Kitten Hunters

I think I’m crazy.  Or adoption happy, one of the two.  Last week, we decided that Little Miss should have a kitten of her own.  Violet is 14 years old and has never forgiven me for bringing Little Miss home.  She is quite happy to sleep in a sunbeam and be left alone.

For a seven-year-old girl, this is not fun.  So we are constantly telling her to “Put down the cat!” or “Stop torturing the cat!” or “Please let the cat out of your closet!!” True Story.  So, our solution was to bring in a cat that would be all hers. Brilliant plan, right?

We wanted to adopt a younger cat, hopefully a kitten, from a shelter.  So one Saturday we set off armed with vet records and seventeen forms of ID.  6 hours later, we returned home having seen one kitten and faced with pages of paperwork to fill out. 

Side note: I do believe it is easier to be approved for foster care than it is to adopt a cat. 

Hubby and I spend the next 4 days scouring shelters, Craigslist, and Petfinder online.  We made phone call after phone call to places so far away that we had to look them up on a map.  I applied to two different shelters that said they had cats.  We emailed people who said they had cats.  And we ended up…nowhere.

I should mention that we live near Lancaster County, so there are plenty of farms with plenty of barns that should have plenty of cats to choose from.  Finally, we decided to “just drive” and hope we saw a sign for “Free Kittens.”  I mean, we see them every time we drive around Lancaster, so it won’t be that tough, right? 

Not one sign.

Thank goodness a friend had mentioned that her neighbor had a sign out.  So we headed there first.  We knocked and….no one home. <Sigh.> So I left a business card with my number and crossed my fingers.  Next we drive to another pet store.  The Humane League didn’t show up until 3.  We checked our watches…1:15.  OK, so we decided to drive to the actual Humane League.  Surprise, they didn’t open until 3.  Go Figure.  Just as we were deciding to throw in the towel, my cell phone rang.  The man with the Free Kittens sign was on the other end and was home for lunch.  If we could get there in the next 20 minutes or so, he’d be there.  A quick check of GPS told us we could be there in 25 minutes.  Gulp.

Of course, every slow moving car and farm truck pulled out in front of us as we raced across Lancaster County.  We pulled into the driveway in 27 minutes.  Thank goodness he was still home! 

He had caught 3 of the kittens and had them in a crate.  While he tried to pull 2 out, a little orange kitty peeked out and came out of the crate all by herself.  All three of us said, “We’ll take her!”

So all’s well that ends well.  We have an adorable orange kitty who narrowly escaped being called “Rosie.”  But the lessons learned from our mishap:

1)   Never tell a seven-year-old she’s getting something when you aren’t sure where it’s coming from.

2)   Kittens are everywhere, unless you want one.

Martha

I have been humbled by my seven-year-old.  Yesterday, I was getting my Sunday School lesson together, and she offered to help me cut some things out.  OK, I begged and pleaded and finally ordered her to help, but…  She was cutting out pictures of Lazarus’ sisters, Mary and Martha.  (Remember Lazarus?  He died.  But Jesus raised him. )

So, she asked me who they were and what my lesson was about.  I told her the story from Luke 10, where Jesus came to visit Lazarus, Mary, and Martha.  Martha rushed around, cleaning and cooking, and making everything just perfect for her visitor, but Mary just sat at Jesus’ feet, listening to him and talking to him.  Well, Martha was having none of this, and charged into the room and told Jesus, the Son of God, that he needed to make Mary help clean and cook and make things perfect!

Here comes the part of the story I always have trouble with.  Jesus told Martha that SHE had it wrong, and Mary was doing just what she needed to do!

The reason this story is so difficult, is that I am a Martha.  I see myself as a servant.  I really struggle with the need to make sure that things are perfect all of the time, and the house is sparkling clean, and the food is cooked perfectly, and that everyone in my presence is having a good time.  And I never understood how Martha wanting to make sure everything was just right for Jesus was wrong! 

At this point, Little Miss pipes up, “Mommy, you need to do that.”  “Do what honey?” I ask, already focused on the next task rather than our conversation. “You need to stop working all of the time and start enjoying what is going on!  Jesus won’t care if the house isn’t clean.” 

Holy carp. 

She’s totally right. 

Here my seven-year-old gets this story that I have been struggling with for years.  Jesus doesn’t care if my house is clean.  Jesus doesn’t care if the food tastes good.  Jesus just wants me to sit by him and listen to him and be his friend.

Easter--It's NOT about the Bunny

  I heard the best statement today from a middle school boy.  We were filling balloons to give out to children at our church’s Helicopter Egg Drop*.  And he said, “I think we should get more gifts at Easter, not Christmas.  I mean, it’s the day he rose from the dead!  Anyone can be born; it takes work to resurrect yourself.”  Now, the present part of the statement is a little skewed, but the rest of it is pretty awesome.  I’m amazed how people, even Christians, look more at the bunny and the ham than at the real meaning of Easter.  You see so many people in December with “Keep Christ in Christmas” stickers, but who reminds people that “It’s Not About The Bunny”?

Remember, Easter was a game changer.   Easter was when God raised Jesus from the dead, indicating that He has defeated sin and death once and for all (Acts 2:24; 1 Corinthians 15:12-20). That’s something to get excited about!

