Beach Underwear

Or a bathing suit. But we will get to that later. Lets back up to where I just spent 120 minutes in the pit of darkness.

In a department store dressing room.
Trying on bathing suits.
With a sea of choices laying before me from the labor day clearance.
Where I get the pick of what is leftover.

My cup overfloweth.

Actually, I overfloweth from the tops of these things.

I begin picking up bathing suits that are safe, 2 piece numbers that will give me some coverage (i.e. granny skirts and lots and lots of rouging) and hopefully slim me down and hide my triple layer tummy. As I am loading up the stroller with my selections while Cati hangs from the middle of an empty rack I realize I am in for a dressing room treat. Both girls confined to what I consider an anatomy confessional closet as I try on a litany of suits. At this point, Cati begins screaming that she needs to go pee pee (her words) and is scared she will go in her panties. I unload the stroller and we go to the bathroom that is 2.5 miles away on the other side of the store, though the housewares department. Cati finds public restrooms to be the most delightful experience. Cati's hygienic playground. I, however, can be a bit phobic about the germs lurking there to pounce on my daughters hind parts. So I am a bit anxious when nature calls for my Cati.

We leave without too much incident. I am confident of this since she told everyone in the vicinity that all her pee made it into the loo and not on the floor or her pants at her ankles.

We go in and I begin to try on these esteem depleting contraptions which just makes me a tad grumpy. And then there is Cati narrating the process. I had like 10 suits in there with me and I was going as fast as my fanny could roll in and out of those suits.

"Mommy, I want to go hooooooooooome."
"Mommy, is that your bra? What IS that? Your bra, Mommy?
"I want to put on a baby soup." (translation: bathing suit)

"Cati, these won't fit you. You are too little."

"Because your BIIIIIIIG Mommy?" Shoot me now.

"Yes, because I am big."

"Mommy, are these your panties or a baby soup?"

"Cati, can you kindly let me try on these bathing suits please?" And then my child proceeds to pants me. She thought it was hilarious. I did not, however since she did it right in front of the mirror so I got the full visual of her hilarious funny on Mommy.

"Cati, now where is my bra?" The dressing room is the size of a refrigerator but the brassiere is completely MIA. I am imagining myself having to walk out with these bathing suit tops that are waaaaay too small and I am considering topless is the most respectable option.

"Ummmm...is this it, Mommy?"

"No, Cati. That is a bathing suit." So not helping with confidence here.

"Ohhhh wait...heerrrrrre it issssss." And she reaches under the stroller in the basket underneath and whips out my underwear that actually looks like underwear. As she lassos it over her head, barely missing Ella's face who is sitting in the stroller, she wears a triumphant yet mischievous look on her face. I let it go.

After the pantsing and hide and seek bra fiasco, my hubby meets us and takes the girls for a healthy meal at the food court. I wrap up the torture of trying these wrongly sized suits on and finally decide to purchase two.

I am behind this 40's something woman, this petite, teeny little thing that you could put in your pocket. Her tank top had the tag sticking out with the XS taunting me. I overhear her (I am shamelessly eavesdropping) talking to the saleswoman at the register and she is saying how this suit looks like a bra. The saleslady tells her it is the hottest thing right now and they even have these lacy ones almost identical to our unmentionables. Which are clearly being mentioned on beaches and at swimming pools across America since they are sold out. I look at my purchases and wonder even if I had the XS tag hanging out of my shirt, would I parade our Florida beaches in what people may mistake for underwear? Not that there is much difference nowadays but I still wondered.

The extra small, pocket fitting lady then explains that she needs her husband's approval to purchase the suit which is is this adorable black and white suit. I would try to describe the pattern but I could not make it out due to the negligible amount of fabric available. But it was cute. Lots of strings, though. Lots and lots of strings. I digress.

So as I purchase these suits I think to myself that perhaps I need to reconsider the trauma of trying bathing suits on. I mean, if people are commenting that they look like underwear and then purchase them after gaining awareness of this fact, I might be glad I don't have a size zero body. My life is far too crazy to aspire to this.

Now my only aspirations are avoiding public pantsing by my three year old daughter.

2 Shades of Pink Story: Part 5

Oh, my precious Cati. How all the details, all the grief make sense now. Of course they do. If Anthony stayed longer, we would not have had Cati. If we had not opened our hearts and home two days later for that precious boy, we may have never been ready. If J had not gone through those 2 weeks of episodes and delays Cati would never have been part of our lives.

