Getting bigger...

At the playground the other day, Tommy asked me to help him on the trolley, where he was never able to reach up to. Last Spring, he still needed help. But the other day, he reached right up and grabbed it. I think he was as surprised as I was! It made me realize that all 7 have grown so much over the summer!

Then I took pictures for Kaleigh's senior portraits... she might not be getting any bigger, but she sure is looking older!

A man remembered

I was incredibly sad this morning to read the news about the passing of Senator Ted Kennedy. Not a lot of people know our tie with Kennedy, but it is a big one. So today, I am reposting a post I wrote almost 4 years ago. Kennedy is not just one of the "politicians" I speak of, but the one who stepped in. The one who made it possible to bring our son home. 

Philippe

Fitz had just come home from work. After routinely asking him about his day, I tried in vain to listen to him above the normal chaos of a house with 6 young kids whose Daddy had just gotten home from work. As I waded through the thick mass of toys and toddlers which had become my home, one sentence filtered through to me. “His name is Philippe, and he is eight years old…”

Much, much later, when the kids had been tucked in and some of the chaos of the house sorted out, we lay side by side in the darkness of our room. I asked him again to tell me about Philippe. It seemed an old student of his, Conor Shapiro was working in Haiti, and his family was adopting a young boy. When Fitz asked Conor’s mom about it, she immediately told him about Philippe…another little boy needing a home. He said he would go home and talk it over with me. But there was no talking needed. From the moment Philippe’s name filtered through to me that afternoon, another Fitzsimmons child was born.

Adoption was not a brand new idea to us. After making several trips to Honduras, Fitz and I spoke of adoption often. We even got as serious at one point as to start looking into the requirements of several different international adoption programs. But as time went on, we soon had six children of our own, and the idea became something more distant…something to put off until our children were a bit older. It became a vague, fuzzy vision of a foreign, exotic looking toddler with six older siblings to spoil him or her. Not once in our brief discussions did Haiti come up. Not once had we talked about an older child. Most certainly we had never discussed taking on a child with serious illness.

As we have found out, yet again, life rarely turns out as we expect it. After going through pregnancy and childbirth six times, I thought, “How hard could this be?” We started first with the appropriately named ‘home study’ process. They do actually study your home. After interviews separately with the social worker at her office spilling our lives out, and then an interview together, she came to our home to interview our kids and inspect our home. I was nervous to the point of being nauseous. Would we pass this test? Would we be acceptable parents? If things were found to be wrong, what would that mean…that I had already failed as a parent six times over? Throughout this process, one thing kept me sane. It was a picture pinned up to our bulletin board. The little boy was Philippe, and he was eight years old…

Over the next several months, that picture on our bulletin board became an accepted part of our house, of our family. One morning I awoke to the sound of two small voices in the kitchen. Charlie, 5, was asking EJ, 7 where babies came from. EJ, with his infinite patience, was explaining to Charlie that God puts the babies inside the mama, and when they are ready, they come out. Charlie replied with, “so Mama had a baby inside her, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then another and then another?” “Yes,” said EJ. “Well what about Philippe?” asked Charlie “Well, God knew Mama was tired, and so he decided the next baby would come from Haiti,” answered EJ. “But Philippe’s not a baby,” pointed out Charlie. EJ, again showing his patience, replied “Well God knew a baby wouldn’t be much fun for us to play with, so he made him 8.” As I lay there listening to them, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry. Our kids had made common sense of a situation which we had pondered over for hours about how to explain to them.

Now, many months later, I sit here in the dark thinking about that little boy. He is lying in a hospital bed far, far away from us. I have spent the last several days contacting every government official I can think of who may be willing to help. Each conversation starts the same way, “His name is Philippe, and he is eight years old…” I have politicians in three states fighting for us to help get our son home. The US Ambassador to Haiti is pleading with the Haitian government to make an exception, waive some requirements and let Philippe exit the country in order to be rushed to the US for medical treatment. There is nothing more I can do now but wait. It’s an excruciating feeling as a parent. We know we have done our best, and we hope we have reached the right people, touched the right emotions, and helped people understand the imperativeness of this situation.

So for now, we wait. I hold on tightly to our six children here with us, and am thankful for their good health. I pray daily for Philippe’s well being and hope that he will be here soon. A stranger stops, noting how many children we have. After commenting to the kids on how many brothers and sisters they have, Margaret quickly pipes up, “We have another brother….his name is Philippe, and he is eight years old…”

Life

I laugh at the title of that last post. Did I really think I was catching up? That I ever could catch up? Life seems to have spun out of control on us somewhere along the way, and I feel like I just grabbed an overhanging tree branch to yank myself out of the current.

Since that last post we have celebrated 4 birthdays, said goodbye to our good friend Livingstone, held our 12th annual Memorial Day bash (unofficial headcount had our numbers over 150 this year), dealt with some ever occurring health issues with Pipo, attended numerous sporting events, concert, school celebrations and special events, finished up the school year, and most recently, hosted a group of Rwandan dancers.

What? What was that last item? Oh yes, it was that broken filter in my mouth... the one that let's that crazy YES word come flying out at any old moment. Standing by the fire after one of our Wednesday night dinners, a good friend casually mentioned a Rwandan dance troupe that was flying in shortly to perform and had nowhere to stay. I swear, sometimes these moments are like an out of body experience. I float somewhere up above, watching myself say "Why of course we don't mind seven strangers moving in indefinitely!" I float up above, shaking my head, wondering when I will ever learn.

