FEAR

I am not, by nature, an "eternal optimist". I've never been a "glass half full" kind of girl. I'm a worrier. I'm paranoid. When I was little, I was convinced that at any moment either (1) a tornado was going to flatten my house or (2) a fire was going to burn it to the ground. I'm not kidding. I'm not even remotely trying to be funny. That is the God-honest truth. I've always been the" prepare for the worst and then you won't be disappointed" type.

Hello, my name is Courtney, and I'm a recovering pessimist. I say recovering because I'm pushing through my fears. Yep that's what it all boils down to FEAR! Big fat ugly 4 letter word now isn't it? (Ha! I just re-counted the letters to make sure there were four) But it's there. I'm sure it exists in all of us to one extent or another. I hope that we all have, at the very least, some healthy fear. You know like the kind of fear that tells you, at eight years of age, that you cannot fly so don't even try it?

But over the last few years I think God has been teaching me (okay more like compelling me) to stop walking around afraid. Even before this whole adoption process became a reality, He started pushing me to realize that a lot (okay most) of my fears were completely unfounded. He also started showing me that my fears are an insult to Him and who He is. Yep, I'm insulting the Creator of the Universe by choosing to be afraid and not trust Him. Thankfully, He is also a good and loving God, who has an enormous amount of patience with me and all of my craziness.

Marrying Patrick has been an exercise in risk-taking. Not actually marrying him. I mean marrying him wasn't in and of itself a risk (he's an incredibly stable guy), but Patrick is a lot more of a risk-taker than I ever care to be. He chose a job, real estate, that completely depends on the ebb and flow of the economy. Then he chose to buy rental properties which I wouldn't have done in a million years. Then he told me that he wanted to become a part owner in his company. All the while, I was in the corner hyperventilating into a paper (not plastic) bag. Have I had a "freak" out moment or two in this whole process? Have there been some arguments about whether or not "this" or "that" was a good idea? You betcha, but I'm also learning that I can't stand still and do nothing just because I'm afraid.

Just a little over four years after getting married, I gave birth to Andrew five weeks early. And along with crazy hormone lady, I turned into a great big bundle of nerves. Is he hungry? Did he eat enough? If I just give him formula am I the worst mom ever? Why won't he sleep? Why is he sleeping so much? What if he breaks? What if I don't hold him enough? What if I hold him too much? When did he last poop? Are we bonding? Finally, I had to realize that I'm not perfect. No mother is. And I gave it to God and did my best. Guess what? Andrew is a happy, healthy, thriving three year old. Sure he has his moments, but last night when I was laying beside him in his bed he said, "Mom, I really like you." Now he tells me he loves me all the time, but when he says he likes me, that is a huge compliment. It means I'm at the level of his friends, his toys, and his Dad. Nothing to complain about there.

Enter adoption. Oh my goodness. This process can induce the kind of panic that is almost heart stopping. The questions. The coordination of all the appointments. The paperwork. The waiting . . . and waiting . . . and more waiting. FEAR! and I mean in a major way! But I'm learning. It may take me a while, but I am learning. Which is why, I have bought a few things. First of all, it's why I've started collecting things for her room. Because it shouts in the face of fear. I also bought a little dress for her. I bought size 24 months. I'm sure that even if she's closer to three than two, it will fit her at some point. It's a summer dress so who knows if the seasons will be right? But again, I'm not giving in to fear.  Beyond that, and more importantly, it's why I pray, but I don't just pray, I quote God's Word. I've found time and time again that there is power in His Word that cannot be found anywhere else. It has the ability to calm and bring peace like nothing I've ever experienced.

So I may still have my moments, but I would say that I am definitely a recovering pessimist on my way to becoming an (eternal?) optimist.

Psalm 18:30

New International Version (NIV)

 ³⁰ As for God, his way is perfect:
   The LORD’s word is flawless;
   he shields all who take refuge in him.