Here are some other little facts that cause goose bumps. When we held J in the NICU...ready? Cati was a few beds away. Can you stand it? Here's another amazing thing. Cati was born when they called us for J. It all was timed so perfectly that only our God could have orchestrated it; all so that I could put these words here now. Because God gets the glory. All of it. And here is a final bit of info that may make you sad. Five days after Cati came home they called to ask if J could come to our home because he had been released to regular foster care. Although Cati was embedded in my heart, it was the hardest "no" I ever said.

Guess what? Her name was not Cati. Not even close. It was actually another first and last name. I so wish I could tell you what it was but I need to protect her in light of all the specifics regarding her foster care and adoption. I would also love to share with you her name that was finally told to us a few days after she came home. Again, I must protect my daughter. The first part of that name, the first 4 letters is spelled C-A-T-I which is why her name is Cati and why it has such an unusual spelling.

That night when she came home, it was late at night and there were 4 other children in the van on the way to their foster homes. I remember peering into her seat and seeing her. Oh, she was so teeny, tiny in that car seat just sleeping so peacefully. But the woman transporting all these kids was on a schedule so I got her out of the seat and kind of held her one armed like a football. I was carrying her folder in my other hand and as I carried her into the house I was shocked at how comfortable I was holding her like that. My other shock was that the moment I held her I knew that letting her go would make Anthony seem like a cake walk. She was the child of my heart.

I wish I could explain to you every minute detail of those first few weeks. The fact that we experienced everything a parent experiences after bringing their baby home from the hospital still astounds me. Because we did it all not yet knowing she would one day have our last name. I laugh remembering as I looked at her for the first time, my first thought was, "Oh this bun is so not done. She needs to be put back in!" She was frail and her skin was transparent. Her cry was this small squeak and hardly audible. One day when I was feeding her and moved her I saw her ear bent in half and it stayed that way! I almost hyperventilated myself into a dead faint before I could fix it. You should have seen me. It was like playing hot potato with her teeny weeny little ear. I kept jerking my hand back afraid to touch it or hurt her. But I put it back and no damage done. Except for my heart palpitations.

Ah, but then the fertility fairy sprinkled me with her dust and I began the quest again. Around October of 2006, I looked into a fertility study being conducted. This study would test an ovulation inducting drug through the use of artificial insemination. I had to go through a series of tests beforehand as did my husband. Not a thrilling experience. But we both got the clear and we began the first of 3 attempts to get pregnant.

Here is the time to tell you something. God had been speaking to my heart for a very long time that I was going to get pregnant naturally. No, I did not hear an audible voice boom from above that I would be barren no more. I just had this knowing, that still small voice telling me to stop all attempts and believe Him. He was calling me to radical faith. My holy response?

Nope. Got it covered. You are so my plan B. But I am getting this womb filled and if all systems fail, theeeeen I will try the faith thing.

Understand that this was not me being flippant with my King. It was UNBELIEF. It was years of seeing nothing happen. I desperately wanted to believe this knowing. But I was still reluctant to believe that nothing was impossible for God.

So, onward Christian soldier Jessica moves herself forward with a highly embarrassing process of artificial baby making. I have no issue with anyone who has done infertility treatments. Insemination. IVF. God has blessed many of my friends this way. I think it is wonderful that there are options. Heck, I tried those options. But no one dreams of having an internal ultrasound with a doctor, nurse, and THREE INTERNS in the room staring at my ovaries. But I could only blame myself for signing up for this research study. I will add that the main doctor was ridiculously hot and I truly wondered if all of this was really worth this kind of humiliation. They treated me like I was being prepped to be a dissected frog. Awful. What made matters worse? The first cycle failed. Meaning an egg was developing to be released (definition: ovulation) but it stopped. I would have to wait another month to try again.

ARRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!

During this time I wrestled so much with my intense desire to be a mom. One day, I was walking Cati through the neighborhood, praying about her. I wanted her. With everything in me I wanted to be her mother and I felt guilty telling God this and praying to adopt her. As I prayed I kept vacillating between being totally honest and trying to almost carefully choose my words to pray like a good Christian should. As I foolishly tried to appeal to my God He spoke so loud that I thought I suddenly went crazy. I feel crazy telling this part but I make myself feel better that I do not have to make this huge boat after hearing it. Anyway, I distinctly heard God tell me...I am so being serious here..."She will be your daughter. But believe. Believe Me."

