I haven't been caught up in the "splendor of the season," decorating cookies and wrapping gifts whilst humming "I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas."
I've been stressed and sad and struggling.
I think about my boys all the time - at work, while grocery shopping, straightening the house, folding laundry, you name it.
We have continued to struggle with the sale of our house and I've been asked if I regret moving.
No. I don't.
But it doesn't quite feel like home either.
The tree is decorated, the stockings are hung, and I really thought those things would help . . .
but there is an emptiness I cannot ignore.
What we believed to be a short sale on our home has turned into a "settlement," which basically means we are allowed to sell the property but are responsible for the loss to the mortgage company. We will continue to pay them monthly sums until they are satisfied that we have fulfilled our commitment.
What started out as an honest effort to reduce our expenditures and change our lifestyle in order to re- prioritize and bring our boys home has turned into a mess.
Daily, I am asked "how are things going with the adoption?"
Well . . . I don't know.
I am trying to believe that progress is being made despite the lack of communication, but it's tough to answer that question repeatedly and still believe that something positive may be happening over there.
I have two empty beds in a room upstairs that I want to decorate and prepare for my boys to come home to, but I'm paying double utilities and praying for a end to this mortgage nightmare.
I'm tired.
I want to believe that our attorney is working to get our boys to us, but in actuality, I have no idea.
In case you don't know me personally, I have a tendency to be a glass is half empty kind of gal, and while I am faithful and trust that God has led me to this and will indeed lead me through it, I am feeling weary at this stage.
I could use a little less on my plate, if you know what I mean.
Tonight, we went out to eat for my oldest child's 7th birthday (how is that possible that he's 7 already?!) and there was this family with a beautiful dark chocolate baby girl. In my head I wondered if she is Ugandan and how long they waited for her before being able to hold her and tuck her in each night. Out loud I said "she is beautiful," and the mother turned to look at me, glanced down at my purse (has the boys' images on it) and smiled a thank you.
This time next year, I hope it's all a memory - the waiting, the wondering, the worrying.
In the meantime, I continue to be amazed and incredibly grateful for the generosity, the support, the friendship and the inquiries about how things are going with the adoption.
Thank you for caring, friends. And thank you for your kind words, encouragement and hugs.
Happy holidays.