Isaiah 41:10

New International Version (NIV)
¹⁰ So do not fear, for I am with you;
   do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
   I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

That Woman

I never dreamed I would be "that" woman. You know, the one who holds up the grocery store line. What did you think I was talking about?

I should start with an explanation otherwise this will make zero sense. Andrew's preschool sells HEB gift cards as a fundraiser of sorts. They get a percentage of the proceeds, and the more they sell the more mulah they make. There's no catch. You buy the gift cards. You use the gift cards. So I signed up to buy two $100 gift cards each month. I knew that I would easily spend that in groceries. Not a problem.

So yesterday morning I headed to HEB to do some grocery shopping. I was in a hurry mostly because I was starving and didn't want to buy too much junk to feed my ravenous appetite. I may or may not have grabbed a bag of twizzlers, walked around with them, and then put them back on the shelf. I, also, may or may not have bought a box of chocolate covered ice cream cones, which I swore were for Patrick and Andrew but was forced to eat (not the whole box just one) after hearing the Casey Anthony verdict. But we won't go there.

Anway, I managed to make it through my grocery shopping experience with a minimum of dirty looks from people that seemed to think they owned the store (have I ever mentioned that I strongly dislike grocery shopping). I was pretty proud of myself because approximately 3/4 (okay maybe more like 1/2) of my basket was full of healthy items (dog food and 409 don't count either way). So I parked my happy self in line and proceeded to wait.

Once the lady started checking me out, I remembered my HEB gift cards. I knew I had put them in a "safe" place in my purse. Good luck remembering where that "safe" place might be. I started hunting for them. I opened every zipper, every pocket, every secret compartment. No HEB gift cards appeared. At this point, I'm starting to sweat . . . no literally, I was hot and starting to sweat. For one, they were bagging my groceries, and the lady behind me was staring at me none too kindly. And two, and may I add most importantly, I couldn't locate $200 worth of gift cards.

I decided that I would go ahead and use my debit card. I mean, I could use the gift cards in the next couple weeks. It's not like I never go grocery shopping . . . oh wait, it is like I never go grocery shopping . . . I digress (we'll discuss my grocery shopping issues at another time). So I swiped my debit card and went to put it back in my purse when I noticed my HEB cards (right in front of my eyes). Awesome, I figured I could just cancel my transaction and swipe them. Or not! I tried to cancel and couldn't do it. So I asked the checker to do it, and she couldn't either. I told her it was no big deal, but she says, "Oh no, it'll only take a minute. I'll just call the manager." At this point the lady behind me was shooting daggers, and I was apologizing profusely. You think I'm kidding . . . if looks could kill . . . The manager finally showed up and put all these codes into the computer. Apparently, you have to be a secret agent with top level security clearance to clear out someone's transaction. She took a few minutes to clear it out. Meanwhile the line was steadily growing. People were mumbling under their breath. I was hanging my head in shame. Needless to say, I paid and bolted.

While, I was loading my groceries into the car, the lady with the killer death stare walked by with her family, and her son (or grandson) took a moment to burn a hole straight through me. You know, Superman style. I pretended like I didn't see him all the while dripping sweat and turning beat red. I'm cool like that. Anyway, I learned my lesson. From now on, I will send my husband to do all the grocery shopping. I kid, I kid . . . I will never huff or puff, or whine or complain when some poor soul is taking a little longer than they should in the grocery store line. Believe me people, I didn't do it on purpose. And I still plan on sending Patrick to the grocery store.

This post brought to you by women everywhere whose purses are too big and memories are too short.

Also and more importantly: No grocery store checkers and/or baggers were harmed in the very slightly exaggerated writing of this post.

The 4th of July Davis Style

If you're thinking our 4th of July sounds adventuresome and exciting you're going to be dissapointed.  It was actually pretty laid-back, and I somehow managed to make it through the whole day without taking a single picture. No wait . . . I was wrong . . . I did take a single picture after all . . . of the back of my parents' house.

Wow! Now there's a thrilling photo . . .

