Farm Show

Saturday the kids and I went to the PA Farm Show in Harrisburg. It’s like a state fair, only it’s all indoors and there aren’t any carnival rides or games, it’s all livestock and agriculture related displays. Oh, and a famous butter sculpture which is different every year. I had planned on taking Mini Momma along with us but when I called her foster mom I got an earful about her behaviors and a “sorry, maybe next time” response. It made me sad and of course it upset Chica Marie. According to the foster mom, Mini Momma had taken a wig from a young woman staying in their home and wore it to school, refusing to take it off during a physical when she was discovered to have the hair piece by her case worker. The foster mom was furious. I can understand her frustration because Chica Marie has done the same type of thing, taking an I-pod that wasn’t hers to daycare and stealing gum from my purse and eating multiple pieces of it on several occasions (I find it is such a sad thing that I can’t trust her to not dig in my purse when it’s sitting in a joint living space, that I have to hide it from her – I can’t tell you how much I hate that). Stealing and lying are horrible behaviors to have to deal with and these girls are so young I shudder to think what it might be like when they are older if they don’t stop these behaviors now. So, I get it, I understand where this foster mom is coming from. But, I find it unfortunate that the punishment was to keep her from her sister. The foster mom wasn’t at home with Mini Momma when we spoke, but she assured me she would tell her all about what she was missing out on due to her actions. I agree that Mini Momma needed to be punished for her behaviors, it was simply inexcusable, but she gets to spend time with her sister so infrequently that it seemed rather severe to prevent her from seeing her sister on top of it. Maybe I’m too lenient. I un-grounded Primero once to spend time with his eldest brother because he gets to do that on rare occasions. I just tacked the extra time onto the end of his sentence and he was agreeable to it. I just felt it was wrong to deny him access to his brother when he’s been nothing but a good influence in Primero’s life.

 

The Farm Show was fun, Love Bug fell in love with a huge Flemish Giant rabbit and howled when I took him away from the table so other kids could pet the bunny. Love Bug would probably still be there petting the rabbit if he had his way! He also made fast friends with a white goat who loved having her head rubbed. Primero wasn’t too impressed with the whole deal, but put up pretty well with it. Chica Marie fluctuated between excitement and disgust at the smells and animal bodily functions. She also got bored easily, but that’s just par for the course with her. We ended the day with the delicious and famous Dairymen milkshakes and rode the school bus back to our van.

 

Chica Marie decided she wanted to have beads in her hair. I’ve come a long way since I started doing her hair and the styles I’ve attempted have becoming increasingly more complicated, but I’ve never done beads. Chica Marie wanted a style that included braids, but my fingers just can’t figure out those tight tiny braids. I mean, I can braid and French braid or do a Dutch braid, but I just can’t get it tight enough to make the hair stay in the style. And it doesn’t help that Chica Marie’s hair is a much softer curl so it doesn’t hold as well as more tightly coiled hair, like her sister has. I made an attempt Saturday night and it ended in disaster and no beads. I did some more research and found a technique I thought would work and spent an hour and a half last night doing her hair. I did twists instead of braids and did a modified sort of box braid/twist. She was pleased to have the beads in her hair and super-excited to show her daycare teachers and fellow students. I hope we can leave the twists in for a few days and perhaps we will try some more styles in the future. It does save me time not doing her hair in the morning and I know I will get better with time and eventually I might be able to try some cornrow braids. I think Chica Marie is lucky in a sense because her hair can be in beads or not and it all looks good on her. Hopefully she will feel this way when she is older and take pride in her mixed heritage. At least, that’s my hope.

50 First Dates

I don’t know if it’s the rampant baby fever (in the name of all things holy, why on earth to have the insatiable need to cuddle a tiny baby when the baby I do have still hardly manages to sleep through the night – I blame this on my biological clock ticking too loudly in my infertile womb) or knowing that teenagers spend most of their time trying to figure out how not to be at home, but I’ve begun seriously thinking about dating again. Or trying to date, I should say. I think I’m in a better place emotionally than I have been in a very long time (seems the December epiphany is still holding steady!) and well, I’m lonely. I don’t mean in a desperate sort of way, but more like, I need a partner in crime sort of way. I miss so much about being in a romantic relationship. Sure, I’ve tried dating in the past which was mostly a disaster, but if I’m honest with myself, my heart really wasn’t in it. It’s not that I didn’t want to date it’s just that it felt so gross – I don’t mean the guys (well, not all of them anyway), just the idea of it. On Valentine’s Day in a few weeks I will have been alone for 4 long years. The divorce is final and I really am feeling more optimistic and ready for a new relationship. I also don’t feel rushed. I feel like I can take my time to be picky and to not waste my time on guys I know I’m not compatible with. I don’t feel like I have to be a serial dater like I did in the past. I don’t know if I will try the online dating again or just try to get out more sans kiddos, but I think it’s time for me to take some action.