God? Is that you? Because if there was ever a moment in my life where I want that voice to be yours and not mine it is RIGHT NOW. Please. Let this not be my hope masquerading as your voice. Will Cati be our daughter?

"Believe me. Because there will be times where it will seem like you will lose her. Believe me."

I literally trembled as if on holy ground. But I knew I had never had a moment like that in my entire walk with God. So I decided to take Him at His word. And His word rang true because seasons of doubt and uncertainty did come.

So by now its Christmas. And celebrating my Savior's birth got me a tad introspective. Well, let's call it what it was. I was humbled. Ready to listen to that small voice. The one who had been getting louder. The one that has been saying...

STOP! BELIEVE ME.

So I did. That Christmas we went to North Carolina and visited our old church where we attended before moving to Florida. The message was amazing for a Christmas service and it talked about waiting. During the service they passed around this paper asking for prayer requests and the church promised to pray for these requests until Easter and then send it back to us. Here is that piece of paper...

I am a little panicked that it has her full name on it but I am counting on the fact that you are not a super hero and can't read it. But here is what we put as our prayer request...

1. To have radical faith

2. To adopt Cati, our foster child

3. To overcome infertility and conceive a child

Now at this point, I was seriously trying to figure out what I could do to be the naturally impregnated girl God was telling me I was going to be. So I decided to stop the infertility study and lose weight. I had been struggling with my weight most of my life and I was close to 200 pounds...the heaviest I had ever been. So at this infertility clinic, they had a weight loss clinic. Drastic means to lose weight but with drastic results. I lost close to 60 pounds. Here are my before and after pictures... Lord God, help me to remove the idol of vanity so that this testimony can bless others...

Whoa. So hating that I am posting this pic of me but whatever. Glory to you, Lord!

How mad do I look here? I lose weight and gain an attitude. Geesh, simmer down skinny chic.

Must tell you I so don't look like that now. I was a running fool then and consumed next to nothing. Now I run occasionally and enjoy an occasional donut. Much more chipper now.

My cycles regulated and after considering buying stock in ovulation kits, I realized I was ovulating. God is so good.

Then, around June of 2007, we find out that Cati's birth mother is ready to do her case plan and bring her daughter home. She wants a visitation, the first one since she came into care. What a punch in the gut! She had so many issues but a few months back we had heard she received Christ as her Savior while incarcerated. My prayer had been that if it was genuine then she deserved her daughter back if she would love her and give her what she needed. I prayed for God to make this come to pass if that was to be the case.

She had her visit with her and it went fairly well. I made her a photo album of Cati and told her how we prayed for her every single day. The following month she did not show or call for the visit. We never heard anything again.

OK. If at this point you were thinking of taking a break you must not. If your spouse's hand is stuck in the disposal, the damage is already done. So sit tight. The children may look pale and grayish from lack of food while reading this post for the last 30 minutes but just throw them a piece of gum and keep reading. It is too good not to...

Oh, alllll right. I will write about it in the next one.

Two Tips Tuesday

TIP #1 What Do I Do With The Leftover Heels From A Loaf Of Bread?

This may not leave any of you in a state of panic as it does me since I hate to waste ANYTHING. So this is what I do...I use them for breadcrumbs that I can throw in the freezer for later use (like meatloaf) . Not only that, I use a coffee grinder to do it. Yes, I do have a food processor. Love it. Do not love to clean it, however. So I use the grinder for the bread heels and stale bread too.

Bonus Tip: Bread is also a perfect way to clean your coffee grinder if you use it to grind your coffee each day. I personally love fresh ground coffee but I have become simplistic...ok, lazy...and I just buy ground coffee. But throw some bread in your grinder and it cleans it right up. Uncooked rice works great too. Kind of scrubs it out. But I have found bread works perfectly for me. Just make sure it is really clean before doing the bread crumbs, though!


TIP #2 Create A New Look For A Sweater Or Cardigan

This may be daunting for the non-sewer but good news...I really can't sew either. I kind of wing it and I can get pretty impatient about it. But if I need to sew a button back on to a shirt or do a simple project, I do OK. So I have some sweaters, cardigans,and shrugs that I can get bored with and want to give it some new life. Here are some examples...

