The Old Ball and Chain

I hope everyone saw my Facebook reports on Rebeka’s successful surgery and hospital stay. We ended up only staying one night in the hospital and left Wednesday afternoon with our five bags and Rebeka’s new ball and chain.

This complicated conglomeration of tubing and equipment was Rebeka’s nerve block, and we were very grateful for it. It administered a constant drip of pain-killer to deaden her left leg, and it lasted through Thursday afternoon. Yes, it was cumbersome. It leaked and we had to figure out a way to stop changing clothes every few hours. And it was a little “unnerving” (ha, ha) to think about removing the catheter when the medicine ran out. But without that little nerve block, Rebeka would have been in a heap of pain and so we were grateful.

I pulled out the tube Friday morning. The doctor had promised it would be “no big deal” and “it wouldn’t hurt” but I was skeptical. Rebeka wanted to watch when the time came. Oh dear. I gave it a little tug. She didn’t make a sound, but she watched intently. Another little tug and sure enough, that little booger slid right out. No tears. Just an intense curiosity, and a bandaid to catch the little bit of medicine still leaking out.

There are a lot of things I never thought I’d do in my life. Pulling out a catheter is one of them. And caring for a ten-year-old Rwandan girl for nine months or so while she had surgeries on her club feet is another. Yet here I am, and thank the Lord, I am not alone. I am so very thankful for my family, and for all the people who prayed, brought meals, balloons, flowers, visited, and cheered every few hours as I sent out reports from the hospital. It takes a village to heal this child, our family could not do it on our own.

There are friends who have crates of paint and stacks of canvases and invite Rebeka over to paint pictures. There are friends who spend their day at the hospital, or send little angel statues back to recovery.

Rebeka learned how to paint a horse, starting with three ovals. She’s been sketching horses ever since. This is her first painting. The flowers were specially chosen by a five-year-old who just knew Rebeka would love them. And the angel is from a friend who’s probably thought more about Heaven this year than ever before-she knows there are angels watching over us all.

Friends who cook and friends who hug and give kisses and friends who teach and friends who take Rebeka for walks or little adventures and friends who bring balloons and flowers and friends who just come and sit and paint nails together.

There is evidence of many of you on my facebook posts, or plastered like friendly graffiti on Rebeka’s cast.

We’re in two short leg casts for this week, a lot easier to maneuver!

And it is all these friends coming together that make the caring for Rebeka a blessing. The work is shared, the hard parts are spread out amongst us all like butter on warm toast, and it never really feels like a ball and chain. This forty-three pounder that rests on our hip. Not a burden but a blessing. Like that ball and chain that had the potential to be cumbersome, but offered the blessing of pain relief, the coming of Rebeka has meant a little more hassle getting around, but the blessings of perspective and the ability to let go of the hold we think we have on our days. It is freeing.

This next month will be a little more challenging than the previous three. Rebeka will go under anesthesia every Tuesday so her doctor can continue to manipulate her left foot. This will be a painful process due to the surgery, hence the need for anesthesia and visits to the O.R. Her doctor will also continue moving her right foot. We anticipate a long leg cast in the next few weeks, and possibly a small “mini-surgery” before the big surgery, sometime in January. Whatever lies in the future, we can handle it.

With Georgie by her side, she can talk on the world.

For now, we take things one day at a time. It’s a good strategy. For pulling out catheters, waiting to hear from an agent, or facing another surgery.  We won’t worry. When I think of a perfect picture of non-worry, there’s one dog that comes to mind. May there be a nap in a sunny spot in your future . . .

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A Thousand Words

If a picture is worth a thousand words, this post is filled with thousands of them. There have been many moments this past week, some big and some small, some expected and some not, but I thought instead of writing about it, I’d just show you.

It was freezing the day she rode Roxy. A friend gave Rebeka a hat and some mittens, and another gave her some warm boot liners she could pull over her cast. She sat tall in the saddle and seemed perfectly at ease. Thank you Gayle for warm things, and Bridget, Abby and Emily for sharing Roxy with us.