 

I’m hoping I can remain calm with this because for whatever reason, the idea of turning 35 later this year has really got me freaked out. As anyone in the infertile world knows, 35 is where the magic line is drawn between fertile and maternal age infertile, meaning if I found someone and by some miracle of God got pregnant, I would be in a higher risk due to my age. What a way to make a girl feel old! I know I chronicled my fears of turning 30, coupled with being childless, and I’m not quite to that level of anxiety about it, but still, it’s something that’s floating around in my head. Of course, on pessimistic days I tell myself I’m a total fool because there’s no way my lady parts will figure out baby making even if my age weren’t working against me. It didn’t work before why would it work now? Who knows? I’ve been having dreams, at least one per week, where I’m in my 40’s and pregnant for the first time. Ironically, one or more of the kids are becoming parents at the same time. The me in my dreams is at first incredulous to be found pregnant (she didn’t believe it was possible after all) and then sort of embarrassed to have an accidental pregnancy at her age. Still, the news is received with joy all around and the gorgeous Mr. Right in my dreams does and says all the right things to a hugely pregnant dream me. Some of the dreams are funny and some are more serious, but all end happily with boy/girl twins being born next door to whichever child (usually it tends to be Primero) is also having a baby.

 

So, I’m back in the saddle again and hoping this time it will result in more than a few (awkward) first dates!  

Uncomfortable Hot Button Topic

I feel like this post has been a long time coming. It’s something I’ve mentioned before but not something I’ve point-blank addressed with my own personal feelings on the matter. It is a hot-button issue and as a rule, I tend to steer clear of such things because the sea of pro and con voices seem never-ending and well, sometimes there just isn’t a “right” answer. I mean, none of us are God, not even those who profess to be the mouthpiece of God have the ultimate authority. So, we can debate things until we are blue in the face but the fact of the matter remains, as fallible humans we don’t have all of the answers.

 

For a while now I have struggled with my own personal views regarding homosexuality (I’m not going to get into the gender conversation because this is still something I’m “sitting” with). As Christians we are taught it is a sin, often times referred to as an abomination. When I was younger, I believed that. And, honestly, I probably never would have given it much more thought until my son came into my life. He identifies as bi-sexual. When I first met him he told me he was totally straight but that everyone assumed he was gay because he was “flamboyant.” As I got to know him he slowly began exploring his feelings about sexuality (which, was very age-appropriate for him to do since he was 14 at the time) and he slowly began to reveal his attraction to other boys. Part of it was him exploring how he felt about it and part of it was exploring how I accepted the news and treated him. He mentioned some painful stories of how family members (including his mother) had mistreated him in the past because he wasn’t “manly” enough or enjoyed doing “girly” things like straightening his hair. Although he has recently re-written history a bit to say the first person he “came out” to was his cousin (he once told her he thought he might like boys and she said, “it’s ok, you do you.”), in reality I was the first person he told he was bi-sexual.

 

In our conversations I never hid my confliction regarding homosexuality (or bi-sexuality) as a Christian. But, I also never belittled gay people and told him many times his sexuality had nothing to do with how much I loved him because that would be putting a condition on my love when my love is unconditional. When it became clear that my son’s sexuality would not be compatible with my church we moved to a different church. My son did not deserve to be called “fruity” nor should he be treated as an “other” because he wasn’t someone’s definition of a teenage boy. I’m not going to lie and say I’m 100% comfortable with homosexuality and same-sex marriage (and please don’t beat me up about this because I’m being honest – I also don’t love tattoo’s and really dislike body disfiguring, things like split tongues or ear gages – beat me up about that instead!). I don’t mean to say I am against individuals seeking to marry someone of their same sex and I would NEVER discourage my son from dating or even marrying a man, I’m just confessing it isn’t something that I find comfortable. But, my comfort doesn’t matter. And that’s why I would never tell my son who he can or can’t love. I am honestly, more concerned about the morality of cheating or sleeping around than who he might be doing that with. And by that I mean, my son incessantly flirts with boys while dating a girl. And I don’t think that’s fair to her. I asked him to think about how he would feel if she were doing the same thing and I discourage him to cheat on his girlfriend, because cheating is cheating even if it’s with the same sex. But, I digress.