I love this little cardigan and I found it on crazy clearance but it had this bling bling, Rhinestone button (see it below in my hand) that was totally not the look I was after. So I bought it anyway and replaced the button with something more toned down like the one above.

Seriously, don't you think I would have been so hot all blinged out with this sparkly button? Um, no. So glad I changed it. But I have kept the button wondering how it can come in handy in the future.

BEFORE

Here is another inexpensive purchase but the buttons always bugged me. The white buttons always made it look like what I paid for it.

AFTER

I put these chunky, brown ones on but I still don't like it. I think I need really funky, crazy unique ones for this one. It still says BLAH to me. But you get my point of this tip and that should be my focus here.

BEFORE

This black sweater was purchased at Target because I needed it for some reason that escapes me at the moment. It had these iridescent, shell buttons that drove me crazy. Can you tell I have an issue purchasing things with buttons I do not like but I still purchase them? It's ridiculous.

AFTER

On this one I just removed the three buttons but instead of replacing all three, I replaced the top button with a ribbon. I used black to maintain the integrity of the look but I really like how this one ended up turning out. If I wanted to make it a little fancier, I would have used a silky or satin type ribbon to dress it up. The possibilities are just limitless.

Hope you enjoy these tips and I welcome comments or tips of yours too! Happy Tuesday!

2 Shades of Pink Story: Part 4

The drive home from the airport was a quiet one. What else was there to say? Anthony was gone. It was difficult to say that he went home. Because we were his home. At least that was the truth in our hearts.

I have to tell you that the pain of this hit hardest in the silence of the house. Everything was neat. Everything where it should be. No baby giggles. No hunger or sleepy cries. Just the deafening, loud silence.

We had a going away party for Anthony the weekend before he left. One of my friends left us a little bag with packs of tissues and gourmet cookies. I got that bag and put it to good use. Brandon took off the whole day and wonders even now why he did not take off the day before to be with Anthony instead of the day he left only to be confronted by his absence. But I know he did it for me too. It would have been so hard to be there all alone.

The one thing I did not share with you is how God prepared me so much to let him go. The strength, the peace, the trust was so supernatural. I wish I had more words to convey this knowing that was there. Pain and grief, of course. But a knowing that my God had not left us, that he was still working and still coordinating our journey.

I do not remember much of that day except the silence. It was a Wednesday he left and on Friday something surprising happened. We initially were going to take a break from fostering but we found ourselves ready for another child. Amazing. And we actually got a call and the sweetest but most frightened little boy came to our home.

Oh how he broke our hearts. He had been left alone by his mother and she unwisely bragged at a bar one night bar about leaving him at home. The bartender, God bless this person, called the police who found this precious child on a dirty mattress, among glass bottles, caps, and other debris. When he arrived in our home he had bug bites covering his body and smelled strongly of urine. I did not care while hugging and kissing this child. He was only 17 months old! We had to give him two baths just to remove the smell from his hair. And he would cry in the crib with this whimpering cry that would soften the hardest of hearts.

By the end of the weekend he was smiling, laughing, and playing ball. Sadly, on Monday we let him go because it was a weekend placement. I was also traveling alone to see family up north and surprise a friend for her birthday. They called us that Monday to ask us to keep him long term and we would have loved to...so much...if I was not leaving for 10 days. Obviously, they needed to find a home for him. My sweet husband still thinks about him to this day.

You may wonder why I am telling you this. But you will understand by the end. I am giving you significant events and time lines to support the final chapter of this miraculous journey. A lot of you may already know this story but I am being very specific here in these posts. Because my testimony would take hours if I told it exactly how it all played out. And these details matter oh so much.

So I come back from visiting family. It is just us for awhile and I even struggle with the feelings of freedom I am experiencing. Along with guilt. Like I am so glad I can go sit and drink coffee somewhere. Go for a bike ride alone. Walk the dog. Whatever. But if I could choose it would be to have Anthony back. Even as we continued praying for the time when the next child came to our home, we began asking God for specifics. Two actually.

One was to have a small infant.

The other was to be able to adopt the next child who came into our home.