When Rebeka first got here, she was really afraid of the dogs, and they were kind of afraid of her. Because she doesn’t have a lot of upper arm control, she sometimes whacked them when she really just meant to pet them. But they’re both figuring things out, and coming upon the three of them, stretched out in front of the fire, made me smile.


Everyone hunkers down in their own spot to work. I sense that Rebeka loves when our family is all together, even if nobody is paying particular attention to her. She just finds something to do, this time it was a rubbery skeleton that she made dance


I left Rebeka with Clay and the boys and when I came back, they had come up with this great game to help Rebeka with addition. You slide five beans, where they land are the points you get, and Rebeka added everyone’s score each time.


Alayna got these when she took Rebeka out on a small shopping excursion. Shopping for Rebeka has brought her great joy, and we’re all happy for the cool nights so we can wear our warm pajama pants.


She loves to make us laugh, whether it’s making a silly face over my shoulder to whoever is behind me as I carry her, or hiding under Alayna’s bed at night, waiting to scare somebody.


We went to the same pumpkin patch we’ve gone to every year since the kids were little. I have pics of Alayna when she was two months old, dressed as a pumpkin, propped up in the Tarrytown United Methodist pumpkin patch.


Rebeka went traditional, Alayna went silly, Nate went cool (ever heard of “gangnum style”?) and Benji used the contours of his pumpkin to add character. I think his looks like an old man.


Things got a little silly. This is the face Alayna’s pumpkin is imitating, she did a pretty good job!


Pippi, Minnie Mouse, and two boys in morph suits.

And one more thing, but I won’t include the video here since I know it might embarrass Rebeka. I’ll just tell you about it. We were cleaning up the dinner dishes, and playing some loud music (Bill Withers, dub step, a little of everything) and Rebeka is just hanging out on the wood floor watching us shake our booties and wash dishes, and all of a sudden she says, “I’m dancing!” We look over and she’s laying on her side, bending her body forward and back which is making her spin a little bit.

Of course everybody had to try the new Rebeka dance. Again, I won’t post it here. Let’s just say our wood floor was very clean after we were done. And my heart was very full. It was a good week, and I am grateful as we get closer and closer to surgery and a new phase of mobility and pain, to be storing up for the times ahead like a squirrel with his acorns. I am grateful for my phone and how easy it is to snap a quick pic. If a picture is worth a thousand words, my phone holds quite a tome.

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The other day I had just the boys in the car and I saw some birds and I said, “Oh look, birds, fly, fly, fly birdies fly, birds fly,” and I hear Benji’s voice from the backseat saying, “Mom, I’m worried about you.” I guess that’s how I talk when Rebeka’s in the car, always feeding English into her ear.

In my defense, there’s so much to notice and point out in this great big world, so much to learn. There’s the glass-walled elevator at Barton Creek mall, the massive trash truck with giant mechanical arms that pick up trash cans, and the remote control fireplace (we have gas logs and a remote that turns them on). These are the obvious things I would expect a girl from a rural village in Rwanda to marvel at. And then, there are socks.

I guess I’ve always sort of taken socks for granted, but Rebeka loves them. I think partly because she never wore them back home. They wouldn’t have worked with the rigged-up sandals she wore.

Ever since the cast went on, these shoes have been stored under the bench near our cubbies, slowly getting buried. As cool as they are, I hope she never has to wear them again . . .

When she found a pair of socks we had bought her before she arrived, tucked in a drawer, you’d have thought she’d found treasure. She couldn’t wait to try them on (at the time she still had an uncasted leg). Now, she insists on putting them on the moment she gets out of her real-deal bath Tuesday night and keeping them on until she sees the doctor Wednesday morning and gets her next set of casts.

I think partly she likes how they feel, partly she likes how they look, and partly she likes how they hide her twisted feet. Whatever the reason, she’s in good company. Alayna has always been a big “sock” person. They rarely match, and they seem to multiply in the drawer.

So socks didn’t occur to me as something worthy of pointing out or noticing because they were, well, socks. But the horse thing, that didn’t occur to me because I’ve never really been much or a horse person. Guess what?

