Time for Cupcakes

Tomorrow is Livia’s golden birthday—seven on May 7th! We baked, frosted and decorated funfetti cupcakes to deliver to her kindergarten classroom today. Based on the hovering, exclaiming crowd of children surrounding Liv this morning, I’d say the cupcakes will be a success. Oh my goodness, the cuteness I encounter every morning in the kindergarten wing kills me. Those kids are adorable.

Yesterday, amidst a small group discussion about finding contentment in Christ—no matter where you are in life—the topic of blog competition/comparison was brought up. It’s so easy to look at people’s websites and imagine each one tells the entirety of that blogger’s life. You begin to wonder why your life doesn’t seem as wonderful as theirs. Just so you’re never tempted to think that of me, I’ve got evidence of the mess of cupcake-making with my child.

Here’s the end result: a charming cupcake.

Let’s dig a little deeper and imagine what went into making that cupcake. It’s the end of the day and the birthday girl is dead-set on baking with mommy. Mommy wants a drink and a recliner. Alas, the duo whips up a boxed mix, cools the little cakes, then tints a batch of frosting. The tint, notorious for staining *everything* it touches, does that just. Opened by six-year-old fingers, it stains the countertop, her fingers and face, and her clothes. Mommy tries to be cool, takes a few deep breaths and hands her daughter the sprinkles. A few quick swipes of frosting and it’s sprinkle time. Incidentally, sprinkles are the pinnacle of awesomeness to a six-year-old and she proceeds to POUR the little beads all over the counter. Whoops, she says, didn’t know it was open! Replay the last few sentences 24 times and you have a good picture of the final moments of our night.

There might have been more sprinkles on the counter and floor than on the cupcakes.

Jeremy still feels them under his toes this morning.

Finally, the scene of the crime. My kitchen looks just like this right now, 14 hours later. Minus the cupcakes, which are being admired in an elementary school near you.

Saturday with Liv

On May Day

Livia likes to bring me something she calls “love gifts.” She’ll scour the yard—or any place we’re going on a walk—to find something beautiful to bring me. What can I say? The kid speaks my love language!

We have very few tulips in the yard, so I was a bit surprised when Livia walked through the door with a tulip in hand. I didn’t want her picking them as I was hoping they’d brighten up our rainy spring garden. But as it turns out, that one tulip did more for my spirit indoors. It was so lovely. And, as the sun came out, it opened wide each day, receiving all the rays with open petals.

Liv has the right idea, in so many ways. Showing love freely, enjoying beauty when she sees it, bringing joyful bits of the outdoors inside to cherish. I’m glad for her six-year-old eyes.

Sedum

I’ve grown to love our sedum plants. Their leaves are rubbery and they seem more fit for the desert than Nebraska. But they are hardy. And green. And so eager to grow towards the sun early in the spring. I love ’em.

The Latest

Jeremy and I decided to become foster parents in January. We just completed our coursework last night and I’m sitting down to try and make sense of both where we are today and how we got here.

As it turns out, I had preconceived notions of foster kids and foster families and, well, the entire foster care system that I couldn’t even put into words before we began our training. I never really understood why people would choose to become foster parents. It sounded kind of messy. It also sounded like something I had read in an old Christian fiction book in 6th grade. Wasn’t there a Libby character who was a foster kid and always messed up while her bio sister looked and acted perfectly? And then Libby’s dad would show her grace, I suppose he was the Christlike figure. So there you go, the extent of my knowledge and education. Gross.

My ideas began to be changed and molded by a deep friendship with another adoptive mama, who also is a foster mom. She was (and still is!) a normal and loving mother. Her kids are normal and loving kids. Foster or adopted, they are just her kids. Normal kids. Normal meaning hilarious, fun, precious, crazy sinners like the rest of us. My old notions began falling away and I began to build new thoughts. I, a mom by adoption, wanted more children. There are lots of local children in the foster care system, many waiting to be adopted, but I would *never* be able to adopt them unless I became a foster parent.

Our tale really kicked into gear when Jeremy—who had to, by his own admission, be dragged into parenthood to begin with—said we should become foster parents. Really, this fact still hits me as remarkable and miraculous and I am grateful that God was working in his heart. What a blessing to be on the same page here. So we called Christian Heritage, a local agency that shares our Christian worldview, and we began our ten weeks of classes in February. It’s been a long time since Jeremy and I took night classes for college—this was definitely comparable in terms of time commitment. We signed up for the training with friends from church, my foster mom friend encouraged me all along the way, and my parents supported us by caring for Livia so we could attend the classes.

We filled out a lot of paperwork. We got background checks. And physicals from doctors. And completed a lot of homework. And met with Christian Heritage folks in our home. And our hearts have been changed in the process.

Foster care is far more than a way to build our family. It’s an amazing way for us to invest in the future of our city and state. One of my preconceived notions is right, though: it is messy. By its very definition, it’s messy, sin is messy. We’re talking about families that are being torn apart by abusive and neglectful behaviors committed by parents and guardians. And here, right in the middle of the situation is a child who has no control over their crumbling world and is desperately in need of some loving care. Can you see how someone might get starry-eyed at this point? I want to save the children, love the children! Well, foster care training does a darn good job of wiping those stars from your eyes. More often than not, we would end our evenings feeling like we were in way over our heads. And we still feel that way to some degree. We are humbled by the task. We know we can’t do it alone. We trust that God will give us what we need, when we need it—and that includes support from family, friends, church, schools, Christian Heritage, etc.

We are not going into this system alone. Not by a long shot.

So, now that classes are done, are we ready to have kids placed in our home? Not quite yet. There are loose ends to tie up, a waiting game to play, and then we’ll be added to a list of foster families awaiting placements. Even then, it’s my understanding that fostering requires a large amount of flexibility and a willingness to go with the flow of the court system of the state of Nebraska. If we are looking for absolute control and strong deadlines and a life of “sure things” then foster care is simply not the way to go. Jeremy and I would be kidding ourselves if we thought we were in control anyway. God has carried us through the sufferings and joys of our lives—and He is the one we serve in all this.

Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” [James 4:13-15]

May God be praised by the misty offerings of our lives.

Mr. Furrzy

Livia accidentally described Shiloh as being “furrzy” (fuzzy + furry) and the new term has become a favorite of mine. In Shiloh’s case, it’s incredibly accurate: he is one of the furrziest dogs I know. See all the fluff on him? He’s really quite Chihuahua-like on the inside, the rest is all fluffy Coton fur. Besides his high state of furrziness, he’s also—as these photos prove—quite adept with his tongue.

Easter Sunday

Christ the Lord is risen today! We serve a risen Lord—praise God.

Happy Easter, friends!

Joie & Jake

As promised, more pictures from my time with friends Joie and Jake in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Bryonie & Judah

Ever have a dream, and wonder if you can say it out loud to people? Well, here’s mine: I want to photograph women and their children. As in, for the rest of my life.

These images of Bryonie and Judah are not the first Mother & Child shots you’ve seen on the Prairie Box. I thought I’d let you know that they certainly will not be the last. What a joy it was to capture such maternal love in the Moon household last week.

Sweet Baby Judah

Any words I throw down in this blog post will be insufficient to express my amazement and joy for this baby boy. In fact, I’ve deleted this second sentence three times now because I can’t figure out what to say and how to say it. So for now, let me note that I got to meet Judah last week for the very first time—and he is a remarkable and delightfully squeezy 14-week-old baby. His mama, Bryonie, has been a good friend of mine for 16 years now (right, girls?). I stayed with Bry and Josh last week during my Minnesota trip, so yep, I do have more photos of Judah to show off.