I know. Tall order, right? When we took the MAPP class to be licensed as foster parents, I distinctly remember a day where they said small infants were a rarity and even more rare was to end up adopting that child. You know what else was rare? A girl. Statistically speaking, more boys than girls are fostered.

Are the details becoming more fascinating as you learn them since the very end is so obvious?

But I remember this day so clearly because when the instructor said this I instantly half prayed and half thought: God you are bigger than statistics and you can do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine. I believe now that on a subconscious level I was there to adopt but I really did not know this at the time.

So then we get the call. Around mid August. There is a premature infant in the NICU at All Children's Hospital who needs a foster home. He is this tiny little baby, 6 weeks old. The first thing we are asked is if we are willing to adopt since his parents rights were about to be terminated.

What? OF COURSE WE ARE WILLING TO ADOPT!!!! This was such an answer to prayer that I was almost knocked off my feet! Wow! Wow! Wow! We were so excited!

The only problem was that he had to stay in the hospital until he would stop having episodes where he would stop breathing while eating. He was unable to coordinate sucking and swallowing simultaneously. There was talk that he would need to go to a medical foster home if these episodes continued. He needed to go 5 days without an episode before being released into regular care.

So we waited two weeks.

In the meantime, our parents sent care packages of little boy clothes. I went shopping for all the stuff I would need for an itty, bitty baby. How exciting that I had time to do this before he arrived. And I knew, I just knew God was healing this little boy so he could come home to us.

We get a call on Wednesday August 30th that he had been fine for 3 days and to come see him in the hospital in order to bond and know how to care for him.

That night we saw him in the NICU. I will call him J. He was so small and so sweet. We got to hold him, change him, feed him, love on him. We bonded and our hearts were his.

The next day, the hospital calls. J had another episode and it is being determined that J will go to a medical foster home.

Devastated. God, why? It was so hard. We actually held this little boy in our arms. Why? My husband was ready to throw in the towel with fostering. He was crushed. And this is what the Lord did for me....He renewed my strength.

I looked at my husband and said that we HAD to believe God's purpose in this. We had to remember that God has never, ever let us down. Ever. And we are to forget not ALL of his benefits. This was one of them. We had to believe. For whatever the reason.

So we had to let J go. And welcome back grief.

But wait...what was this? Well blessed be. We had hope.

Then on Friday we get another call from placement...

"Hi. We have another child who needs care. We have a 3 week little girl, born 8 weeks premature who is still in the NICU at All Children's. Are you interested?"

But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you. Psalm 39:7

"YES! Of course we are interested!"
"Great. We can bring her tonight. The Child Protection Investigator will be bringing her."

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and fault less is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."
James 1:27

"Thank you so much for calling." I hang up. A little girl is coming. Wow. Just days after being told J would not be. Only God's goodness can explain it.

Against all hope, Abraham in hope, believed...Romans 4:18

Our only thoughts were the excitement of bringing this precious child into our home. To love her and care for her and give her everything she needed. God is always faithful, always working, never passive, intimately mindful of every person's needs. Every single one. Faith is where we are able to see God's might and power...

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.
Hebrews 11:1

And even when we are faithless, His power is still there...

"If we are faithless, he will remain faithful..." 2 Timothy 2:13

On September 1, 2006 we welcomed a little baby girl into our home, our hearts...

This was in the first few minutes upon meeting her. What a tiny baby. A little over 5 lbs.

This is me and sweet baby girl.

Hubby holding this precious bundle.

This is her now...Her name is Cati.

Now the story gets goooooood...

2 Shades of Pink Story: Part 3

Sit back because those of you who wanted to just keep reading and reading...this one is a little long.

So on that life changing Wednesday I decided to watch the news.

I am not a news watcher. Probably due to the fact that the house I grew up in had CNN and later, Fox News on 24 hours a day. If we were in a car, then it was AM talk radio. So as an adult, I must say that the news was a way for me to catch up on the weather and maybe to see what time it was. So the fact that I was watching the news was completely divine intervention.

