Livia Day involved our second salamander hunt of the summer. And while Liv has found snails and flowers and exercise and fresh air, she and Jeremy haven’t yet located salamanders. I don’t know that anyone’s devastated by that fact, however. The reward seems to be in the adventures had together. On Sunday we waded through wet grasses, crossed over railroad tracks and back again, went under bridges and over them, and worked up an appetite for a hardy lunch at a nearby diner.
It was a good day.
Pull on some shoes, grab a net and get hunting because it’s Livia Day!
Seven years ago today Livia Raine came into our lives and thus today is a day of celebration.
Thank you, God, for your grace in our lives. You have made us a family and you’ve blessed us beyond telling. May Livia never know a day she doesn’t trust in and rely upon Jesus. May you draw us closer to you and closer as a family. We are so grateful, Lord! Thank you for Livia.
I love that, after we told you that you may not ask to hang out with our neighbor friend (a male approximately 22 years old), that you later sobbed to me, “It’s just that I’m so attracted to him!”
I love that you bring me flowers multiple times a day and that you delight in giving them to me.
I love that you asked if my throat hurt tonight—because if it did, you would only ask for one song. But since it felt okay, you requested two.
I love that, when I guessed the next plot point on tonight’s tv show, you turned to me with amazement and asked in awe, “How did you know that?” I felt like a genius in those few seconds.
I love that you call your daddy a genius and that you didn’t listen to me that one time I tried to tell you otherwise. Without fully meaning to, I was being a jerk. But you forgot what I said and you still call him a genius. And I’m starting to believe you’re right. He is a genius, our genius, and we love him to death.
I love that you wanted to see what I bought at the mall today. And that you oohed and ahhed and commented on the absolute cuteness of each article of clothing, even though one was a pretty basic white shirt. I think you noticed the subtle details that made it so cute in the first place.
I love that you slept in longer than me and your dad this morning and that, when I came to wake you up, you stretched out, long and lean, then curled up tight again and went back to sleep again. For a moment I could imagine teenage Livia doing that very thing. But then you stuck your fingers in your mouth, and that darned bad habit was briefly welcomed because it broke my vision of the future, a vision that had you getting big way too fast.
Oh Livia Raine, our lives would be so boring, so mundane, so colorless without you. We thank God for creating you because you have filled our hearts with more love than we thought possible. You, dear sweet kiddo, are amazing. And you are loved.
Jeremy and I decided to become foster parents in January. We just completed our coursework last night and I’m sitting down to try and make sense of both where we are today and how we got here.
As it turns out, I had preconceived notions of foster kids and foster families and, well, the entire foster care system that I couldn’t even put into words before we began our training. I never really understood why people would choose to become foster parents. It sounded kind of messy. It also sounded like something I had read in an old Christian fiction book in 6th grade. Wasn’t there a Libby character who was a foster kid and always messed up while her bio sister looked and acted perfectly? And then Libby’s dad would show her grace, I suppose he was the Christlike figure. So there you go, the extent of my knowledge and education. Gross.
My ideas began to be changed and molded by a deep friendship with another adoptive mama, who also is a foster mom. She was (and still is!) a normal and loving mother. Her kids are normal and loving kids. Foster or adopted, they are just her kids. Normal kids. Normal meaning hilarious, fun, precious, crazy sinners like the rest of us. My old notions began falling away and I began to build new thoughts. I, a mom by adoption, wanted more children. There are lots of local children in the foster care system, many waiting to be adopted, but I would *never* be able to adopt them unless I became a foster parent.
Our tale really kicked into gear when Jeremy—who had to, by his own admission, be dragged into parenthood to begin with—said we should become foster parents. Really, this fact still hits me as remarkable and miraculous and I am grateful that God was working in his heart. What a blessing to be on the same page here. So we called Christian Heritage, a local agency that shares our Christian worldview, and we began our ten weeks of classes in February. It’s been a long time since Jeremy and I took night classes for college—this was definitely comparable in terms of time commitment. We signed up for the training with friends from church, my foster mom friend encouraged me all along the way, and my parents supported us by caring for Livia so we could attend the classes.
We filled out a lot of paperwork. We got background checks. And physicals from doctors. And completed a lot of homework. And met with Christian Heritage folks in our home. And our hearts have been changed in the process.
