Doing Disney (When I Really Don't Want To)

As my friends know, I live with a gaggle of Disney freaks. My husband and children love all things Mickey.  We have annual passes and make the 7-hour trek 3 or 4 times a year so they can park hop until they drop.  I, however, do not share the same feelings toward the mouse that my tribe does. I go only because I love them.  In fact, I have traveled south on several occasions and never stepped foot on Walt’s property with them.  Instead, I spent my time shopping, sunning, or just relaxing on the couch with a good book while my family fast-passed their way around Disney World.  

           

However, this year’s annual Thanksgiving trip was different. Our littlest one will be four soon and is a Mouskateer in training. He is also not as oblivious as he once was. This meant I had three choices: (1) to fabricate a clever tale about why we were the only two not going to the park or vacating the premises by lunchtime, (2) to admit the selfish truth that mommy wanted to check out a few sale racks at TJMaxx before kicking her shoes off and binge-watching the Hallmark channel, or (3) to suck it up and endure the busy parks for the happiness of my children.  I endured but not as gracefully as I had hoped, and I would like to say a few things to some people who I encountered at the happiest place on earth:

o   To security at the park entrances: step it up. Your profiling of my husband is one of the few things I actually enjoy about Disney.  He is harmless, of course, but still, I wait excitedly to see if you will perceive him as a threat and do extra pat downs and wand scans.  It is always fun to watch other park goers eye him up, as well, when you pull him off to the side. This trip was a bit disappointing, as he didn’t raise your suspicion even once. (He blames the lack of cardio in his workouts and says it has made him appear less like a member of a Polynesian terrorist group and more like Maui from Moana.)

o   To all the people who walked out in front of my stroller: please commit. If you take that step, please keep moving in the same direction.  You can't stop a locomotive on a dime, and I am using body weight (and there is a lot of it) to propel my child's mode of transportation forward. If you second-guess your decision to enter my pathway when we are nanoseconds from colliding, I can’t be held responsible for your ankle or toe injuries. It’s like a real-life game of Frogger with you people.

o   To the driver of my first Kilimanjaro Safari ride of the morning: you need a raise.  You are different from your other tour guide cohorts. You were not monotone, and you did not follow the script. You were witty, and it was breath of fresh air to those of us who have ridden the attraction ten thousand times.  I especially liked how you mocked the man on the second row when he pointed to the African painted dogs and told his daughter to look at the Hyenas. We all know those aren’t the same.  My second trip around the Harambe Wildlife Reserve 20 minutes later with the nasally blonde tour guide left me less than satisfied. So kudos to you. 

o   To the wives who made their entire family wear matching shirts to the park: next time, consider changing your husband’s vinyl lettering from glitter to mat.  It is bad enough he has to walk around matching his mother-in-law and his 6-year-old daughter, but save a portion of his dignity and don’t make him sparkle too.

o   To the gentleman who chased me from the carousel to It’s a Small World to return the shoe my toddler kicked off during a temper-tantrum (that he threw because he doesn’t understand that you can’t just stay on the ride indefinitely): thank you for biting your tongue about his bratty behavior and choosing just to smile at me instead. I am sure it was a pity smile, but I promise you I addressed the situation in the nearest bathroom.

o   To the lady in the stall next to us as I addressed the situation: He is just fine, and he will be a well-adjusted adult because of it.  

o   To the man at the Enchanted Tiki Room who had the audacity to lead his family of four in cutting the line (in front of 10 other families who had been waiting patiently) to get front row seats to watch a room full of fake birds sing: I hope you enjoyed your view, and I said a prayer for you. It involved real birds pooping in your 1980’s Rick Springfield hair, but I prayed for you nonetheless.

o   To the park goers who believe in “what you wear at Disney stays at Disney”: you are brave, and I strangely admire the risk you took when selecting your park attire.  (And you may or may not be among the pictures I took to giggle at with my hubby when we get home.)

o   To the dozens of employees that humored my son Asher each day as he met his  “asking employees their names” quota (when your name is very clearly printed on your very visible name tag):  You rock for playing along as he practiced “being more intentional" with people around him. (You got me- maybe it’s a badge they are working on in Royal Rangers.)

No. I do not love this place any more than I did before.  I will never be a fan of large crowds, overpriced food and merchandise, and waiting in long lines. I also do not like being forced to listen to Christmas music before I have eaten turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie.  However, on the drive home, I, at my husband’s request, perused sites for places to stay when we return in just a few months for the annual birthday trip for the kids.