So, enjoy your chocolate and your glazed hams, that’s not a problem.  But keep in mind the true meaning of Easter…and it’s NOT about the Bunny.

*If you’ve never seen a helicopter egg drop, take a look at our church’s video:  It’s great!
Gateway Church Egg Drop

The Waiting Game

There is an empty bedroom in our house.  A four-poster twin bed is made up with clean sheets and a big teddy bear sits at the end of it.  There is a life-sized Raggedy Ann doll on a child-sized rocking chair.  The only other piece of furniture is a chest of drawers with 5 empty drawers.

This is our foster child’s room. 

We were approved as a pre-adoptive foster family on February 9^th, 2012.  And we wait.  And wait.  And wait.  On a daily basis, Little Miss asks me, “When is my brother or sister coming?” 

When?

I don’t know.  When we started this process, our case worker told us that there were tons of kids out there in our age range.  A lot had already had TPR (Transfer of Parental Rights), and more were moving in that direction.  But since our approval, we have a hard time just getting a return call from our case worker.  It sucks.

We “shop” online state photolistings of kids, and send emails to the agency asking for more information about this child or that.  Hubby and I debate disabilities, what we can handle, what might be too much.  We talk about the children by first name, commenting on how adorable Faith is or how Jay has a wonderful smile. 

And then we walk upstairs and look at an empty room.

To whom it may Concern at My Child’s School…

I hate dropping my kid off at school.  Not because it wastes time (It does).  Not because I have better things to do (I do).  Not because we don’t have a perfectly good bus system that gets her to school safely (We do). No, it’s because the car line is impossible!  I have never seen such an unsafe environment.

Here’s the “drop-off procedure”:  You pull into the car circle.  If you want to go to the school building with your child, you pull to the left and park in the parking lot.  If you just want to drop your child off at the curb, you stay to the right and pull up behind the cars in an orderly line and wait your turn.  Your child should open the car door, jump out, and shut the door. The school newsletter says that “cars should remain in a single line”.  That means NO PASSING! 

This is what really happens.  I pull into the circle, gripping my coffee mug like it’s my lifeline.  Double-check seat belt.  Little Miss is chattering in the back:

“Can I take my seat belt off?”  (No.)

“Are we on time?” (Hopefully…)

“Do I have music today?” (I have no idea.)

“Did you remember to pack my lunch?” (um…no.  Buy the hot lunch, whatever it is.)

While I’m fielding these questions in my early-morning fog (why did I stay up to watch Conan last night?), a Land-Yacht-sized vehicle zooms by me on the left, trying to take my mirror off.  The driver, putting on her makeup and talking on the phone at the same time, slams on the brakes as a car pulls out in front of her.  Rude gestures fly while horns blare (this is elementary school, folks!).  She throws the tank into park and hops out in her 3 inch heels.  She runs around the hulking mass and stands next to it while her child slides out of the front (!!) seat, turns around and climbs back in to get backpack, lunch and a model of the solar system that must have been life-sized.  Now we wait while they talk.  Some argument about after school.  Child slams door and drags backpack, lunch and diorama to the door of the school.  One of the two teachers assigned to car duty looks up briefly and waves hello.  Child finally makes it to door and struggles to load backpack, lunch and model inside.  Pluto breaks off in the doorway (he doesn’t need it, anyway).  Other teacher looks up and asks, “Do you need a hand?”  Child shuts door.  In the meantime, Mom has re-entered the vehicle and is curling her eyelashes in the vanity mirror.  Satisfied with her appearance, she slams the Semi into drive and roars out, narrowly missing a child innocently exiting the car on the left.  This exchange has taken approximately 4 minutes, 27 seconds. 

Finally.  I pull my car up to the curb in front of the door.  Little Miss knows the drill: Unbuckle seatbelt and grab backpack in one smooth gesture.  Open door, wave goodbye, and hop out on the sidewalk.  Shut door.  The whole drop-off may take 20 seconds.  Unfortunately, now I’m stuck, because Land-Yacht-Lady is now leaning out of her passenger-side window talking to another Mom about the episode of “The Bachelor” last night.  “Yeah, I know, I really think Bertha was right for him…well, I guess Gertrude gets him now…”  Horns blare.  LYL glares out her window, waves goodbye to the other mom, and fires up the engine (how did that thing pass emissions??).  I breathe a sigh of relief and follow the other cars out of the car circle, only getting sideswiped twice.

Lest you think that I’m just complaining I have a few suggestions to “streamline” the drop-off procedure (read: keeps people from getting killed). 

• Car Circle is for drop-off.  If you want to get out of the car with your child, walk your child to the building, or discuss prime time TV with your friend, great!  Please park in the lot so that you are not inconveniencing those around you.
• Do NOT PASS OTHER CARS IN CAR LINE.  Wait your turn and pull up to the yellow-marked area to let your child out.  Remain in your seat.  Do not pass Go.  Do not collect $200. 
• Teachers who are engrossed in your conversation, approach the child and make sure he does not need assistance. 
• Drive on.  Leave the circle, sip your coffee, and enjoy the rest of your day!

See, there is a difference!  I will be glad to come in and help enforce these rules at any time!

Thank you.