At that point in my life I was a Resume Writer and Interview Coach working out of my home office. Now if I had not been working from home I would have missed this segment. I think it started around 4 in the afternoon. So as I popped on the news for a reason only a supreme God would know, I saw the segment of Wednesdays Child where a child up for adoption was featured. This little girl with huge eyes and long brown hair was the most precious thing I had ever seen. The news anchor was at a playground talking to this little girl who actually asked Marty Matthews (the anchor) to be her Mommy and take her home. Marty hugged her and you could tell she was trying to remain professional. What a pure cry from that little innocent heart! And I sat there mesmerized. Compassion like I have never known invaded my entire being. I saw with new eyes, (God's eyes, I think) a child who needed parents to love her.

And who better to fill that need then a couple who want a child to fill their hearts?

I literally wanted to adopt this little girl. Right then and there. I get on the website to check this all out and I am stunned to see something called The Heart Gallery where there are so many children needing a loving home. I literally had no idea. None. I read on about the need for foster parents right in our county and how there are more children needing to be fostered and adopted then homes to put them in. This was so devastating to me.

I crank out an impulsive but heart felt email to my husband. I tell him that while seeing this news segment I have this deep and terrifying feeling that God is calling us to become foster parents. Of course, I ask him to pray with me about this to know whether I am reacting to emotion of if this really was God moving us. His reaction was not surprising.

Where in the world did this come from?

Um, God. Duuuuhhh.

But of course he is not a mind reader and he knows me. Thank you, Lord. And listens and takes it all in agreeing to pray about this. I am so excited because the knowing just continues to grow. By the end of that week, after praying together and on our own, hubby comes back to me and tells me he is as excited as I am about becoming foster parents.

HALLELUJAH!!!!!!

This is now around September of 2005. I send an email to get additional information and I find out about an orientation meeting being held at the Safe Children Coalition (now Eckerd Youth Alternatives) So we go. And an evil presence decided to carpool with us to the meeting. A presences who's intent is to steal, kill and destroy.

Oh, you should have seen me. This informational meeting is almost a means to chase those who are merely curious for the hills. They tell you everything in worse case scenario. How these kids come into foster care. What it might be like once they are in your home. How the primary goal is reunification with parents. That if you are looking for an infant to eventually adopt those situations are incredibly rare. And on and on and on. And if you were looking at me, I looked like a rebellious teen, slumped in my chair, my arms crossed and a snarling scowl on my face.

I look at hubby and say, "I am not sure I want to do this." But I find myself filling out paperwork as if I am totally ready to do this. But I had no conscious idea that I was terrified. Out of my mind scared.

None of these thoughts actually came to my mind in clear sentences but rather I detected jumbled emotions and scattered impressions of thoughts. Like, how could I bond with a child only to lose him or her? Could I go through the pain of infertility only to feel teased with loving a child and losing that child too? Why go through this torment? Am I even worthy to do this? Am I being selfish and self serving? Is this actually for me or for a child? What will they think of me if I admit I only want Caucasian children since there may be the off chance we would adopt him or her? Will our family support us? Would they love a child in our home?

On and on I anguish. For the next few months. But then the calm after the storm finally arrived. By December we were enrolled in a MAPP class, one of many requirements of becoming a licensed foster parent. By January of 2006, we were in the midst of having a home health inspection, filling out paperwork an inch thick, conducting two home studies, getting references filled out and mailed, redoing our guest room to be ready for a child between and ages of 0-2 and preparing our hearts for the child God would bring. Any child, I might add.

Often, we would go into the room to pray for the child who would come to us. And on March 27, 2006, we received the call that we had become Licensed Foster Parents.

That evening, little 6 month old Anthony came into our world.

These pictures were literally taken within 10 minutes of his arrival into our home. We carried him and his little bag into the house, grabbed the camera and started clicking. It was such an anticipated moment that we wanted to capture it forever.

How could you not just want to nibble on those chubby little cheeks? Was he not the most precious thing in the world? Oh that sweet little boy. My heart is beating faster at the love I still carry in my heart for him.

OK. Now I am crying right at this very moment. I am so shocked by this response even as I look at the blurry letters appearing on the screen. Looking at his face is so bittersweet that I have just stopped to ask God to help me breathe. This little boy swiftly entered our hearts within the first seconds upon laying eyes upon him. And every fear I had about fostering disappeared like a vapor upon the solid realization that this boy deserved nothing less than every ounce of love we could give him.

And how we loved him.

There are too many details to share and I also want to protect the confidentiality surrounding his particular case. But the summary of this was that within one month of his stay, we received the devastating news that his birth mother had been found dead in an elevator after overdosing at the age of 32. I almost fell to the floor upon hearing this news. He had no other relatives who wanted him and though they could not promise anything there was a chance we could have him long term and indefinitely.