Foster care is far more than a way to build our family. It’s an amazing way for us to invest in the future of our city and state. One of my preconceived notions is right, though: it is messy. By its very definition, it’s messy, sin is messy. We’re talking about families that are being torn apart by abusive and neglectful behaviors committed by parents and guardians. And here, right in the middle of the situation is a child who has no control over their crumbling world and is desperately in need of some loving care. Can you see how someone might get starry-eyed at this point? I want to save the children, love the children! Well, foster care training does a darn good job of wiping those stars from your eyes. More often than not, we would end our evenings feeling like we were in way over our heads. And we still feel that way to some degree. We are humbled by the task. We know we can’t do it alone. We trust that God will give us what we need, when we need it—and that includes support from family, friends, church, schools, Christian Heritage, etc.
We are not going into this system alone. Not by a long shot.
So, now that classes are done, are we ready to have kids placed in our home? Not quite yet. There are loose ends to tie up, a waiting game to play, and then we’ll be added to a list of foster families awaiting placements. Even then, it’s my understanding that fostering requires a large amount of flexibility and a willingness to go with the flow of the court system of the state of Nebraska. If we are looking for absolute control and strong deadlines and a life of “sure things” then foster care is simply not the way to go. Jeremy and I would be kidding ourselves if we thought we were in control anyway. God has carried us through the sufferings and joys of our lives—and He is the one we serve in all this.
Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” [James 4:13-15]
May God be praised by the misty offerings of our lives.
Livia accidentally described Shiloh as being “furrzy” (fuzzy + furry) and the new term has become a favorite of mine. In Shiloh’s case, it’s incredibly accurate: he is one of the furrziest dogs I know. See all the fluff on him? He’s really quite Chihuahua-like on the inside, the rest is all fluffy Coton fur. Besides his high state of furrziness, he’s also—as these photos prove—quite adept with his tongue.
In the middle of the night I “heard” Livia’s voice calling for me, so I jumped out of bed, ran into her room and began asking her questions and patting her face before I realized she was sound asleep. Dead asleep, even with her mama’s hands groping her noggin in the pitch black at 3:00am. Niiiice.
The weird thing is that sometimes I think I’m hearing her when she’s not even in the house! She’ll be asleep in my parents’ extra room and I’ll sit up straight in bed after hearing her call for Mommy.
The most unfortunate consequence of getting up for a real call or imaginary one is that I can’t fall back asleep easily. I usually spend 20-30 minutes trying to relax again, my mind spinning with unsleepy thoughts. Curse you, adulthood, with your multitude of responsibilities!
My last thought regarding sleep and children and responsible parental behaviors is this: Friday mornings are only accomplished successfully because Saturday is just one day away. Friday comes around and it’s almost physically painful to rouse myself and Livia from bed. Get dressed. Get shoes on. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Brush hair. Get out the door and get into school on time.
But oh, sweet sweet Saturday. How I adore thee. I didn’t fully appreciate your beauty until school started—I was blind to your precious ways. But now? I can see clearly your benefits. Pajamas until 3:00pm. Lucky Charms for breakfast. Lounging on the couch until lunchtime.
TGIF.
Today is warmish (49 degrees!) and sunny and most Nebraskans I’ve seen are not even wearing their coats today. I, however, am still clad in my winter coat and knit hat because I’m a wimp.
Livia and Papa headed out the back door and onto the frozen lake. A fisherman said the ice was five inches thick—and that was when I decided to relax a little. With the sun shining overhead, Livia took off her boots and put on a pair of slippers in hopes of adequate sliddage on the ice. Apparently, we now are in the market for a size 1 pair of ice skates.
It’s my birthday and I am blogging as a 33 year old woman who has had her fill of cake today. I planned my birthday celebrations around food (and family) and I declare this a very successful birthday indeed!
Lunch was spent at the Green Gateau in Lincoln because they have, hands-down, the best roasted red pepper soup I’ve ever put in my mouth. It is divine. Dessert, a slice of apricot torte, was a winner as well. But I went for the soup—and the company, my folks!—and left a happy birthday girl.
Dinner was centered around dessert. Tonight the fam met up with my mother and father-in-law at Granite City because the restaurant serves a chocolate cake that is out of this world. It’s got a million layers of chocolate cake and chocolate frosting, all set on a layer of whipped cream with—this is best part—a rich butter whiskey sauce you pour over the top. Oh goodness gracious. Happy birthday indeed.
Thanks to my sweet family for loving me so much they indulge my gastronomical whims. I love you guys!
This image accurately depicts life in the Tredway household today. Livia was up in the night with a stomachache and the remainders of a cold. Jeremy was up most of the night with a whopping head cold and now it seems to have turned into something a little more flu-like with fever and chills.
It’s been a couch-focused Saturday with plenty of television consumption.
But the Christmas trees have all been trimmed, the December Photo Project is rolling along beautifully, and staying at home for a day is a good deal for my little family. Let’s hope everyone feels better tomorrow.
One more thing. GO BIG RED! Let’s win that Big XII title tonight.