What we thought was the offer of a roof over their heads for a few nights became a week and a half of feeding the crowd, driving people here and there, trips into Boston Medical to try and figure out strange ailments... we quickly found out we bit off a bit more that we expected to chew.

But here I am, down on Cape Cod, hanging onto that tree branch for dear life and watching the current storm by me. In retrospect, with all the stress and commotion this latest turn of events caused, I don't know that I would have changed things. Some definite positives came out of it, and it is an experience my kids won't soon forget. 

Raising 7 kids on a teachers salary is no easy feat, and Fitz and I know there are many things we will never be able to do for our kids. Fancy expensive toys, exotic trips, private lessons and activities may all be out of our reach, but life experiences... these are the things we hold on to. Watching Kaleigh drive off with 3 Rwandan teenagers to meet up with a crowd of friends and get a soccer game going. Seeing the pride on Emma's face when she throws herself into her own soccer game, scoring two goals and inpressing the young Rwandan friend who came to watch her. Laughing while E.J. attempts to work out a Bob Marley song on the piano and guitar with another Rwandan friend who speaks not a word of English. Watching the sheer joy on the youngest of the troupe jumps on a trampoline for his first time.

We may not have much, but I am feeling incredibly rich lately. I look at my kids, see them reaching out to strangers from the other side of the world, and I know that I gave them this.

Catching up

Well... Fitz Mountain is finally gone. The winter we thought would never end has finally turned into Spring! And with Spring comes yard work, which Tommy and Emma are glad to help with, as long as it includes a ride in the trailer!




Easter came and went, with lots of aunts, uncles and cousins. Actually... a mid egg hunt snowball fight was the final demise of the mountain!




Then came Fitz's birthday, with so many candles I had to get a permit from the fire department!




Last week, Margaret had 12 inched cut from her hair, which she donated to locks of love.





And last but not least, Emma made her First Communion. The 5th in a row here in Fitzville. We have a brief hiatus this coming year, before Tommy has the grand finale.

Long time, no post

Life in Fitzville has been a little crazier than usual this Spring. Along with the normal school/work/sports schedule, we've had a few big events like First Communion, plays, birthdays etc.

Our most recent change in routine is a nice one though... in the form of an unexpected visitor. Our friend, Livingstone Mpagi from Uganda flew in last week and has been staying with us. We met Livingstone 2 years ago at camp. He was a counselor that the kids fell in love with immediately, especially Pipo, who came up to me soon after camp started telling me "Mom, Livingstone is my best friend!"

We knew Livingstone as the quiet, gentle farmer from Uganda, but didn't know much more. This past week has been an amazing week finding more and more about this amazing person.

I have spent the last hour helping Livingstone set up a blog of his own to promote his school in Uganda. He is brand new to blogging, and still figuring out the whole system. His school is shown on a website here at Building Brighter Futures.


The picture at the top of the post is the initial school Livingstone built in 1996. He had 11 students from the village attending. Now, he serves more than 200, in the school pictured at the bottom of the post. Livingstone's new blog is Bukeka Children's Center . Stop by and send some encouragement!

Why is it...?

The other day we were getting ready to go to church, and I played the nagging wife role perfectly. "Are you really wearing that?" and "But your hair... it's, like um... sticking up everywhere!" I had just spent a frantic half hour making sure the kids did not have gaping holes in the knees of their pants, or stains on their shirts.

Fitz laughs whenever I get like this. He tries to convince me that no one will care if Tommy's shirt matches his pants, or if Emma's pigtails are uneven. But I know the truth. Everyone will be watching.

Why is it that when a family (especially a large family) goes out in public, the husband and wife are viewed so differently? If it's the typical chaos, and someone's shoes are on the wrong feet, someone's hair isn't brushed, someone buttoned their shirt wrong... people look at the dad and thing "Oh, that poor, hardworking guy... just trying to support that big family of his." But when they look at the mom, they are thinking "Man, why can't she get her act together? Those poor kids... she has so many of them she can't possibly care for them properly!"

I know society thinks this way. So for now I will keep spit-slicking my husbands hair down on the way to church, no matter how many times he smacks my hand away.

Way cool...

Caribbean - July 2008

Fitz and I have talked lately about how thankful we are for what we have... especially these days. Things are always tight, and we scrape by, but we do it with fun and love and purpose. One of the things I am most thankful for is the experiences we have been able to give our kids.

All told, I have had it pretty good my whole life, but if there is one thing I regret, it is the lack of traveling I have done. Fitz has been around the world, and the big joke when he tells his stories is me saying "I've never been anywhere..." He promises me that someday I will be able to venture out of my little New England bubble.

My oldest daughter Kaleigh, however, is fairly well traveled for a 17 year old kid. Last summer, she had the amazing opportunity to spend a month in the Caribbean through the incredibly awesome Summer camp Fitz and I work at... Windsor Mountain International. Today, we officially found out that this summer, Kaleigh will be spending a month in Peru, in a full Spanish immersion program. How cool is that. I fully admit I am living my life vicariously through Kaleigh, and I am incredibly excited for this opportunity for her.

Every summer, Fitz and I must say a hundred times how lucky we are to have camp be such a huge part of our lives. Even before these trips, Kaleigh had such awesome experiences just being part of camp while we worked. And now, all 7 kids are getting so much out of it every summer.

We are just counting down the weeks now... the kids ask me regularly, "how much longer until camp?"