Wow. As first time foster parents we were convinced that through such awful circumstances, this little boy would be given a chance at life and we would be there to give him a home and all the love we could give.

But what actually happened was the maternal grandfather and wife had wanted him all along. We just never heard that. They live in the Northwest and had already adopted her first 2 children for the last 10 years and wanted Anthony and his older brother who was also currently in care. And that is what happened.

On July 19, 2006, we experienced heartbreak and pain like no other I have ever experienced. Ever. At 4 am we drove him to the airport to say good be to him. The night before I was rocking him to sleep, praying, crying, asking God for strength. Because as he peacefully slept in my arms I knew I would never hold him like this again, I would never put him to bed or sing him worship songs to sleep. I held him for over 30 minutes. Just swaying back and forth in the dark room, grieving that this child I wanted for my own was indeed not the child God planned for us.

At the airport we were a mess.

The picture is blurry but this is me getting Anthony out of his car seat at the airport. I was not holding it together well.

Anthony with Daddy Bamm. (I was Mommy Jess)

I was a little better here waiting for the Case Manager to check in.

This may sound so funny but when we had to say goodbye at Security I had one hope. I had told this to Brandon the night before. I said, "I pray as he leaves he does not look back." I would never be able to live with that being the last moment with him in my mind's eye. He was going to live with his 3 half brothers and Grandparents. He was going to be loved. And he was moving forward. It was symbolic for me. When it came time to say goodbye, we hugged him, kissed him and told him we loved him, the pain was more than I could ever have known. We were sobbing so loud. A chunk of my heart had been gauged out. Though there would be healing, I felt like my heart would never be whole again.

As the case manager pushed his stroller away, Anthony looked straight ahead as he got ready to go home. Not once did he look back. Oh how God honored that prayer and a peace came over me. I knew we were going to make it.

Octopus or Hot Dog?

Both! This picture just makes me laugh out loud. This is the dinner I fed Cati last night. I mean look at it. It is a hot dog cut to look like an octopus on top of a bed of leftover buttered noodles, green beans and goldfish crackers. Got the idea from a book on kid's meals from the library. Their picture is so much better and not made with leftovers from the fridge.

Mmmmmm mm.

But before I go on about this hot dog, I must make it abundantly clear that I am totally unable to write my Two Shades of Pink Story on a daily basis. The heart can only take so much. I need to break it up with crafts, tips, or funny things my kids do. And seriously, what better way to follow up a serious post then to have this octopus hot dog be the first thing you see? You have to admit it made you smile or laugh out loud. Or the fact I thought Cati's dinner was a photo op and blog worthy.

Cati had me in stitches while eating this thing. I am in the kitchen washing dishes and I hear her strike up a dialogue with Mr. Octopus. I don't hear his side but from what she is saying they are so talking to each other.

"Mr. Octopus! You are just so cuuuuuuuuute! There's your eyes and your smiiiiiiiiile!"

"Mommy, look at Mr. Octopus! Isn't he so cute?"

"Yes, Mr. Octopus these are goldfish crackers and they are yummy!"

"Hey, where's Mr. Octopus' face? Where did it go?"

"Where did it gooooooooo? Oh, Mr. Octopus. I so sorry."

"Oh, okaaaaaaay Mr. Octopus. I'll eat you." Bite. Gulp. Swallow.

Okidokes. Clearly Mr. Octopus was on the ledge and looking for a way to end it all. Sadly, Cati unknowingly assisted in his suicidal demise by succumbing to his incessant pleading to eat him. The remains were found with a partial head intact and 7 legs missing.

Green beans survived the massacre.

2 Shades of Pink Story: Part 2

So where were we?

Ah. I find out I have PCOS. I also begin seeing an Infertility Specialist who wants me on a drug called Metformin which is supposed to help with weight loss and help jump start the ovulation process.

And so the infertility dance begins.

During this initial quest, I am still hopeful. I take the Chlomid and Metformin for about 6 months but nothing really changed to indicate ovulation. When I was about to start doing the dreaded (and self administered) shots in the stomach, I was ready to take a break.