Anyway, we had a good fourth. We spent the afternoon at my parents'. As usual, we managed to eat way too much. I have the uncanny ability to continue eating even when I feel like I could explode. It's a gift few were given. I would've stopped, but my grandmothers made Italian Cream Cake and Double Choc. Cookies. What's a girl to do?

We didn't make it into the river to swim. No one felt like it before we ate and afterward everyone was too full to move. So we talked and cleaned up the kitchen while the kids played. It was quiet and low-key. My favorite kind of holiday.

Normally, after we finish at my parents' we come back home and meet my in-laws at the park here in town to watch fireworks. Sadly, there were no fireworks this year. It's just too dry. All of the fireworks stands were closed, and most of the surrounding towns and cities cancelled their shows. There were a couple of nearby towns that still had theirs, but frankly, I'm glad ours was cancelled. We have a lot of farm and ranch land near where we live, and it's just not worth the risk of causing a huge fire. We're praying for rain, and if we get some, the show is scheduled for Labor Day.

There's not much else happening in my world. I've been slathering lotion on my hands hoping that it will help my electronic fingerprints to turn out well. I'm also trying not to burn my fingers. I'm a good cook, but I'm a dangerous cook. And I have a bad habit of grabbing hot stuff bare-handed. You would think I would learn. Anyway, after my track record with fingerprinting, I'm just ready for the USCIS appointment to be over and done with. I'm gathering all the paperwork, and trying to get it all ready to be notarized and then apostilled once we get our NBC approval. I've got just over a month until I go back to work. The kiddos don't come until the end of August, but us teachers start right there at the beginning of the month. I know that once school is back in swing I'll be short on time and energy so I need to get as much done now as possible. I'm very thankful that our appointments came as quickly as they did. That was a huge blessing.

Seeing as how I don't have much else to say, and this post is already getting way too exciting (say it with sarcasm people), I think I'll say goodbye for now. Have a great day everyone (just think it's already Tuesday . . . yay for a short work week)!

A Little of This With a Lot of That Added In

I just typed a whole post on education before kindergarten and then deleted it because I thought it may be too controversial. Besides it read more like a newspaper article than a post, and most people don't come here to read newspaper articles. Let's just say that when it comes to a lot of formal education before kindergarten (and even in kinder), I'm not a big fan. I'm more of the school of thinking that feels that until approximately age 6 education should be more about learning through play and life experiences. So those are my feelings in a, very small, nutshell.

Anyway switching subjects entirely, I've been messing with my blog. In case you haven't noticed or don't really care, I thought I'd tell you. I named this blog "Waiting for Bulgaria" with the intention of keeping people posted on the adoption progress. But guess what? There is a lot of down time in adoption. So then I started filling in the gaps with life's happenings, and my somewhat crazy and disjointed stories (you know about being attacked by water hoses and the like). Plus, there are people that actually read all my insanity. Which always shocks me if you want to know the truth. But then I've become paranoid that someone will come here thinking this is an adoption blog, and get mad because it's about a mish-mash of things, a lot of which are adoption related, but some of which aren't. Have I mentioned that I'm overly analytical? Thought so. This is why I've changed my profile and the header 27 times in the last week. I thought about changing the name, but that didn't sit well with me. So instead, I feel I should give people fair warning that yes we are a family "Waiting for Bulgaria", but this blog is not only about the adoption process but about our daily lives as we go through this process. Hence the new info line under the title (if you really want to read it scroll up). Any opinions on the subject?