Yes, I will go again and again and again and continue to bear the madness of that place because four people (whom I absolutely love) absolutely love Disney.  

Seeing Seth

75- The number of days since I have hugged him. 2-The number of times I have heard his voice. 24- the number of sweet letters that he wrote me while he has been gone.

Basic training is not for the weak. It breaks you down mentally and emotionally, testing your strength and determination, your will to survive in adverse conditions.  And that is just what I have been through, so I can only imagine what my son has endured.

Weeks before Seth left, I began to do my research on basic training. I wanted to know as much as I could to support him on this journey.  I, however, failed to prepare myself for what I would experience.  Frankly, I thought it would be a walk in the park with Seth under the direction of the U.S. Army.  After all, he was my “challenging” child. From school to home life, he kept me in a tizzy. His big personality and impulsive nature make my life- how do I say this- less than boring.  So when he enlisted, I saw basic training as three months of worry-free living. No more worrying about where he was, what he was doing, or if he was safe. I could go to sleep at night and rest easy.

Boy, was I wrong!!

The first two weeks I seriously questioned whether this was the right decision. Our communication went from anytime to never.  You would think that the start of a new school year and a house full of kids would keep me busy, but it didn’t. My old worries were only replaced with new ones. No longer was I worried about him being a typical 18-year-old boy. I was now worried about if he was happy, if he was lonely, if he was questioning this decision like I was.

Joining Facebook groups for military parents didn’t help either. It seemed like every time I opened a page, another mom had posted about her son being injured, in the hospital, or trying to quit. 

Then his letters began to trickle in.  It was nice to finally hear from him, but the words he scribbled on the paper determined my emotional state. If he had a hard week, I did too- at least until the next letter arrived.   And I wrote him feverishly. He needed encouragement, so I supplied it. I mailed a letter every day and sometimes I mailed two or three....one day I mailed five.

I wrote some that were never mailed. I poured out my heart in them-- pages and pages of tear-soaked, snot-stained, emotion-filled letters that he would never see.  I would write one letter about how I really felt, and then flip the page, wipe my face, and write him a letter filled with happiness and excitement.

As diligently as I wrote, I prayed ten times more. I started praying in the morning as I dressed for work, during the National Anthem and moment of silence at school, every time I opened my phone and saw his picture, in the car driving to the post office, and at night before bed. I prayed for him, his drill sergeants, fellow SITs, the base- you name it and I prayed over it.  I prayed for his health, his happiness, his safety, his PT tests, his shooting ability, his rucks. I covered him in prayer.

As time went on, I saw the answers to my prayers in his letters.  He was doing well.  It was also clear that he was changing.  Each envelope that I ripped open held a letter that was written by a young man who was growing and maturing, emotionally and spiritually. He was not just surviving, he was thriving.  That made this momma’s heart happy.

Ten weeks have passed, and we have four more to go. BCT is over, and AIT starts on Monday. This weekend is family weekend. We have made the drive to Georgia to spend a few days with Seth. Tonight, after 75 days, I will rest my head in the same town that my son rests his. He will be minutes away from me.  

1- I am one sleep away from what I have been waiting for since he walked away from me and vanished into that recruiting office. Tomorrow I get to hug my son.

It Doesn’t Always Have to Be About You….or a Post on Facebook.

Hurricane Irma is approaching Florida. She is a massive storm that is expected to hit our state soon, and to be safe, Governor Scott directed that all public schools close Friday and Monday. A short time later it was confirmed that, although our area doesn’t look like we are in the direct path now, our district is adhering to the orders and we will be closed too. I am a sure most teachers and students were giddy as they went to bed last night.  I am a teacher, and I did a happy dance.

However, this morning, my sleep was disturbed around 5:00 AM by a ROBO call from the district to make sure that all parents got word that school was canceled. 

I had two options: 

1. Get aggravated, work myself up into a tizzy, and not be able to go back to sleep

2. Take it as a sweet reminder that I have a 4 day weekend, cuddle up with my pillow again, and go back to sleep- eventually-because at 46, it takes a little longer

Once I got up and got some coffee in me, I had two more options:

1.  Jump on Facebook and complain publically that a 5 am call was ridiculous

2.   Drink my coffee and watch Shaun the Sheep with my 3-year-old

I chose option two both times.  

First, it was just a phone call. Seriously.