 

My point is I love my son unconditionally. And that means I love him as a bi-sexual young man who might someday be romantically involved with another young man. I bring this up now because our pastor announced at church on Sunday that in this coming year he will be defining the church’s stance and policy on things like sexuality, gender, and marriage. And I can guess what’s coming. I don’t like this feeling of dread that has come over me because I’m going to be forced to make a choice – do we stay in this church or do we move on (again)? How do I justify my faith with my love for my son and how is it fair that anyone ask me to do so? I’ve read both sides of the argument, in regards to homosexuality in the Bible. I’m not thoroughly convinced either way. What I know is clearly Jesus instructed all His followers to love their neighbors and he didn’t put any qualifiers on that, such as love thy neighbors, unless they are gay. And, if homosexuality is a sin, well aren’t we all sinners? “For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” Romans 3:23. We profess our need for a Savior by confessing our sins. And that’s for every single human being to do personally from Mother Teresa to Adolf Hitler.

 

So, I might not agree with or feel comfortable with certain life-styles or life choices but it is not for me to judge other people. I’m not saying I don’t think there is an absolute right and wrong, because there is, but I also know that life is full of gray areas. And in those gray areas there might not be an absolute right or wrong. Or maybe I’m just not smart enough to make it all make sense. Regardless of my personal opinions, every single human being deserves to be treated respectfully. I might not go out of my way to encourage same sex marriage, but I certainly wouldn’t wish anyone any ill will if that is a choice they make. If my son decides to marry a man I will most certainly participate and be happy for him on his big day – I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I worry about being labeled a “lukewarm” Christian and risk being ostracized from some of my Christian friends, but so be it. Mostly, I just feel stuck in the middle, wishing we could all just get along. I don’t know what might happen after the coming sermons on marriage, sexuality and gender. It’s hard enough to get Primero to attend church, let alone feeling like he’s unwanted. I’ve contemplated talking to the pastor before the sermons are presented, in hopes he would have some compassion and express things delicately. I might sound heretical just asking that he be lenient. I wish I could talk to other Christian’s about this feely, without feeling judged. I wish I didn’t feel conflicted, mostly for my son’s sake because I don’t want him to ever feel I’m disappointed in him or wish he were different in any way (ok, well maybe a little less mouthy…) because I love him just as he is. Surely, that can’t be wrong!    

New Therapy

Yesterday at work I assisted a deaf man in creating a profile on our state website and developing a resume to use for job searching. The appointment was prearranged so I could have an interpreter there since I don’t know much sign language (I can finger spell say “no” “yes” “I’m sorry” “My name is” “girl” “boy” and that’s about it!). Now, I have acted as an interpreter for customers who speak Spanish and I have used a telephonic translator with customer’s who spoke Vietnamese, but I’ve never worked with an ASL translator. I wanted to do everything right and by that I mean I wanted to interact as if there wasn’t a translator there. But, a few things tripped me up. First of all, the customer was never really talking to me. And what I mean is, unlike when I’ve experienced translation through verbal communication, the customer never really looked at me when he was talking or when I was responding. He had to look at the interpreter. This was partially compounded by my cubical arrangement, but it led to some confusion, especially when his wife would chime in but I had no idea she was “talking.” The translator was professional but curt when I made a few flubs of handing her a paper instead of the customer when she said something like “hand it to me” or “can I write it down for you?” I didn’t realize how much conversation we have with one another in small gestures, whether they be facial gestures, hand motions, or small noises that aren’t words but mean things. At least the customer was gracious when I miss-stepped and thankful for the help I provided. He had a good attitude that made things run more smoothly, I think. I think he could tell I was trying my hardest – at least I hope he could.

