A jar of pickles and a long-gone rose

Today I took a picture of a jar of pickles, canned in 2011. I should eat them. Actually, I should have eaten them a long time ago.

But each time I think about it, I hesitate since it's the last jar of pickles that I will ever get from my Grandma Kathryn.

In the last year of her life, even though it was filled with hospital visits and pain, she managed to can pickles. That amazes me.

I spent quite a few afternoons at her house during that last year, helping her a little bit with a medical issue she had. I was so happy to do it. Each time I flushed her drainage tube or changed a dressing, I was so grateful to be saying thank you. Thank you, Grandma, for loving me when I was unlovable, or when I wasn't thankful for a gift you gave me. I still remember my selfish tears when I opened a gift that you spent time on, sewing tiny stitches and hours cutting. And I didn't like it. Years later, I remember, and I am sorry for my childishness. 

As I cared for her in a very small way, I remembered weeks spent at her house in the summers, glasses of "onion" tea served in tinted plastic cups, and years of watching her serve others in a quiet way.

I remember how beautiful she was, that age and wrinkles and faded skin were only vehicles to display the great beauty within. A beauty that bloomed greater, the longer I knew her.

When I only wanted to serve her, without receiving anything in return for once, she pushed gifts on me every time I would finish my little afternoon visits. "You're busy," she'd say, "so here is a little something for supper." Or, "how about a little jar of jam."

I always took whatever she offered because, even though I wanted to say Grandma, I am here because I want to serve you for once, I knew every part of her would be unwilling to do that.

In November 13, 2011, she died.

When my roommate's town home sold in 2002, I packed up everything and turned in the keys. Then I realized I had forgotten one last thing, one of my most prized possessions: a faded, brittle red rose.

"This is an odd request," I said, when I called up the realtor. "I forgot something in the house. Any way you could meet me there?"

She looked at me strangely when I came out of the house, tenderly holding the rose. I smiled at her, but offered no explanation.

The rose came from the spray of flowers that covered my father's casket in December, 1999.

Fifteen years ago today, in a mixture of relief and profound sadness, I said goodbye to my dad. Relief because it was so hard to see him suffer. Profound sadness because, well, obviously.

I wondered how we were going to make it. Kids need their fathers. Wives need their husbands. Grandchildren should meet their grandfathers.

The passage of time has been a great gift. I have seen how God has provided for our family. How would things have been different had he lived? That is a question that has no answer and really has no point, since he didn't.

When we celebrated my youngest sibling's birthday last week, I looked at around at our growing family and marveled at how much we enjoy being together. At the inlaws who have come into the family. At the grandchildren who play together. At our stepfather who quietly takes care of our mother and gently nudges us back on track to the way Home when we get out of line.

The rose is long gone, despite my extreme care to keep it on the dashboard every time I moved (yearly for awhile). When it crumbled at last, I was sad, but I carry memories that can't be taken away.

Every time I see that brother walk, I am reminded of my dad. Or seeing that brother tell a story. Or the kid-loving side of that brother. 

We tell stories. We remember. But most of all, when this day rolls around, I think we all thank God that He gave us a loving father and then took care of us with such loving care after Dad died.

I guess I can eat that jar of pickles after all.

Reflections on Motherhood

I take a long time to adjust to life changes, but I think I am finally adjusted to being a mother. That doesn't mean I have anything figured out at all. I just mean that I am kind of getting used to the chaos. One afternoon, all kids were napping at the same time. As I buzzed around the kitchen getting some food ready, I was thinking that three kids was not a big deal. And then they woke up. 

You know, I thought I wouldn't be an overprotective mom. Just let them explore their surroundings, satisfy their curiosity, and so on. I thought they might to perform an experiment to answer questions like, what happens if I don't add baking powder to my pancakes. Clean stuff. Not dangerous stuff.

Instead, these intensely curious kids have these types of questions: will this butane torch explode if I throw it in a fire? Can a chicken fly if thrown off the scaffolding? If I spray this chicken with foam, how long will it stick on the feathers? If I light the fence posts on fire, how quickly can I put them out with a water hose?

Compared to last year, I think it's safe to say my hearing is less sensitive, my nerves are less sensitive, and our chickens are just plain scared.

They were delighted to return to school, to escape from my mountainous chore list. And they have been doing well. David read piles and piles of books over the summer. Roxy is turning into quite the little reader as well. 

And Oliver also likes to read. Please ignore my creepy face. Also, his eyes are not usually crossed.

When Oliver was about three weeks old, we went with friends to the Lincoln Park Zoo. It was a great zoo, and it was free! Then we went to the Rainforest Cafe for supper which David proclaimed "the strangest restaurant he has ever been to!"

David wanted to learn the violin. Doesn't he look like a graceful violin player here? Okay, maybe not. So far he is enjoying it. And so far, the rest of us are surviving, but he isn't allowed to have his bow yet. When that happens, if we had a dog it would be howling. (And I know this from personal experience. When I was learning to play - which is a term used loosely here - my skillz sent my sister's boyfriend home early more than once.)

We have really settled into being a family. The kids seem very secure and seem so happy to have friends and enjoy our large family and church family. I am so grateful by how well they have been enveloped and welcomed by the people we love. 

Oliver is doing well. He is still a good-natured little guy and the kids still love him.

The other night, we were all outside. And I looked at them in the golden light of the early evening, in their inside-out clothes or too-small clothes (depending on which one we're talking about) and I thought to myself, "I really like having a family."

