah that went something like this:

Hi Mom and Dad. I love you and I miss you. Oh, and here is my list of things I would like you to bring back for me:

Pet spider
Russian games
BIG stacking doll
Pet fish
Tech decks
Toys
New PJ's
Football
Chocolate
Two crystals
Telescope
Fake vomit
Lava lamp
Phone

First I would like to say that judging by Isaiah's wish list, I am pretty sure he did not fully understand just exactly where we were.

And second, while we did manage to bring a few of those items home for him, the greatest toy he got was his sister.




I apologize ahead of time, Naomi, for all the tom foolery you will be subjected to at the hands of your brothers. But if it makes you feel any better, I completely understand. You see, you now have 3 uncles who did a great job of traumatizing me. I can't tell you how many times I was folded into the couch hide-a-bed, locked in my pitch black room with the green ghost hiding in my closet and forced to dig up our dead gerbil, Alvin. Somehow I managed to survive though and I'm pretty sure you will too.

But just in case it gets to be too much for you, I know a secret pressure point on Isaiah that will bring him to his knees and render him useless. I'll show you sometime because you and I...well, we've got to stick together.

It's been nearly two years, but Naomi is finally home...



I can't even begin to tell you how good it felt to see Isaiah and Caleb waiting at the airport to finally meet their sister, and then to grab them tight and hold them. I didn't want to let them go.

We did it.

We're home.

We're complete.




Searching my heart for appropriate words, the only thing that comes to mind are the words written into the song of praise by Leonard Cohen.

"I stand before the Lord of song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah."

Welcome home Naomi!