 

Sometimes when I’m interacting with someone with a visible disability I try to anticipate what I need to do and just make a mess of things in the process. In contrast to my meeting with the deaf gentleman, I discovered Chica Marie’s new mobile therapist has a visual disability. She came out last night to meet us for the first time and almost immediately I knew something was different because she almost walked through our screen door in the front of the house. When we sat down at the table I noticed her left eye was glazed over with a white film much like a thick cataract. When I tried to meet her gaze to initiate some non-verbal cues, her left eye would wander or roll and I so I tried to stop using the non-verbal cues because I wasn’t sure she would catch them. Ove the course of our meeting she mentioned a family genetic condition that affects eyesight. In my lame attempts to help, I feel like much of our communication was stunted because I was over-compensating and trying to fill-in what I thought she needed. I’m sure she caught on, but again, she was gracious enough to not call me out on it. I’m sure sometime in the future Chica Marie will ask about her eyes in her typical abrupt fashion and hopefully by then I will have stopped my ridiculousness and will be able to navigate that with her.

 

I did talk to the therapist about all of the issues, and I mean ALL of them. I had made myself a list so I wouldn’t forget anything. I even told her about the conversation with my family worker and how conflicted I have been feeling in regards to Chica Marie’s future. She was very understanding and didn’t feel it was fair for anyone to attach Love Bug’s security to Chica Maire in the way they have. Fair or not, that’s how it is. I confessed to the therapist that I’m in need of help and how I don’t feel as emotionally attached to Chica Marie as I do to Love Bug and Primero. She understood and explained the behaviors are between us like a buffer, preventing that close emotional connection like the one I have with the boys. She’s going to come out next week to try to get to know Chica Marie a little better by playing with her. She knows Chica Marie’s first therapist, the one she had such an attachment to, and somehow that makes me feel better. She was curious about why Theraplay didn’t work but didn’t seem be upset at my proclamation that it was useless because Chica Marie would simply not cooperate. She hopes she is able to help and was very curious as to why the daycare doesn’t use time out and how terribly ineffective that must be. I too hope she can help because I admitted that things haven’t been great for a little while with us. She said she was already brainstorming some ideas and would be ready to offer them to me next week. I don’t want to put too much stock into this new therapy being the catalyst for the big changes we need, but I don’t have any other choice, it’s all I have! So, here’s hoping the therapy can help me modify my parental approach to Chica Marie so our relationship can improve.

My Mouth gets Me in Trouble

I don’t know what it is about this time of year that seems to generate so much drama, but just as last year this time, we’re in the thick of things. It all stems from Hermano and his girlfriend. While the county has said Hermano cannot see his girlfriend, they have managed to still see one another on a weekly basis. She drives to where Hermano visits with his mother and then, instead of seeing his mom, he spends time with his girlfriend, drives her car around (he doesn’t have a license) and does “other” things with her. She came to his uncle’s place on Christmas and I got in trouble for “letting” him see her  - I guess I was supposed to throw her out of someone else’s house? Or rudely leave and cut the (very nice) Christmas visit short? Anyway, after getting chewed out by the county case worker and discovering how upset his foster parents were, overnight visits with us have been suspended and I found out other information that has me steaming mad at Hermano. He lied to me and manipulated me and disrespected me in my own home. And his girlfriend was just as culpable. So, I told them about themselves and how mad I was. My conversation with the girlfriend (via text messages) actually turned out ok. Unfortunately, I mentioned to her that Hermano has been trying to have a baby for a long time now (which is true!) and that had him so pissed off he was refusing to talk to me. Sigh. It wasn’t the nicest thing to say, even if it was true, but he certainly didn’t handle it with any measure of maturity. Emotions are running high due to the fact that his girlfriend is confirmed pregnant and of course the county and the foster parents are scrambling to figure out the next steps and how to handle this situation. Primero was angry with me for what I said about his brother (I think he was just looking to be angry for any reason last night) and Esperanza was frustrated with her brother but also concerned that he might try to run away again because he felt everyone was against him. I’m sure he is getting a lot of flak from his case workers and foster parents and I didn’t mean to add to that, but I was very angry about being lied to and so it just slipped out. My mouth always gets me into trouble. I apologized and he accepted by apology, so hopefully things will slowly mend. I offered to go through my baby paraphernalia to see what I could loan out or give to him and his girlfriend for the baby. I will also go through baby clothes I have once they know the baby’s gender. Babies having babies, ugh!

