Since Monday
Apparently, a lot can happen between Monday morning and Thursday afternoon.
I wasn’t planning to write another update quite this soon, especially after my last post covered so much of where life stands these days. But this week has been one of those weeks where I keep looking around and thinking, When exactly did this become my life?
Because somehow, in approximately four days, I have become deeply invested in guinea pig real estate, contact lenses, gymnastics schedules, school calendars, 4-H projects, ice skating, London broil, and the nutritional merits of cilantro.
And I am having the time of my life.
The biggest new arrivals came Monday.
Mr. Bingley and Mr. Knightley.
Two little albino guinea pigs.
I have wanted a guinea pig for years. What I did not know was that guinea pigs are highly social animals and really shouldn’t live alone.
So I wanted one guinea pig.
I now have two.
That seems to be how things work around here.
They have been home for only a few days, and I already love them every bit as much as Pippin Took and Finnian Elijah.
I am also discovering that bringing home guinea pigs is apparently the beginning of a graduate-level course in hay, fleece, vegetables, water bottles and habitat engineering.
I bought a habitat from Facebook Marketplace because I was certain it would be perfect.
It was not perfect.
Naturally, I then bought a table and another habitat.
Saturday is now officially Guinea Pig Renovation Day. Their new, larger habitat will go on top of the table with a protective liner underneath, and their original habitat will fit below it. That gives me somewhere safe to put them while their main home is being cleaned, while their everyday habitat gives them plenty of room to run, play and explore.
I have put an embarrassing amount of thought into this.
And I regret nothing.
But my favorite part has nothing to do with what I’ve bought them.
It’s what I’m not doing.
I’m not rushing them.
I’m learning that guinea pigs are prey animals, and trust has to be earned. Every instinct in me wants to pick them up, cuddle them and convince them immediately that I adore them.
Instead, I’m letting them decide when I’m safe.
I sit beside their habitat and speak softly. I bring them vegetables. I watch them come out and explore. I’m learning their individual personalities and letting them become familiar with my voice and presence.
I’m following the advice to give them time to acclimate rather than forcing affection because I’m ready for it.
And I find the whole process incredibly peaceful.
That has also been one of the unexpected gifts of leaving social media behind.
I stepped away from Facebook, TikTok and the endless scrolling, and I’m realizing how many pieces of my day used to disappear into a screen.
Now, when H has gone to bed, is at youth group or is busy with an activity, I don’t automatically pick up my phone.
Sometimes I sit with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Knightley and talk to them.
It sounds ridiculously simple.
It is.
And I love it.
The boys are also going to fit into another new adventure because I’m enrolling H in 4-H, and we’re planning for Pocket Pets to be one of her projects. She’ll be able to learn even more about guinea pig care, nutrition, health and responsible animal ownership while working with the two newest members of our family.
We’re also looking at 4-H Shooting Sports, where youth learn firearm safety, responsibility and marksmanship through structured instruction. As skills and maturity develop, there are opportunities to progress into disciplines including .22 rifle.
I love the idea of H learning firearms the right way from the beginning: safety first, respect always, and instruction from people specifically trained to teach young people.
And somehow we’re fitting that into everything else H has going on.
She had a youth group water activity last night.
She has gymnastics tonight.
She got contact lenses yesterday and has a follow-up vision check Tuesday.
Monday is the Welcome to School barbecue.
Wednesday, fifth grade begins.
And at the end of this month, she starts learning to ice skate.
She’s already looking beyond simply learning to skate, of course.
She wants to eventually do pair skating and ice dancing.
Not merely skating around a rink looking graceful, mind you.
She has her eye on the part where a partner launches the woman into the air and she spins before being caught.
Apparently we have decided that basic recreational activities are insufficient.
I adore this child.
And since my last post, I’ve realized there is something important I want people to understand when I talk about H.
This isn’t another traditional foster placement like the others I’ve had over the years.