A friend of mine owns a couple of ponies and she offered to take us out and let us meet them. When I asked Rebeka if she was interested, she was all wide eyes and “yes, yes” and eyebrows up with the chin tilt, a typical way to say “yes” in Rwanda. My friend brought a saddle over and we slung it over the arm of the couch, and then over Clay. Rebeka loved it. My friend loaned us some plastic horses, a little tack kit, and with each little horsie thing, Rebeka’s enthusiasm has grown.

I love walking through my days with eyes wide open, looking for things to point out, whether “birdies” or “trash truck” or “horse!” It’s a delight to figure out what makes this particular girl tick. She’s a horse girl. She’s a sock girl. She’s a daisy-headband-wearing girl who surfs longboards down the driveway.

Check out the leg grafiti!

As a writer, I know these are the kinds of quirky details that make characters seem fully alive and real. In families, they are fodder for private jokes, and stories that are told year after year. They are the stuff of family folklore. The longer Rebeka is with us, the more we add to our little cache of discovered quirks. They are treasure, just as surely as socks, things we’ll pull out, dust off, and “remember when” for years to come.


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Just Another Day

Last night when we took off both of Rebeka’s casts, she took a long bath with a dissolving cupcake bath fizzy, and we painted her toes a pretty pink with a topcoat of glitter razzle-dazzle.

I forgot to take a picture while her casts were off.

I can’t imagine how good it must have felt for her to straighten her left leg, after having it bent at 90 degrees all week.  We did our weekly Tuesday night scrub in the tub on her legs, paying special attention between the toes, and then lotioned her up well. As we settled in to read a book before bed, Rebeka did a kick with the left leg that’s been casted at 90 all week. Then another one. These were impressive, nose to the knee kicks, and she didn’t stop there. She must have high-kicked fifty times while I read. It was a festive can-can bedtime affair.

This morning we saw the doctor, who is very pleased with the progress her left foot has made. The surgery date still stands on November 6th. There’s a big red circle around that date on our calendar, though Rebeka still isn’t entirely sure what “surgery” means. We’re using the word “big fix” and debating just how much to tell her so she’ll be prepared, but not unnecessarily worried. The doctor says to expect quite a bit of pain the first week or so, and we’re doing all we can to be ready. We’re practicing taking pills by swallowing sprinkles, then graduating to tic-tacs. Our goal is jelly-belly’s.

The people at Dell think of everything!

We also plan on taking a hospital tour the week before so it won’t be unfamiliar on the big day. Today, while checking out at Dell, I noticed this cute picture on the wall.

I imagine before her time here is through, Rebeka will be bringing a picture to hang on the Dell wall. I love how the child who drew this picture sounded out the word, hos-pi-doll. I yearn for the day when Rebeka is able to sound out words and brave enough to write how she thinks they’re spelled.

She’s making great progress with school, slowly but surely, day by day, and I’m trying to be patient. Sometimes it takes stepping back and looking from a distance to see how far she’s already come. The stack of letters she knows, and the stack of letters she doesn’t, is just about the same size now. But patience has never been my strong suit. Take Rebeka’s hair for instance. It seems to grow so achingly slow. I was shocked when I saw this picture, taken just a few weeks after she got here.

Today, I took this shot.

Not only has her hair grown a ton (okay, it FEELS like a ton to me!) she’s also gained some styling abilities. Notice how she styled her Barbie with the cute ponytails. It isn’t until I see pictures like this that I realize what big progress we’re making. Hair, foot movement, school work, they’re all measured by looking back, and comparing. It makes me wonder, though, about the things that aren’t so obvious. The days that seem perfectly ordinary, the routines that build upon themselves, until cumulatively, looking back, you see that they made a big difference after all.

How is the day-to-day living with Rebeka impacting us? When we came back from nine and a half months of traveling, people asked how we had changed. I didn’t have an answer. It’s only now, over four years later, that I’m really starting to see how that time affected each of us. So maybe that big day, going to the hospital, won’t be such a big deal after all. And maybe those moments on the rug, or reading a bedtime story while Rebeka can-can’s, will be the turning points after all. We can only see the few steps in front of us, so we step into our days with the expectation that some of them will be the big days, and we keep our eyes wide open.