 

I keep telling myself I need to stay out of this, really I do. Hermano is not my foster son. But….. But, he’s family. Through extension of Primero, Hermano is family to me now. I don’t make it a point to turn my back on my family. Besides, by virtue of communicating with both Hermano and his girlfriend, I’m involved. I wish I always did and said the right thing, but that would require a grace I simply don’t possess. I get mouthy. And bitchy. And then, after I’ve said my peace, I calm down, re-think the situation and end up apologizing most of the time. Part of me wants to run screaming from all of this – that part that still regrets infertility and never knowing the feel of a baby growing inside of me. Part of me wants to withhold assistance because I’m not in agreement with what has happened – these kids are not ready, it’s not a good idea at all. I think these are the snarky, mouthy parts of me that come out when I’m angry or scared. When I calm down I find that more rational side of me who says, “Look, this thing has already happened, right? And, so you might be opposed to it (the pregnancy) but who are you hurting when you refuse to help? You not helping is not undoing the thing, it is only hurting the baby, who is totally innocent, and the kids who might really be scared and need to rely on a seasoned adult they can trust – like you.” Sometimes I hate that rational part simply because she’s right. And let’s not forget the little green monster of jealousy sneaking into the picture too. Some irresponsible kids are having a baby, something my adult body just couldn’t figure out?!?! But, let’s not go there. I’ve committed my help by way of contributing baby things and allowing them to tell me their future plans for the baby. They understand I’m not crazy over the idea of teen pregnancy, but they can rely on me to do what I can to be supportive. I feel like it’s a fine line to walk but as time wears on I get better at walking it. At least, I hope I do……

Stay

I’ve been seeing a lot of chatter on Facebook and other blogs about a “word of the year” – one specific word that is supposed to guide you in the year to come. Apparently, there is a book about it, which I have not read but think I might (you know, in all my free time). I thought it sounded like a good idea but didn’t think I would be getting in on this latest craze because there’s no way I could pick just one word. There are a lot of words I like and I tend to be long-winded and wordy in general, so finding just one perfect word, nope ain’t gonna happen. Then I was reading a blog by a new foster parent and she talked about the book “To the end of June” written by a former foster child and featuring information from other adults who had been in the foster care system as children. The blogger mentioned a specific quote about staying, that families don’t leave one another they stay. And it hit me. It hit me like a ton of bricks and then some. Stay. My word for 2016 is stay. I need to stay the course not only with my nutrition and exercise, but also with my epiphany regarding infertility and my jumbled path to motherhood and the positive feelings I’ve recently come to regarding all of that (it made my therapist cry when I read it to her, so I think it’s a pretty good thing). But, the first thought that popped into my head is Chica Marie.

 

Now, let me tell you why it was so powerful to have that happen today. For Christmas, Hermano got an I-pod (I didn’t even know they existed anymore!) and he asked Primero to put songs on it for him because Primero has about a million songs. Well, last night Love Bug found it and carried it into the kitchen to me while I was washing dishes. I asked Chica Marie to put it on the counter in front of the TV where Love Bug couldn’t reach it. This morning Chica Marie asked where it was (odd) and declared she had no idea where it was or what happened to it. I was irritate but we didn’t have time to tear the house apart to look for it, so we went about our day. At daycare I was dropping Love Bug off when Chica Marie’s teacher came to me and said, “Miss A, we don’t allow electronics here” and handed me the I-pod. If I was a cartoon character my face would have turned red and steam would have boiled out of my orifices to the sound of a train whistle – I was pissed. Not only did she steal something and take it to daycare but she LIED about it. I talked to her and let her know the trouble she was in and asked for her to be given a time out. The daycare worker said they weren’t allowed to give kids a time out (um, what? No wonder they have so much trouble with Chica Marie!) but she could have her play quietly by herself (because that’s punishment). I said not to worry, I’d be sure to issue that time out when we got home this afternoon and stormed off to work. 

 

So, to have they word stay crash into my brain like a freight train after being so angry with that little girl this morning, is saying something I think. Chica Marie might give me nothing but trouble for the rest of her natural days. We might butt heads like rams dueling for the last ewe on earth, but I need to stay. I need to stay. And Chica Marie needs to stay. Because no matter what, at the end of the day that’s what will be most remembered and most honored. I stayed. She stayed. And we all stayed together.  