Oliver makes five

After months of wondering what it would be like to birth a child, and what he would look like, and how I would feel, July 3rd is when I wondered no more.

My first glimpse of the dusky-red, squalling infant with dark hair was one of amazement, wonder, and deep gratitude.

"Your eyes are leaking," said the anesthesiologist as he dabbed at my eyes with tissues.

"I know," I choked out, "but this has been such a journey."

My doctor said the same thing. "It's been a journey, Lisa, but your faith got you here."

Every time someone congratulated us, I started to cry again. I felt (and feel) so unworthy to get to have this experience and a sweet baby when so many of my friends haven't and maybe never will.

His name is Oliver Wendell and he was 8 pounds, 3 ounces, and 21 inches long. He looks like his dad, but he does have dark hair.

Bryan and I liked the name Oliver, and when we asked the kids for ideas, David mentioned Oliver, too. It is the name of his best friend from the orphanage. Wendell, of course, is after my dad, who, incidentally never liked his name. But I still think Oliver Wendell has a nice ring to it...a familiar ring to it, thanks to Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., and Jr. The Sr version supposedly said one of my favorite quotes: Most people go to their graves with their music still inside them. Or something like that.

The entire family is smitten with him. David calls him his "little buddy." Roxy says he is SO CUTE. All four of us can't hold him enough. I know that eventually he will be their annoying little brother and he won't listen to his parents, either, but now, when he is so innocent and cuddly, we can't help but breathe in his baby freshness every chance we get.

He is a good baby, and I am feeling quite well by now. As I said, we're grateful.

How is the summer going? We have just 5 weeks until school starts. Last year, I would have said we have 5 more weeks to survive! We went through a rough time in April and May but things are going well. The kids (due to gentle encouragement from their dad :) have been offering to help me as I recover. And we have been able to do more fun things this summer, since the kids are much more settled this year.

Life is so much less stressful and so much more enjoyable this summer :).

365 days

365 days ago

As I look at the above picture, the kids don't even look the same to me. It's weird to think that we had to communicate via a translator and we didn't know each other at all.

We had no idea how challenging things would get. In fact, to remind ourselves how far we've come, tonight we looked at some old videos we took of the kids (without the kids around). I'd forgotten how both kids would cry each time we got in the car, or that we used to have difficulty communicating, or that - well, there are a lot of things that are better - but I should probably just keep those in the family. I also reread our old blog posts. I am glad to be where we are now.

Every now and then, I still hear that I am the MEANEST PERSON IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD. Yesterday, though, I felt redeemed when the other child said, "Actually, there are ladies at school who are meaner than you are."

Tonight we celebrated with a steak dinner and cookies-on-a-stick. We asked the kids what they remembered about the day we met them (Answer: Not much). We also asked if they were glad we adopted them and why.

David: Yes, so I can play with my cousins.
Roxy: Yes, so I can play with my cousins and my daddy is awesome!

They don't always say that. But that's okay.

Today, we look a little older. A little more weary. But we're comfortable with each other and that's a good place to be.

One of my favorite stories to tell (and retell and retell - sorry, it's in my genes) is about the time David was in the principal's office. Another kid was in trouble, so Mrs. H, the principal told him that if he did that again, he was going to be in hot water with her! David's eyes got huge and he said, "If he is bad again, he has to take bath with principal?!"

Their English language is great, but idioms and figurative language are difficult. I have to be careful when I talk about starting off on the wrong foot or the ball is in your court or things like that. School has been better than we thought, although Aberle kids are spending more time in the principal's office more than I'd like. It's not always the other kid who is in trouble ;). But they are learning what is socially acceptable. We're also starting to work on table manners now that we have the time and energy to do so. And after months of refusing to eat pork, after eating ham and eggs at Grandpa and Grandma's, David suddenly decided that it was delicious and gushed over some Polish sausage their doctor gave us (along with pierogi and some Polish cookies - yum!). And  - should I say this out loud? - David is now sleeping at least until 6 am, sometimes even longer. I hope the days are gone when I hear him stomping around his room at 5 am.

We also have cut down our bedtime routine from 2 hours to about 10-15 minutes. I no longer get scared to handle them in the morning or evening by myself. They now perform almost all personal care tasks by themselves. They have chores that they do to help out around the house, although they complain sometimes. It's hard for me to remember the blur and stress of months ago. They've come a long way, and so have I.

They definitely keep things interesting around here. I found the letters ROXY carved into our piano. I still ponder the unanswerables, like how could my good kitchen shears have disappeared without a trace? Or, is it better to live with snowpants, snowboots, and gloves, or the zillions of empty cups and open refrigerator of the summer? And the day Bryan overheard David: "What do you want to do today, Roxy?" Roxy: "Let's go break something." Or when I found my sister's old Cabbage Patch doll looking like this.

A drill is a bad thing to leave around.

Everything is going great with child #3 so far. About 10 weeks to go, and it's been really easy so far. The kids are really excited about it, unless you ask David. He can't admit excitement to such a thing in public.

In other happenings: In March, we went to Oregon, had a wonderful time, Roxy wants to marry Darwin (my sister's husband) who happens to be "the cutest person ever in the whole wide world!", the kids and parents want to make it back soon, and I loved being with my little sister and her sweet husband. For more information because I am a lousy blogger (along with being unphotogenic), check out my sister's blog.

In January, we hosted a Polish meal for a local benefit. We had a great time and plan to do it again this year. So if Dill Pickle soup sounds like something you want to try, stay tuned!

I'm sure there is so much more I could write, I don't want to overdo it. We're just so thankful to be at this point!