Now for the Act 3. I'm pretty sure that it would be in our benefit to learn at least some Bulgarian. Seeing as how our daughter will not speak English and will most likely spend her first weeks, maybe even months, trying to figure out how to adjust to her new life, it might behoove us to learn at least a little of her language. For some reason, I mistakenly thought that Rosetta Stone had a Bulgarian Language program. They don't. Our caseworker has given us some information about a set of c.d.s that teach you common phrases. I think this is probably the way to go (at least for me). I'm horrible with languages. Most likely, because I over analyze everything (remember?) and end up other thinking what I'm doing. Not to mention that Bulgarian has a completely different alphabet. And the pronunciation? Don't even get me started. Let's just say, I grew up in Central Texas, where Spanish is widely spoken, and I still can't roll my "r"s. Anyway, so it looks like I'll be ordering those Bulgarian Language c.d.s. Anyone care to join us for Bulgarian 101? (If you can't sleep and want to know more about the history of the Bulgarian Language you can look here.)

Something Worth Reading and A Couple Reality Checks

I didn't blog yesterday. I had a super busy day. I know you were all so dissapointed because you spend your days on the edge of your seats waiting for my latest earth shattering, life changing post. Or at least that's what I tell myself.

However, I do have some blogworthy news in regards to our adoption. We received our biometrics (otherwise known as our fingerprint) appointments yesterday. Yippee! Every step is one step closer. We sent in our I-800A application two weeks and two days ago so I'm really pleased with the turn around. Our appointments are set for the 11th of July in San Antonio which is actually the day Patrick is supposed to leave to take the youth to camp in Dallas. His parents along with the other sponsors are going to take kids to camp, and Patrick will have to drive up that night after our appointments. Not ideal, but it will work.

Now for a reality check. I've had a couple here lately.

Reality Check 1: Money Matters
Yes I get to take maternity leave when we adopt, both of our trips as well as any pre-adoption appointments are covered by FMLA, but unlike last time I will not receive disability pay. Nevermind the fact that I pay a hefty amount toward my disability insurance every month. So I will essentially have 8-10 weeks without any pay. We've always been good about keeping a nice cushion in our savings account, but going that long without any pay will cut into it substantially. Not to mention that adoption isn't cheap . . . not in the least. Having a baby isn't cheap either, but if you have insurance it helps offset the cost and whatever you do owe can be paid out in payments. There are no payment plans in adoption. The result is we are going to have to sacrifice some and save more. Of course that would all change if Patrick sold a really expensive property . . . anyone in the market for a multimillion dollar property? Just kidding . . . I mean unless you really are interested. But in all seriousness, no matter what it takes, it will be worth it once we get to bring our little girl home.

Reality Check 2: Weighty Matters (This isn't meant to be serious, so please don't take it too seriously or be offended by it.)
I'm not 29 anymore. Actually, I'm 30. I turned 30 three weeks ago. I didn't tell you. I'm in denial. I'm also in denial about approximately 5-7 lbs that I may or may not have gained. Ever heard of paper pregnancy? Well I hadn't either. At least not until about a month ago when another adoptive mother mentioned it. Remember how when you were in college and studying all night and you would eat a whole box of Cheez-its and not gain a pound? Well, it doesn't work that way when you're (almost) 30 and doing adoption paperwork.

Anyway, today I had my annual doctor's appointment, and he asked me if I had any concerns. I said, "Well yeah, did you notice I've gained a little weight?" His response? "Me too. I just look at food, and I gain weight." So we spent the next five minutes talking about how we can no longer eat a bag of Oreos without gaining any weight (or at least I did. He probably kept wondering when the crazy lady was going to leave). Then he basically reminded me that I'm 30 (thanks doc.), I've had a baby, and my metabolism has slowed down. He told me not to stress too much over the fact that I'm probably not losing that 5 lbs. And you would think that would depress me, but it didn't. People, I felt liberated. I felt like it's okay to have a bit more jiggle and wiggle than I did before I had Andrew.

So I went shopping, and bought a few things I needed in a size up. Not all my clothes are too tight, but like I said, I've been in denial for a while. Lord have mercy, it's good to button my pants without holding my breath (no I wasn't wearing shirts that showed off my muffin top . . . don't worry). Now this doesn't mean that I'm going to let myself go, stop working out, and eat ice cream all day (wouldn't that be glorious?). What it means is that my days of shortish shorts and bikinis are most likely gone, and I'm okay with that.