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Chapter Two Hundred Seventy Six

Seventeen months ago Clay and I were convinced that we were being called to start the adoption process. That set in motion a variety of things. We added a second story to our house, gained another bedroom and got the boys out of Alayna’s bathroom. I brought the big box of board books down from the attic and dusted them off, and sat on the floor and read them all again, and remembered tiny fingers and smiled at the teeth marks on the corners.

I gathered verses to pray for a girl we had not yet met. For a mother we’d never meet. The decision to adopt also began a process in our hearts, as we opened up to the idea of our family looking very different. I was a little afraid, but I was mostly excited. As the months wore on, our anticipation heightened. We became impatient. Where was our girl? Those who have read earlier entries on this blog saw this anxiety. You watched with us as our number crept down ever so slowly, cheering each time it did.

When Natalie Green from Africa New Life came to us and asked if we’d be willing to care for Rebeka while she was in Texas, we hardly had to think twice. Of course! We were all set up for a little girl. We even had new sheets in the closet. Rebeka would help us pass the time, so we wouldn’t be so anxious about the adoption. She’d be a welcome distraction.

And then she came.

And she is so much more than a distraction. Meanwhile, while all this was going on, Clay and I, separately, began to feel less sure about the adoption. Once we talked and realized we were both feeling the same thing, we began to pray. We gave it time. We did not want to make a decision based on fear, or selfishness, but only on conviction. Was this no longer what we were being called to do? But why? As we waited, and listened, and watched, we have come to see that not only is Rebeka much more than a distraction, she is the girl. She is the girl we’ve been preparing for all this time.

This house would not have worked very well for our family and Rebeka without the big remodel we did, in anticipation of a baby. I can’t imagine the four kids trying to share that little bathroom. And guess who is loving those board books, and learning so much vocabulary from them? And guess who each one of those verses was meant for? The ones about “I know the plans I have for you” and “The Lord will protect you” and “for those who have set their hearts on pilgrimage” and “blessed are those whose strength is in you.”

Picture taken by Merissa DeFalcis

When we were first talking about adoption, I said there was no way I could foster to adopt, because I couldn’t bear attaching to a child and then having to let go if things didn’t work out. Guess what we’ll do this Spring? Guess who is getting attached anyway? With every intention of sending her home to her family with much joy, we are loving her while she is with us. It will be hard to say goodbye, but it will be right.

This past month, we knew it was time to make some decisions about the adoption, as our paperwork began to expire. We have decided to discontinue the adoption process for now. It feels right. Who knows what the future has in store for us? Maybe a baby, maybe not. All we know is that right now we’re right where we need to be, caring for Rebeka and loving her heartily. She has become part of our family for a while. She watched homecoming festivities wide-eyed.

She took her first 4 wheeler ride with Nate and didn’t flinch.

Today she got cast #8 on her left foot and cast #2 on her right foot. I was struck by how gradual the process has been. How slowly her skin has stretched, to allow her toes to release. I see how we were like that. We were gradually stretched, with adoption paperwork and numbers on wait lists, and now here we are.

I want to thank everyone who sent us encouragement, prayed for us, and helped us in so many ways. You are a part of this story, too, and I hope this new chapter does not disappoint. I hope you marvel as much as we do at all the plot twists, the suspense, the unexpected turns. Only a master storyteller could weave such a tale, and we count it nothing but joy to be part of the tale.



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We’re Booked

And now, a riff on a little picture book I love, called What Can You Do With a Shoe? by Beatrice de Regniers, illustrated by Maurice Sendak.

What can you do, what can you do, what can you do with a looooong sock?

You can use it as a scarf

Or tie it on your head

You can use it as a belt

Or on a cast instead

Okay, so it’s a pretty lame tribute, but I couldn’t get the text of that book out of my head as I watched Rebeka clowning around with that long sock they always put under the cast. You can see that Rebeka got two casts today, and one of them goes alllll the way up her leg! Not only that, we also booked a tentative date for Rebeka’s first surgery, November 5th. Her doctor will operate on her left foot first, and then her right foot several weeks later.