Next, it doesn’t always have to be about us. Yes, the call may have been annoying, but if it helped one student and her parents not get out this morning and go to the bus stop, then wasn’t it worth it? Not everyone in our community has smart phones and Facebook. Some parents work nights and might have missed that evening call on their landline. What if everyone in our community started thinking about everyone else involved in a situation rather than making it just about themselves and their comfort and well-being? What if we all stopped looking at the world as only revolving around ourselves?  What a world it would be!  

Now I fully understand that at a certain age, sleep is sacred, and I know how hard it is to go back to sleep when it is disrupted.  However, what good does it do to post your aggravation on Facebook? Did it act as a sedative? Did you gain anything from it other than rallying other Negative Nellies in agreement?  Do an inventory of your Facebook page. Count up the posts that are complaints, criticisms, or anything else that can be viewed negatively in any way. Then count up your uplifting posts.  Are you spreading good or adding to what is already wrong with our world?  

Here is a challenge: Try for one month to not post anything that is negative in any way about anybody: your family, teachers, bosses, the President, liberals, conservatives, Christians, Muslims, Bama Fans, the person driving too slowly in the fast lane. See how quiet you become. In fact, replace those negative remarks with something positive. Then see how different you become.

So now, I am off to enjoy my four day weekend.  But to all of you out there who hate being woken up at 5:00 am by unneeded ROBO calls regarding school closures, you may want to turn your phones on silent before you go to bed Sunday night.  

Chosen

April 2014:

Kingston was a month and half old when he was carried through our front door with just a small bag that held a few smoke-filled onesies and a blanket or two.  He was the fattest baby I had ever laid my eyes on.  In fact, the bottle beside him in his car seat resembled a chocolate milkshake more than it did formula because of the cereal in it. His eyes were vacant. His body was mushy like he had no muscles at all.  My heart ached as I held him and tried to imagine what his first 45 days of life had been like.

August 2014:

For 3 1/2 months, we got to love on him. Before the start of a new school year, Kingston left us to go to relative placement.  In the short time that we had him, King had already stolen our hearts and we loved him, but we knew being with family and closer to his mom was in his best interest. I prayed over him and drove him to daycare for what I thought was the last time.  

September 2014

The call came a month or so later when the relative could no longer care for him. I said yes without checking with Ben. In fact, I didn’t even call to tell him the news.  He came in late from a ball game to see me rocking King to sleep. The look on his face said it all- he wasn’t happy with me.

See, as I cried- as secretly as possible- the days before and after King left, Ben noticed. He wanted us to take a break. Not really. He wanted to stop fostering because he saw his family hurt each time a little one left our home. To care for them, you must love them. If you love them, it hurts when they leave- even if it has been only a few months.

But I reminded my sweet husband that we knew it wasn’t going to be easy. We wouldn’t--we couldn’t-- close our doors to children who needed us to spare a little heartache on our end.  He realized that I was right (which I wish he did more often), and we settled in to having a baby in the house again. 

Seven months passed with King a part of our family again.

Thanksgiving 2014

Kingston's 1st Christmas

 

King turns 1!

April 2015:

I remember that evening like it was yesterday.  It had already been a tough year with the sudden death of my dad in January.  Now I sat across the living room from the caseworker learning more loss was coming my way.  I listened in disbelief as she told me they were reunifying in a few weeks because we were at the one-year mark. Not because mom completed her case plan- but because King had been in foster care one year. That translated to me as  “we need to close a file so there is no more paperwork to do.”  I was angry. I felt like King’s best interest was not being considered. I knew reunification was coming within months if mom kept being consistent, but this seemed sudden. There was nothing I could do but pray.

So I did. I prayed for him and his adjustment, for our family dealing with more loss, but I prayed mostly for his mom. I prayed for her success as a mother. I needed her to be successful because I longed for him to have a happy, healthy life.

 April 16, 2015:

And then the day came that Kingston left us. I packed up his clothes and toys, I hugged him tightly for what I thought was the last time, I buckled him into his car seat, and I watched as he was driven away from our home. He had been with us a year, and I loved him so much. I was not prepared for how painful it would be.

I still wanted to be a part of his life in any way that I could. I wasn’t sure how she would respond, but about a week after King left, I reached out to his mom. She didn't have much of a support system, so I could be that for her.  We established a relationship, I helped when she needed it, and before long, King spent weekends with us.

Picking him up was heaven. He raced to the car with the biggest smile on his face. Dropping him off was hell.  He cried, I fought back tears until I was in the car, and then I cried all the way home. Every Sunday afternoon for about 2 months we endured these painful separations, and I longed for Fridays so that I had him in my arms again.

