I only allow myself to do this once, one time a year. One time and not on her actual day. I am allowed to cry. I am allowed to just get it all out. I can have my fit, wash my face and move on and celebrate. But it seems like August 27th every year is the day I just want to punch life in the face. I know the gifts I have been given. I thank God every day for another day with Lily. Always. But birthdays are hard. And friends… 16. 16 is like a punch in the gut. 16 is the year I always seemed to referenced when I would think of the nevers. It always seemed to be more focused on the big things. Driving, boyfriends, prom, college visits… gah. The place we expected and the place we are now.
August 1st 2018 our family officially grew by 4 feet! Nordy party of 5 became the Nordy party of 7 and we are blessed beyond measure to have added Alfonso Maxwell and Isabella Rose to the Nothdurft family forever.
Thankful to my friend Ashley for these incredible shirts!
My heart exploded the day we met each of them as it did when we met Lily, Andi and Oliver for the first time, but I also tried to hold them at a distance as I knew they weren’t “ours” as we knew for a true successful foster care story the end game results with the kids going home to their rehabilitated parents. On paper this makes perfect, beautiful, redeeming sense.
I played basketball all the way though Jr High and High School, it took years to be semi decent at it. I was always yelled at by coaches to be “more aggressive”, to “be a tiger”, but it was hard for me to do that. Aggressive is not an adjective used to describe me. As I got older and more experienced I got better at basketball and although offense was definitely an easier side for me to play, I did get better with my defense. I got stronger, I learned how to box out and I have an enormous reach making blocks one of the best skills I had. It was fun, I played with my best friends and I have nothing but awesome memories of the sport. I still remember so clearly however one day after a game I was red faced, sweat slicking my hair back and I was talking to a friend who said “I just love watching you play, you are so graceful”. I was like what? Did you see my points? My blocks? I was hustling all over that court and you thought I looked graceful? I still chuckle thinking about it because in my head I was the tiger out there I was trained to be and yet from everyone else’s vantage point I was a giraffe leaping around the court.
I am not complaining. It’s not like she compared me to a bull in a china shop. Being accused of being graceful is not an offensible crime. But I didn’t want to be seen graceful. I wanted to be seen tough.
I love the movie My Best Friend’s Wedding. I am pretty sure I saw it in the theater multiple times and then on loop on VHS. I love the characters, the actors (hello! Julia, Cameron, Dermot and Rupert), the humor, the music, the story line. It’s just chick flick perfection. Of course the Oscars weren’t calling their name to stand up and accept an award in 1997, but all of us young women dreaming of our futures cared and that what mattered.
The very opening (pre Julia) scene is a bride and her bridesmaids singing the classic Wishin’ and Hopin’ in a cutesy 50’s style fashion. The bride is basically saying you won’t get a man just by wishing and hoping, and thinking, and praying, planning and dreaming each night. Oh no, you need hold him, kiss him, love him and show him that you care. And how you show him that you care is by wearing your hair just for him, and doing the things that he likes to do. Then you get the ring and hook, line and sinker. Ha! It’s so cute and silly. And then song gets stuck in your head in a very serious way.
I haven’t thought about the movie or that opening scene in a long time, but lately we are in a huge waiting period of our life and sometimes I will be humming.. Wishing and hoping, thinking and dreaming… and it gets in a loop. I kinda wish someone in a cute dress will sing to me and tell me how to get this wait over. Like maybe if I dress a little nicer. Pray a little harder. Maybe if I stand on my head and wiggle my legs. Just tell me and I will do it.
But God, can you please, please, please match yours to mine?
I don’t actually really trust your will. Your will scares the s*#t out of me. I’ve seen your will. I’ve seen it go seemly really bad. I think if you just see this from my perspective you will see that MY will be done is a whole lot better than yours. I mean, just this time. OK. Please.
So my last post was in anticipation to a huge life change and somehow that change has come. Actually 6 weeks ago.
I outta post more often.
So before we were even licensed to foster I got an email asking if we’d take in a 9 month old baby boy. I said, (with my heart beating out of my chest thinking it’s too soon) “sure, but we aren’t licensed” they said they knew and we’re working on it. That was a Thursday, the following Monday I had our licensing worker inspecting our home and meeting us, Tuesday we had our license and Wednesday we had baby A. in our homes stealing our hearts at first smile.
He wasn’t an abused baby, he didn’t come with lice or ringworm, he was actually Gerber baby squishy delicious and has a heart breaking smile that I know will tear us all apart.
What are we doing? How can I not ask myself that question every day as I rock him, feed him and stare into his almond shaped eyes. Every day that he throws a fit and demands the only cure is me holding him. Every moment he yells his sweet baby yell just because for 2 seconds our household isn’t totally focused on him.
What are we doing?
Multiple times a day I am told by others “I could never do that, I would get too attached”.
Funny thing is, we’re attached. We are doing this and we are attached. Probably too attached. Like so many fear. We were attached the moment the doorbell rang and I opened the door and my heart and we were all goners.
We are all attached and he is attached to us.
About a year ago, long story short, we rescued some kittens. Little, dirty, angry kittens. My sister and I split them up, she took two and named them Jack and Jill. We took two and named them Cinco and Mayo. Give you a hint what their “gotcha” day is 😉
I love cats, I do. I can watch cat videos on YouTube all day long. We always had them growing up. My dad would say things like “I’m allergic”, or “they cause my asthma to get worse” all those little excuses for us not to have them, but they never worked. We always had cats. But myself as the mom of my family we had gone many years without a cat. I had become OK with the no cats thing, no litter boxes to clean out. No cat food to buy. I kinda have a lot already in my life with 3 kids, a husband and 2 dogs so yeah I was really OK with the whole no cat thing and totally honesty here, I wasn’t “all in” when I brought these guys home. I wasn’t super excited we had kittens, I felt dread that I had 2 more responsibilities to add to my plethora of responsibilities. Why did you bring them home then Kim? Well because my heart is often way bigger than my brain. It’s a thing.
Today is the one year anniversary of the scariest day/weeks of our lives. On this day, April 7th, last year Lily had her spinal fusion surgery. It was an awful day that turned into an awful 2 weeks. Well maybe an awful 6 months. Things happened we never expected. Our fears caught us off guard as they were rational fears. Believe me, I am used to irrational fears, but these were rational. She was a sick girl and it was hell to witness.
So somehow it’s been a year since I wrote this Andi Stuck in the Middle post.
One year. Like 365 days. Actually since it is April 1st it’s been more like 380 days or something. I’m not doing the math. There is no need. You do it. OK so I did the math.. 378 days.
But my point is somehow after all that marveling at the fact our middle girl was 10, well now she’s 11. What the heck.
Why do they keep getting older, it’s so unnerving.
So Andi Jane is now 11. Dude. 11.
She is still full of fire and crackers. She is light in the dark and can be a million shades of blue when she isn’t feeling what we are feeling.
So 7 years ago today I went into labor after a pedicure and a castor oil root beer float. I did what I had to do. If he didn’t come before Friday the 6th I had a c-section scheduled and I didn’t want a c-section. So 7 years ago I, for the first time and with my third child finally went into labor naturally at home, well as natural as I could manage.
I didn’t really want him to come out. I knew it was my last pregnancy. I knew life as we knew it was gonna change. But I didn’t want that c-section and I heard that you really can’t stay pregnant forever.