Then a year goes by. My cycles return on their own but they were crazy. Some were every 20 days. Others were every 52 days. But I felt like it was progress because I had not had a cycle in so long. I still went up and down with my weight. The break was a time for me to not even deal with infertility but now I felt like a barren woman, not worthy of bearing a child and my marriage took a major hit.

My husband and I struggled the first few years of our marriage after a short courtship and many financial hardships. Our intimacy became almost nonexistent and I even entertained the ugly, D word. Hopelessness and despair became close friends. Then my old, best friend and I got reacquainted.

Anger.

I needed to someone to blame. Not God, of course. If I blame Him he will snatch my uterus right out of me when I am not looking. Can't make the Creator of human life mad. Not my husband. Can't blame a man you are seldom intimate with. So who is to blame? Where can I direct my anger at the unjustness of it all?

Mothers. All of em.' Pregnant women, grandmothers, unwed teen girls, moms who complain about being moms, moms who are pregnant and don't want a particular gender. The wrath of Jessica was coming their way. I was justified by the cry of an empty womb and by golly those women had better tread lightly in my presence. If you were pregnant, you better suck that belly in or apologize profusely for carrying your 8 month fetus in my face. If you complained about your whiny child, my brain would scream at them..."At least you have a child albeit a whiny one!" What did I have? Two dogs, a cat, and marriage on the rocks.

Bitter was an understatement to describe how I felt. Baby showers were like torture devices wrapped in powder smelling packages. I was practically writhing in pain at all the seasoned mothers and their precious nuggets of wisdom. The looks of pity when asked if I have children and my answer of no with a cheerful "We're trying!" added in for good measure.

Ugh. And it always felt like a baby boom was upon our church during the darkest and lowest times. Everyone was pregnant! My favorite was when I would get the pregnancy announcements in batches of threes and fours. Or shower invitations on consecutive weekends.

I think I have described the pain adequately. This daily pain of wanting to be a mother down to every cell in my body crying out, "WHEN IS IT GOING TO BE MY TURN?"

Now understand that adoption was not even on my radar. To be honest, it felt second rate to take in a child that was someone else's. I was actually appalled at the idea. Because that was not the plan. I was going to be married at 24, pregnant by 25 and on to my third child by 30.

That. Was. The. PLAN. But I was 29.

And how could I love a child that was not my flesh and blood? How could we even be a real family?

When the journey brought me down this low path of bitterness and jealousy, I began believing I was literally barren. During this time, I was in a bible study and one week we were studying the verse in Isaiah 54 that says "Sing, O barren woman, you who never bore a child..." and on this day as we read this verse, I begin making this sputtering, moaning sound before erupting into tears. Of course, the study leader does what I despise...stops the study in its tracks to focus on me. Every other woman in the room (with all wonderful intentions) touch my arm, leg, or grabbed tissues, and got ready for me to spill my heart. Then, I hear myself cry out, "I CAN'T HAVE CHILDREN!" and lose myself in desperate sobbing. As I sit here and remember this I am wincing because all I think now is "Geesh, what a drama queen. Where did I get that from? No doctor had ever even told me that."

But I believed it with everything in me.

The leader begins a beautiful dissertation on how adoption is a viable and wonderful way to be a parent. I think I actually heard violins. I then say out loud that adoption is not what I want. I want my own children who look like me and my husband. I want his sweet spirit or my humor in my child. His eyes, my hair color. And the leader says that maybe an adopted child won't look like you but they can have your values and even your mannerisms...and in the same breath says...wait for it..."Although none of my children could ever try and claim not to be mine because they look exactly like me."

I nearly lost my religion.

How she thought this was inspiring or encouraging is beyond me. Of course, as you read this you know I adopted Cati. My oldest. My heart in the flesh. Who is exactly like me and so gets me. So Bible lady with carbon copy kids meant well. And she was actually right. But I think of the bible verse in Proverbs 25:20 where it says,

"Like one who takes away a garment on a cold day, or like vinegar poured on soda, is one who sings songs to a heavy heart."

Needless to say, I never returned to that bible study. But for the next several months I just kind of coasted along, being a wife, being a Christian, and figuring out where God wanted us to go next. Because becoming pregnant was starting to become a far reaching dream that I would never realize.

Until one Wednesday, as I watched Channel 10 news with a segment called Wednesday's Child. A day that would begin a journey that would change our lives...