This is foster-to-adopt.
H is legally free for adoption. The goal is permanency.
So while there are still legal processes and timelines that have to happen before everything is official, this isn’t a situation where I’m preparing myself for reunification.
I’m preparing for adoption.
I’m building a life with my daughter.
Tuesday will mark six weeks since she came home.
Six weeks.
That number stopped me in my tracks.
Because it feels like yesterday.
And that’s one of the biggest reasons I’ve made such a dramatic change in how I spend my time.
H is ten.
In eight years, she’ll be eighteen.
She may go to college. She may choose trade school. She may begin a career. She may surprise me completely and choose something neither of us has even thought about yet.
That’s hers to discover.
But I get these eight years.
And if six weeks can disappear this quickly, I know eight years can too.
I don’t want to wake up one day wondering where they went.
H has a phone. I’m not anti-technology. But she is such a communicator. She talks and talks and talks—and fortunately, she ended up with a mother who can absolutely keep up.
She gets excited about things and wants to tell me every detail.
So I want to hear every detail.
I don’t want us sitting five feet apart, each staring at a screen while her childhood quietly passes between us.
I want the conversations in the car.
I want gymnastics.
I want school activities.
I want ridiculous discussions in the produce aisle about what Mr. Bingley and Mr. Knightley are having for dinner.
I want her telling me about her day while we’re making ours.
We’ve even started talking about someday buying a motorhome and going camping.
I love those conversations because they’re no longer about my future.
They’re about ours.
Even food has become fun.
Our completely unimportant but apparently life-changing discovery recently was that Albertsons sells London broil.
H and I are obsessed.
I don’t know why this deserves space in a blog post, except that it does.
We enjoy food together. We enjoy deciding what we’re going to eat, trying things and finding things we both love. London broil has somehow become one of those little household favorites.
And I’m beginning to understand that family is built as much in those completely ordinary moments as it is in the milestones.
There’s another new thing I’m enjoying too.
I’m talking to someone.
It’s new. We’re taking our time. I’m not trying to predict where anything goes or attach expectations to something that is still developing.
We simply have a great deal in common, I enjoy talking to him, and I’m excited to continue getting to know him.
That’s a nice place to be.
There is also one enormous possibility I’ve been allowing myself to think about more seriously lately.
Law school.
I’ve been pouring an extraordinary amount of time into my paralegal education and advanced legal studies. The grades have followed—including A-range work—and instead of satisfying my interest in law, all of this education seems to have done the opposite.
I want to know more.
So I’m thinking about it.
Seriously.
We’ll see where that road goes.
For now, though, I have a much more immediate deadline.
School starts Wednesday.
I return to work Thursday.
And suddenly the summer chapter closes and our first full school-year routine begins.
There is something wonderfully funny about the timing.
H starts fifth grade Wednesday.
Mom goes back to work Thursday.
Mr. Bingley and Mr. Knightley will presumably continue eating hay as though they have mortgages to pay.
Pippin and Finnian will continue supervising everyone.
And life will keep moving.
Fast.
That’s what I’m realizing.
My last post was about gratitude for where life has brought me.
This one is really about something different.
Being present for where I am while I’m here.
I don’t need to document every moment.
I don’t need to post every photograph.
I don’t need to know what everyone on the internet is doing today.
I know what we’re doing.
We’re going to gymnastics.
We’re buying vegetables for guinea pigs.
We’re getting ready for fifth grade.
We’re learning contact lenses.
We’re planning 4-H.
We’re dreaming about ice dancing and motorhomes.
We’re discovering favorite dinners.
We’re getting ready for Mom to return to work.
We’re talking.
We’re laughing.
We’re becoming a family.
And when the apartment gets quiet at night, I’m sitting beside two tiny guinea pigs, speaking softly and waiting for them to decide they trust me.
There will be plenty of time someday for quiet.
Right now, I don’t want to miss a minute of the noise.
