I had a Christmas card all picked out and waiting for order in an online shopping cart. Our family of three, cracking up and being super silly at Disneyland last summer. I don’t know what kept me from pulling the trigger, but I didn’t order it.

And now that card doesn’t feel fitting.

Our family looks a little different today than it did three weeks and two days ago. We are still the Tredway Three in legal terms. We are still the Tredway Three in history and in permanency. But something else is going on that makes it, well, odd to send out a card with the three of us featured. We are the Tredway Five right now.

There are five seat belts in our car that get used every time we venture out as a family. Thank goodness for the larger sized sedan we purchased last July—we can just barely fit two carseats and a 9 year old in the back seat. There are five place settings at the table every time we eat a meal. Three normal size forks and two preschool-sized ones. Three Fiestaware plates and two Spiderman bowls. There are potty seats haphazardly tossed next to two toilets in the house. Boxes of diapers trip me as I walk into my office and piles of boy pajamas sit in the previously all-girl-all-the-time bathroom upstairs. Our house is again filled with blocks and board books, little puzzles and farm sets. An often grabbed-for Febreze has a twin upstairs in our vain attempts to mask the odors that come alongside diapered toddlers, and we’re still getting the rhythm of what goes in the indoor garbage can versus the outdoor garbage can.

Two precious faces have been entrusted to our care. For how long, we do not know.

Jeremy and I are Mommy and Daddy to two extra little people who already have a Mommy and Daddy. We drive home each evening to pronouncements of, “Here we are! We’re home!” and we say, “Yes! We’re home!” Because what else is this place if not home? Here you are safe, we say. You are fed, bathed, hugged, snuggled, disciplined, sung over, prayed over and loved in a million different ways. For however long you are here, this is your home.

So you see my predicament in blithely mailing out a Christmas card with three goofy (or Goofy) Tredways on the front. We are still those people, and yet we are not those people at all. For now, for this season, there are five of us. For better or for worse, the Tredway Five.

Pssst… Wanna see our Disney pic? Of course you do. I LOVE this shot. Makes me all happy inside.

I have many great shots from a recent family photoshoot with the Mackrill family, but little Rowan has a special place in my heart. This kid! He is feisty and hilarious and smart and all kinds of wonderful words in between. I could take pictures of him all day long and could fill books of the funny things he says and does. This kid is a treat. He reminds me, in many ways, of Livia and thus I know precisely what his mama does from day to day. Rowan’s mommy is a special woman. [big smile]

Now that I have two little boys in my household I value Rowan’s four grubby fingers all the more. Every night I empty a tubful of water and marvel at how exponentially dirtier it is than any bath water Livia ever played in. And this is a mud-loving little girl we’re talking about. Snips and snails and puppy dog tails. Little boys. There’s nothing like ’em!

I have had a latte, a sippy cup, Mike’s Hard Lemonade, cinnamon bread, a potty seat, a farm set, diapers, and a meal dropped off at my doorstep over the course of three days.

People, there is nothing greater in this world than a Doorstep Present.

Or maybe I just think so because gifts are the way I feel loved. Whatever it is, I am grateful for these tangible signs of kindness, care and provision from my friends. I feel incredibly loved. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The five of us are keeping afloat due to the massive prayers being sent heavenward on our behalf. I swear a few of you quit praying as much Saturday night—the banner was let down, so to speak—because the 3 year old woke up at 12:30am and then the 1 year old at 3:30am and Liv never went back to sleep after 4am. Sleeplessness is no joke. So keep praying. I know God’s grace is sustaining us. That, and of course Doorstep Presents. You can keep bringing those, too. They don’t count less if I’ve mentioned how much I love them, I promise.

We have our work cut out for us in finding a new normal. “Normal” in foster care isn’t really a standard, however. So the goal is more to stay on top of duties and responsibilities while still loving each other with gentle and generous spirits. Again, please pray for us. We need it.

Three year olds talk A LOT. And I only understand roughly half of what this particular one is saying.

Throwing sippies is a thing. Who knew it was so pleasurable for little boys to throw their cups?

I woke up every time someone coughed last night, which was a lot, and then remained anxiously awake for the next 30-60 minutes.

Is this the moment where I take up drinking coffee in the morning?

By the time Jeremy got out of the shower all three children were dressed. Why yes, I am patting myself on the back right now.

Livia’s internal motivation could power the earth if we could harness it on the rare moments it shows up with vim and vigor. I can’t take credit for dressing her; she did that herself in record time.

Also, Livia is an excellent big sister. Even though she does forget that the three year old is terrified of monster and continues to talk about them.

These little people are new to me and this whole gig is going to take some getting used to.

I feel like a babysitter right now.

I am trying very very very hard to live in the moment, which means not worrying about the future. A planner by nature, I can’t do so in this situation. I need to be a mom and also support their mom. I need to be flexible, respectful, easy to work with and knowledgeable.

I need to love people the way Jesus loves people.

I totally can’t do that. So as we take [pausing to take the baby’s hand out of the trashcan] on this giant responsibility, we ask that you pray for us constantly. We need it. We know God hears and gives grace. He loves these little bitties more than anyone does and we need him to impart that godly love to us. Thanks a million times over for praying.

Nine weeks of foster parenting classes together. One life-changing call for the placement of two little boys. Approximately a year and a half of watching them work through the foster care system like champs. Two family photo shoots. One profound and perfect adoption court date. One pregnant belly. Five people in the Cranford family by the end of the day on September 17, 2013 (and yes, I am counting wee Cranford in utero who we’ll meet face-to-face this winter).

Praising God with my friends today.