I think this period we’ve been in, a new cast every week, has been preparing us for a much more difficult period. I am so glad we’ve taken it in baby steps. Long gone are the days of playing in the lake and watching Rebeka race on her own two feet all over the house. For six weeks now she’s been in casts and hasn’t walked. Now that she’s double-casted, Rebeka has a hard time even balancing at a sink to wash her hands. Bathing is a bigger challenge. And there are harder times to come. After surgery, she’ll go under anesthesia each week when she goes in to get casted (that’s right, she’ll go back into casts after surgery to complete the process of turning her foot.) Apparently the process is so painful, she’ll need the anesthesia. Tylenol won’t be enough (and the whole time she’s been with us, Rebeka has only asked for a pain reliever one time). Oh dear.

Part of me dreads what lies ahead. Even if it’s what she has to do to get better, it still sounds so hard. But I trust that I was prepared for what’s already come, and I’m in the process of being prepared for what lies ahead. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in the past two months I’ve found myself reading or listening to three books that have been part of that preparing and adapting process. One of them, Wonder by RJ Palacio, is the story of a severely deformed boy who is put into public school for the first time in middle school.

What I’m realizing, reading it to Benji in little snatches at bedtime, is that the main character in the book has something in common with Rebeka. People stare at him all the time. I’ve watched people’s staring eyes in the store as I push Rebeka’s wheelchair. Watched her tuck her twisted right foot up under her cast to hide it. As I read this book, I gain a new perspective on what it might be like for Rebeka. Not necessarily a torment, but an ordeal that she’s dealt with her whole life. Sometimes with humor, sometimes with resignation. It’s not pleasant to be stared at, but it isn’t the end of the world, either.

Then there’s Out of My Mind by Sharon Draper.

I’m listening to this on audiobook. It’s the story of a severely handicapped girl who is wheelchair bound, and can’t talk. Though Rebeka is learning English more and more every day, she is often silent, for lack of a way to communicate. I feel for her as I listen to the main character’s frustrations with lack of language. I wonder what is going on in her head.

The third book that traipsed into my life was Left to Tell by Immaculee Ilibagiza and Steve Erwin.

This is Immaculee’s story of survival and redemption as she lived through the Rwanda genocide, but I found myself drawn to the passages in the very beginning of the book, when Immaculee described everyday life with her family before the genocide. I began to imagine Rebeka coming from a very similar family. I had a very sketchy idea of what life looked like for her day to day back home, what her family dynamics were. I found it comforting and gratifying to imagine Rebeka coming from a loving, dynamic, intelligent family like Immaculee’s. I felt more connected to Rebeka’s home, her people, and what makes her tick.

But no matter how many books and prayers and preparations, there are some things I could have never been prepared for. Being soundly and repeatedly beaten at Memory.

And war.

And how I would feel when I encounter scenes like this tickle-fest that occurs on a fairly regular basis as we gather around Rebeka’s bed to pray each night.

And her smile. There is no way I could have been prepared for how her smile makes me feel. So I trust that in the future, along with the hard things, there will be unexpected surprises that will carry us along and remind us that we are truly blessed to be along on this adventure.

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Normal Hope

Guess what? A large college fair is not a good place to bring a wheelchair, or a ten-year old girl who may feel slightly conspicuous with all the stares coming her way, even though I’m pretty sure most of those stares were because she looked so stinkin’ cute.


That’s right, a college fair. I am now old enough to have a daughter who is attending college fairs. It’s funny how you’ll be going along with life, and everything is just normal, and then BOOM, it hits you, all is not normal.

Want to hear something funny? Life with a young Rwanda girl who doesn’t speak much English and requires carrying to get around sometimes seems quite normal. I find myself wondering what everybody is looking at, and then I realize, oh yeah, I have this very black and beautiful girl on my hip with a complicated contraption on her leg. But I’m just running into Target to get a posterboard. It’s no biggie, and yet it’s a big biggie.

Here are some other things that seem normal at our house these days:

Rebeka’s artwork is accumulating on our windows.


It’s been a long time since we’ve had pink stools in our house.