July 2015:  

In early July, I took my daughter on a cruise for her high school graduation present.  We only had wi-fi in ports, and I looked forward to seeing the messages and pictures Ben and the kids sent me. Mexico was no exception, but this time I had a message from Kingston’s mom: “How is King?”  Strange, I thought, since Ben wasn't planning to have him while I was away so that he could do a DIY project at the house. I couldn’t reach Ben at all that day, so I sailed home still curious about the text.

When I walked in the door from our trip, Ash and Liv were giddy with excitement. They grabbed my hand and pulled me toward my room. I opened the door to see King sitting on my bed grinning at me.  On his right arm was the smallest little cast I had ever seen. I began to cry- both kinds of tears.

I remember picking Kingston up after his first visit with mom following the second removal. His mother and I talked briefly about what she was doing with her case plan. She cried as she talked about how bad she wanted him back. I remember the last thing I said to her: "Kingston is going to know one of us as his momma. It is your choice who that will be." Visits didn't happen consistently after that, and by October, they weren't happening at all. 

So we continued to live life with Kingston a part of our family.  

Family Vacation in Gatlinburg TN

King turns 2!

May 2016: 
King was no longer our foster child in my family's eyes, and he hadn't been for a while. My kids thought of him as their brother, and I loved him just as much as I loved my other children. My heart was set on him staying with us forever. TPR (termination of parental rights) would soon come. There was nothing for our family to discuss when his goal was changed to adoption: we all wanted King to become a Kimbrough.

However, after two years of being in foster care, King had a relative show interest in adopting him, and she would be completing the process at the same time we did.  My prayers were that God would put King in the home that was best for him. Selfishly, I wanted that to be our home, but I prayed the prayer nonetheless.

King at the 4th of July Celebration

August 2016:
Both parental rights were terminated. However, King's father appealed the decision. He was incarcerated before King was ever born, and he wouldn’t be out for another 13 months- King would be 3 1/2 years old. I sympathized with his situation, but I also loved King with all my heart, and I could not imagine losing him. With our adoption paperwork already complete, we waited for two things: the decision on the appeal and the relative to finish up the adoption process.

December 2016:  

A few days before Christmas, we got word that the appeal was denied. I cried happy tears as we were one step closer to King legally being ours, but my heart ached for a father who may have purely wanted a chance to be a dad to his son. The relative made no progress on the adoption classes or the home study, so we had to continue to be patient and wait.

King turns 3!

 

April 2017:  

I have tried to stay positive and be patient over the last 8 months as we waited for the relative to finish the adoption process, but I have become frustrated and annoyed. She has had almost a year, yet she has not completed any part of it.  My prayers have changed; I no longer pray for God to put King in the home best for him, but I pray that King stays in our home-because this is where he belongs. I am also praying that this process comes to a close soon because my sweet boy has been in foster care over 1100 days of his precious life. 

April 24, 2017:  

We finally got the news we had been waiting months for! The relative was eliminated from the process, and we were the family being chosen to adopt King.  I couldn't imagine my life without him in it, and now I don't have to! Possibly before the next school year starts, Kingston will be a Kimbrough.

August 1, 2017:

Two weeks ago, we learned that today would be the day that Kingston officially becomes our son.  Last week, the Lord laid the word chosen on my heart. I looked at shirts for King, cake ideas, signs- all with chosen as part of it, but nothing felt right.  Then on the morning of July 31st, as I prayed over another situation, God revealed that the word wasn’t meant for King, but it was meant for me and our family.  We didn’t choose Kingston; instead, God chose us for Kingston. 

Today, King is three and a half years old. He is smart. He is going to be athletic because he already is fast with a mean right arm. He loves the beach and swimming in the pool. He loves to dance around the house and sing. He loves his brothers and sisters with all his heart, and if you asked each of them, they all would say that he is their favorite sibling. He is definitely spoiled, and I am to blame for that. When he looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes and sweet little smile and calls me “momma,” my heart feels as if it may explode.  

Kingston doesn't understand what today is about right now.  Unlike Olivia at the time of her adoption, King doesn't know any other family but us.  He is more excited that there is a cake on the counter that we will eat later. However, today I have cried all morning- good tears- because I recognize God's grace and blessings in my life, and King is one.  Today, Kingston is officially my son forever, and I am honored that God chose me to be King’s momma.