This adorable little boy turned one last month and we celebrated by capturing his cuteness with a photo shoot. I may not be able to show his face—at least as ordained by the State of Nebraska—but I’ll tell you what I do know below…

Though this child may be anonymous for now on one very small blog in the great world wide web, he is not anonymous really.
This child is important.
This child matters.
This child is made in the image of God.
This child is deeply deeply loved.

My next personal essay will be entitled, “The Role of the Trampoline in Respite Care” or “How the Trampoline Saved My Bacon.” Stay tuned.

If you’ve ever cried in public, then you know how embarrassing it can be to feel vulnerable. I went through a season where I cried at what seemed like every church activity I went to. I’d walk through the doors into a group of women and just start crying about how hard things were. (Hint: my daughter was three at the time.)

It’s tempting to walk away from these moments with a deep sinking feeling in your gut. Oh man, did I really say all that? Why did I cry in front of my friends? And so on and so forth. Or maybe it’s not something you do in person but you feel this way after a particularly personal email or Facebook exchange.

I want to say, though, that we shouldn’t be ashamed of being human. We shouldn’t feel embarrassed for being real or for needing to cry or for sharing our hearts with our friends. We don’t need to bear the weight of perfection and strength. Because guess what? We know it’s a lie. We all know you aren’t perfect. We all know you don’t have your life all together. Knowing that you are human makes me want to be more human, too.

Maralee asked the other day for people’s perceptions of foster parents. I emailed her privately to say “sexy” because when I think of foster parents that’s the first word that comes to mind. You know… now that Jeremy and I are part of this community. Incredible sexiness aside, we avoided foster care for years because of our misconceptions—misconceptions related to foster parents, foster children and definitely related to our state. Maralee then came up with 10 Ways to Ruin Your Fostering Reputation. I highly encourage reading this post and soaking in the information because it is very very good and contains a lot of wisdom.

As we care for foster kids, I’d like to acknowledge, in an effort towards vulnerability, that there are challenges involved. For me the biggest challenges are emotional ones, like how does someone with a huge desire to adopt care for a child who will be reunified with her parents? The struggle to parent well, as in life with your adopted or biological child, is hard. What I find to be exceedingly important at this stage is a support group. Because going down this path alone might just derail me.

To hold in all the frustrations of foster parenting, to never say a cross word about it, isn’t going to help me out in the long-run. As you can see in Maralee’s list, a foster parent needs to be careful about what is said publicly. But privately? That’s another matter. In a small, supportive and confidential community, one is allowed to vent. Gripe. Complain. Acknowledge the hardships. Share the sadness. Confess the feelings of angst. And at the end of the day, such vulnerability makes everyone a better parent. Being known, exposing one’s soul, and knowing others? This is important. It is valuable. And it is nothing to be ashamed of.

Maralee was invited to give positive parenting tips for a television segment sponsored by Nebraska Children and Families Foundation at NET last week. As any friend-tographer would do (am I spelling that word right, Maralee?), I volunteered to come along and document the experience with my camera. The morning began with makeup and hair by the beautiful Emily Lovelace at Tangled Up Salon, and from there we continued on to the NET studio on UNL’s East Campus.

Look for Maralee’s parenting spots on NET in coming weeks. I’ll put out more information on air times as soon as I can.

Have you ever seen a woman crying while driving? Did you see one on 70th & Van Dorn today? Yeah, that was me. Driven to big elephant tears by adoption and foster care and a multitude of stories that mix beauty with sadness, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The alternative was crying on the physical therapy table while getting my elbow iced. I’m relieved I made it out to the car first.

I started off the day reading this post by the very talented Renee Welstead. Renee will always be the amazing photographer who taught me a lot (I can almost hear her voice when I’m working), but more recently I’ve watched Renee and her equally talented husband Ben as they walked through the foster care system and right into adoption. We’re running in different circles these days but every time I get a glimpse of their personal lives I pray for them and cheer them on. I love what they are doing.

And then there is Maralee and the story of her day with her second son Danny. I knew about this situation before she blogged about it, but goodness, the story still slayed me. Her Danny and my Liv have a lot in common. Livia, at age four, also said things about her biological family that completely threw me and Jeremy for a loop. Very early on we’ve all had to think about how to convey the truth of adoption as well as build strong family foundations. This can be so hard—adoption can be so hard at times! And yet, so worth it as well. Obviously worth it as well.

I’ve been hearing stories of foster kids lately and one particular story, combined with Maralee’s blog post that I read on the PT table, broke me down. The specifics of it can’t be shared due to confidentiality for a state ward, but people, your hearts would be broken if you knew what some kids go through.

I am the first to admit that working in foster care scares the tar out of me. Abuse and neglect can’t help but change a person and cause damage that will alter their lives. The honest truth is that some kids will be able to heal significantly with therapy and lots of love and stability, and other kids won’t be able to bounce back so easily. The longer a child is in an abusive situation the more damage is incurred on their minds and bodies. As I’ve been reading and learning and digging deeper into foster care, I’m feeling so inadequate for the job that lies ahead. I am scared. I am nervous. I am wondering what God might ask Jeremy and me to do.

Just as I am feeling completely broken for the kids in my state who have been injured by the adults in their worlds, I remember that God is bigger than all this. His love for his children knows no bounds and his heart was the first that was broken for these kids. He loves them. Adores them. Knows their every need and carries each of their tears. He is the Deliverer, the Redeemer, the Rock and our salvation. At the end of the day, I don’t need to be afraid. God’s got this. I need to faithfully walk forward and serve Him by loving others.

Lord, help all of us working with foster kids. Help us to love fully, to pour ourselves out and then to be replenished by your strength. Amen.