Notice the Curious George Memory game. It’s not unusual to play memory, Rebeka’s favorite, four or five times a day. I now know the card with the scratch on it is the “laundry” card, the ones with slightly bent corners are the “chef” cards, and the one with the very bent corner is the “blue boy” card, which goes with the only card that has a sticker on the back. This is normal.


Is this normal? I don’t think so . . .

There is one thing that I  always want to be “normal” in my life. Living with hope. I was recently reminded of that “hopeful” feeling when I finished another draft of a manuscript. A writer lives with a lot of hope. Hope that I’ll finish the book, find an agent, a publisher, readers, get the next book published, etc. Each time I reach the end of one “hope,” there is another hope waiting for me.

Molly is always full of hope: hope you’ll drop something on the floor she can eat, hope you will rub her belly, hope you will let her lick your sweat . . .

Going to the college fair with Alayna reminded me of how it felt when I went to a similar fair when I was in high school. I had all these hopes about where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do. All those shiny catalogs and chipper representatives were like Christmas morning, and I couldn’t wait to get home and lay all my goodies out and pore over them.

Tuesdays have become all about hope in our house these days. It’s the new normal. That’s because on Tuesday nights, we get to unwrap Rebeka’s cast and see her new and improved foot. It’s like Christmas morning, unwinding all those white bandages. This Tuesday, we were very pleased with what we found.

Each week it looks a little straighter. Tomorrow morning we’ll head to Dell and see what her doctor has to say. This has also become part of our normal routine, our Wednesday trips to Dell. It is the extraordinary ordinary, or the ordinary extraordinary. It is life, in all it’s glorious normality, and we are filled with hope.


Hope is the thing with feathers

Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops—at all

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

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No Questions Asked

There was something that became apparent to us early on with Rebeka, she didn’t ask questions. Even when we had a translator here, she didn’t ask questions. She sometimes would respond if we asked her a question, whispering “yes” or “no”, but sometimes she’d just act all embarrassed and shy, or she’d stare into space like she was trying hard to understand what we were asking. It was befuddling. Why this strange reaction, when we just wanted to know if she was hungry or not? It was like she was not totally engaged, just taking note of all that was around her.

Those who have been around Rebeka for very long, have probably had their picture taken, whether they know it or not. She is very good at taking note of her surroundings, and chronicling it on an old i-touch. This picture was taken on a trip we took recently to the Austin Zoo, big fun!

I’m not talking about the kind of questions that require language. Questions like, “Why is the sky blue?” Most American parents are inundated with these sorts of questions when their kids are young. There’s “what’s that” and “why is” and “how come?” I’m talking about more simple questions, asking for food, or crayons, or another game of memory. I know she has the language for these simple questions, she could name them if we asked her to. But until recently, Rebeka never asked for anything, except “toilet.” This was a question whispered ever so quietly. She’d crawl right up next to me and look in my eyes with great intensity. “Toilet.” Would I understand her question? You should have seen the happy dance I did when Rebeka first asked to go to “toilet.” Not because there was danger of an accident, but because she’d ASKED something. We were communicating, and it wasn’t one-way.

I guess in a way, questions are not a right, but a privilege. In a world where your main concerns are having food, washing clothes, getting water, and taking care of younger siblings, maybe there isn’t much time for questions. Recently, Karen Berlanga agreed to tutor Rebeka twice a week. After just two times, I’m already hearing more questions. Rebeka will say “What is?” and point to something. Joy! Happy dance! It’s like I’m seeing her mind working, unfolding, learning, and craving more as she takes in new information.  There is so much to learn!

Another thing I noticed early on with Rebeka was that she didn’t do much imaginary play. She’d take the heads on and off the Playmobil figures, but never act things out with them. She’d dress and undress a doll with great concentration, but never pretend she was the mother taking care of it. I had always taken it for granted that kids just had imaginations, and used them. Whether imagining a big pileup with all their matchbox cars or imagining a day at the castle, it was part of everyday life.

During tutoring today, Mrs. Karen brought some dolls and doll furniture to work on language with Rebeka. She’d play with the dolls, waking them up and having them talk to each other, and Rebeka would mimic her. Then lo and behold, Rebeka began making her dolls talk to each other on her own. She was learning how to do imaginative play by watching Karen. And she was loving it.