Patchwork Quilt

The holiday mayhem has passed and we are now going about getting back into our routine. I’ve added waking up 45 minutes earlier to my routine so I can work out. Blah. I don’t like waking up earlier, but I like knowing the work-out is done for the day and I don’t have to keep dreading it all day long. Hopefully, I can keep up with it! 

 

We had a really nice New Year’s eve together at home. Esperanza was over and Hermano was permitted to come over and spend the night. He was dropped off in the evening after visiting with his mom. We played Uno and sipped our sparkling cider while watching Dick Clark’s Rocking Eve celebration on the TV. When the ball in Times Square dropped we ran to the back of the house to watch the fireworks at the Pagoda from Chica Marie’s bedroom window. I put Chica Marie to bed and then we watched a movie until 2 am when I went to bed and Primero stayed up with Hermano until 4 am. I slept fitfully until 10 and woke everyone up by 11 so we could have brunch. Later in the day we went to the farm for pork and sauerkraut for our traditional New Year’s day dinner and then we took Hermano home. Hermano got a job at the local McDonalds, which is good. I hope he keeps the job and doesn’t flake out on it. He has a reputation for not taking things seriously, so I suspect he will do the same with this job.

 

Last week we got notification from the Recorder of Deeds office regarding the adoption of Primero. Unfortunately, his first name was still wrong on the paperwork. It’s crazy how two letters reversed in a name can make such a difference! I called the lawyer’s office this afternoon and they will send an amended decree to change the name, since they were the ones who miss-spelled his name on the form. This might affect the birth certificate, meaning it will take even longer for him to get his driver’s license, but it might be for the better so he can begin driving in the spring instead of winter-time. After many trials and errors, we did manage to get the forms sent off for Esperanza’s birth certificate, so hopefully that will be coming soon. Our goal is to get her a driver’s license before she graduates high school, so finger’s crossed that form comes soon!

 

The mobile therapist for Chica Marie has finally contacted me and plans to meet us on Thursday. I’m anxious for these services to begin because we need help – I need help desperately. I need to work on becoming more attached to Chica Marie and being a better mother to her than I’ve been. I struggle the most with her in a way I don’t with the boys. I always thought I would be closer to a daughter that we would have an immediate tight knit bond, but that has not been the case with Chica Marie. I need to work harder on creating the attachment and parenting her differently. I’m hoping the therapist can help!  

Last week Love Bug had an evaluation by a speech therapist. At this point in time she is not beginning services, but stated if he doesn’t improve in a few months she can come back and re-evaluate him. She gave some suggestions to his Occupational Therapist and me to help him and her greatest suggestion was to get him to stop sucking his finger, which I have not been successful in doing in the past. He sucks the pointer finger on his left hand and has it raw and sore because it is the only finger he likes. The speech therapist believes his pallet and teeth are beginning to form around that finger and really could affect his speech if not stopped. I need to see about getting a glove to strap on his hand because thus far things like black pepper, vinegar, and vanilla extract have not worked on curbing his appetite for that finger. This will be an up-hill battle for sure.

 

Esperanza sent me a text message this morning of a positive pregnancy test with “it’s official!” written below it. She said it was sent to Hermano by his girlfriend because she is pregnant. Ugh. There have been rumors and supposed pregnancies in the past (post), so the only surprise here is that this girl didn’t seem the type to get mixed up in his baby-making scheme. I’m sure Hermano is tickled pink about this, but that’s just because he is too immature to realize how his life will change with a baby. I’m mad for all the same reasons I mentioned in my previous post on this matter and I honestly hope it was a false positive or something because Hermano does not need to add fatherhood to his already very full plate. My worry now is that he will sign himself out of foster care when he turns 18 and not get his high school diploma, which would not put him on a path to being able to care for himself or his family. Esperanza said something along the lines of not being sure how to feel, angry or happy. As she said, it’s already been done, so I guess she feels since she couldn’t stop it she might as well be happy for them. I don’t quite see it that way and I worry about the retributions and repercussions from CYS once they find out. I’m trying to keep myself out it as much as possible, knowing I’m in it no matter what I do. 

 

For the first time ever, over the holiday’s I actually felt like I had my own family. I have always felt like we’re just a hodgepodge group smushed together but I finally see us more for our whole than our parts. I now see my family like a patchwork quilt – beautiful individual pieces sewn together to create a gorgeous work of art. And that’s what we are, a gorgeous work of art!