There are lots of reasons why Rebeka’s questions, and her imaginative play, make my heart sing. As a writer, I love an inquisitive, curious, playful mind. And something inside me just aches to know, does she like apples or bananas better? Perhaps even more important, by asking questions, engaging in conversations, and using her imagination, Rebeka will be able to play even better with the new friends she’s been making. It takes a special kind of kid to engage and play with a mostly silent playmate, though there are those who excel at it.

Rebeka has done just fine with the new brace she got last Wednesday. In fact, she figured out how to set it herself each night, pulling out the pins, rotating it to 80 degrees, and then pushing the pins in and replacing the “child-proof” plastic casing that’s supposed to keep kids from tampering with their hinge when they aren’t supposed to. One thing about Rebeka, she obeys what the doctor says. No complaining, and of course, no questions asked. At least, not yet.

As the days and weeks go by, and the weekly casts come and go, I anticipate many more questions. The more she learns, the more language she acquires, the more we will find out about this fascinating girl who has taken up residence in our home, and our hearts.

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Football and “Fritas”

This week Rebeka experienced her first Friday night football game. Alayna danced at halftime with the Knightline, Nate was introduced with the sixth through eighth grade football players. Benji ran wild behind the stands like he usually does, while Clay and I chatted/watched the game and Rebeka got busy eating a bag of skittles and watching all the activity with wide eyes.

This week she also experienced her first time on a swing. She screamed, both excited and terrified by the feeling in her belly. First time on a slide. Screamed some more. Had to coax her down the first time. More screams, and hysterical laughing, and then she was ready to slide again. We got to the neighborhood park via a jog stroller a friend loaned us, a huge blessing as the weather has turned a bit cooler and we like to be outside and mobile. Meredith experienced her first four mile jog with 40+ pound Rebeka in the stroller. We both survived.

Rebeka took her first trip to the hair salon (thank you Natalie), and Meredith got her first crash course in how to take care of that kinky hair,which is coming in fast.

She also took her first ride on the Zilker train (thank you again, Natalie).

It’s been a big week for Rebeka. Today she got her fourth cast, and today is a day for celebration. When we put the first cast on, her doctor said he would be able to tell after the third cast whether or not we should proceed. If the foot wasn’t responding to the casts, then we would be done.

But the foot has responded, and we’re moving forward. Hooray, sing praise, do a little dance. Rebeka continues to be amazed each time we take off a cast and see the latest and greatest improvements. She scrubs it hard in the tub, examines it closely, pulls on the toes, and points out to us the things she thinks have changed.

Today, our doctor was very proud of his latest and greatest revelation. It’s inspiring to know that he thinks of her often, trying to figure out the best way to help her. The task before him was to put Rebeka in a device that will turn her foot even more. The casts have been doing this, but to a lesser degree. To really get the foot turned, she needs a long cast. But long casts are usually not soft casts, and soft casts are wonderful because you don’t need a saw to cut them off. Long leg casts stink because they make you so immobile, and uncomfortable, the knee fixed at an angle all the time.

Our doctor is kind enough to take this all into account and try to come up with a better solution. He decided to attach a soft cast on her calf to a hinge that is fixed on her knee, eliminating the need for more cast material up her thigh and enabling her to have some mobility. The problem: no leg hinges in her size. The solution, use an elbow hinge! It’s a nifty little device. Watching the doctor and the technician figure it all out was like watching little boys playing legos. They were very proud of themselves, and we were so very grateful they took the time and energy to come up with a great solution.

At night we’ll fix the hinge at 90 degrees, but she has free range during the day. We now have some bulky bits of velcro on her thigh to deal with. It proves persnickety with bathroom maneuvers, but they are infinitely better than a cast. A long leg cast may still be in her future, but we’ll try this way first. Wait and see. We celebrated another successful doctor’s visit with our established routine, some “fritas” (French fries). This time at Mighty Fine. And because it was such a momentous occasion, moving forward and all, we indulged with an orange Fanta as well.

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Figuring It Out

Just signed my third cast in three weeks this afternoon! How many times does a person get to say that? We got a good report from the doctor. The casts appear to be working, the bones in Rebeka’s foot are moving. Slowly, little by little, but it’s enough to be encouraged. And so we stride forward. Getting her temperature and blood pressure taken, and having a doctor and technician put on a cast, is no big deal anymore for Rebeka. A much bigger deal is losing her playmates to school. Yesterday was our kids’ first day, and we’re all sliding into a new routine as homework and after-school activities come.

Rebeka looked like she was heading to her first day, in this cute blue dress that almost looks like a uniform. Clay bought her the sweet yellow butterfly clip she’s wearing on the collar. It’s actually a hair clip-we hope someday it can be used for its intended purpose! Her hair is already growing out . . .

But there is no routine for life with Rebeka, in a quiet house, where the sound of tapping keys was once the only thing to be heard for hours as I worked on manuscripts. I took a deep breath yesterday morning as Alayna walked out the door. Clay and the boys were gone. It was just Rebeka and I. What the heck were we going to do all day? How was I ever going to get any writing done? I sat down at the kitchen table, a ton of learning supplies at the ready (thank you Natalie and Kerri), and we set to work.

We spent almost two hours doing handwriting, and I developed a new vocabulary. A lowercase “b” is “all the way down, and then around.” I chanted, “all the way down, and then around,” as Rebeka painstakingly made her b’s. Sometimes backwards. Sometimes not quite touching the bottom line. I remembered how my kid’s kindergarten teacher let them circle their “best letters” and I liberally sprinkled stars all over Rebeka’s beautiful b’s. I found “fantastic!” and “super!” stickers. We sang the days of the week song.

And it was not boring. It was not wasted time. Because she was engaging, learning, trying so hard. I kept wondering what school looks like back home in Rwanda. How many kids are in a class, and how often a backwards “b” might get overlooked because a teacher can’t catch little things like that in a class of fifty kindergartners. When I asked Rebeka what letter she was working on, she said, “ball.” There was a picture of a ball next to the “b” on her handwriting sheet. So she didn’t understand the word “letter.” And when I was finally able to make her understand what I was asking, she couldn’t tell me the letter. Aha. All that time she was writing a “b,” but she didn’t’ really get that’s what it was. So we needed to work on letter recognition. To the shaggy rug with letter flashcards and an alphabet poster (thank you Debbie). I am finding my way with her. Figuring out what works.

As for the manuscript, I didn’t get to it our first day of school. But I did today. I’m getting up early to work on my current work in progress, and today Rebeka played diligently for over an hour while I snuck a few more chapters in. And just as I find my way, I marvel at how she finds hers.

Last week, Rebeka noticed a plaque with a coat hook sitting on the floor of the “middle room.” The room that has been an office, an exercise room, and is currently the holding tank for Alayna’s furniture, Rebeka’s clothes, and school supplies. (We moved the furniture out of Alayna’s room so we could fit both their beds.) I showed Rebeka how we would eventually hang that hook on the wall and then she could put her tutus on it. Apparently, she didn’t want to wait. As I puttered around, cleaning up, Rebeka spied a roll of duct tape across the room.

Can’t see it?


Here it is, by the mirror.

She crawled over, brought it back, cut a long strip of it, cut that into tinier strips, and then hung the wall hook with yellow duct tape. Voila!

She figured it out. We all applauded her ingenuity, and by the end of the day the hook was hung good and proper with a nail, adorned with her fluffy tutu.

As for adoption news, this middle room has also been referred to as “the baby’s room.” Our number on the list in Honduras continues to creep. Last we heard we were at #40, but we’ve taken our eyes off that number the last few weeks. A watched pot never boils. A watched number hardly moves. I’ll let you know how our new strategy is panning out. For now, we’ve got “b’s” to work on, a manuscript to finish, a company to start (ask Clay about that one), and too many football/dance/karate practices to think about. Oh yeah, and potholders. We’ve got potholders to make.

Remember these? You make them on a plastic loom with stretchy loops and a little crochet hook. The one I made when I was a kid never got finished because I couldn’t figure out how to finish off the sides. Clay helped us get this one done.



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