So, I think all of you that read this blog know that Sammie and I are trying to adopt. I haven't really mentioned it here because, well, you can probably guess why. I won't go into a lot of details, but I'll give a quick update. We've had some success getting in contact with potential birth mothers and hearing of situations that could work out for us. Unfortunately, though, nothing has worked out yet. In fact, we've had two adoptions fall through.
So... we're still searching! Following are three links to our online adoption profiles. This is just a reminder... if you hear of someone who is thinking of placing a baby for adoption, keep us in mind! We'll name the baby after you. (Okay. We probably won't. That was my one weak attempt at humor for this post.)
Here's our old LDS Family Services profile. (I don't know when they are officially changing from the old to the new.)
Here's our new LDS Family Services profile.
And here's our Parent Profiles profile. (department of redundancy department)
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Meanwhile, back on the ground...
Okay, I still get a stomach ache when I look at the video of Sammie jumping out of the plane. Here are some pictures of us on the ground before he jumped - with the jump master and with me trying to talk him out of it. :)
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
At Least the Parachute Opened...
Last week, I saw a bumper sticker that read, "If at first you don't succeed, maybe skydiving isn't for you."
Fortunately, Sammie's parachute opened. Unfortunately, he threw up on the jump master on the way down and then sprained his ankle while landing.
But the parachute opened!
And I learned exactly how long 30 seconds can feel: as I see a small speck that I know is my husband falling or jumping or whatever out of a plane 10,000 feet above my head and wait for the parachute to open. That 30 seconds may have been the longest of my life and the shortest of Sammie's as he fell through the air with a jump master and parachute (that opened!) strapped to his back.
Once the parachute opened (and it did open!) Sammie got sick to his stomach. The instructor turned the chute so he could throw up. He said it just kind of dissipated into the air. (My mom later commented that she wasn't very comforted thinking about people flying above our heads, throwing up on us.) When he landed, he twisted his ankle and has been hobbling around ever since. Actually, he thinks it's the perfect injury because he needs to stay off it and keep it elevated. That translates to no dishes, no walking the dog, no cleaning. He needs to sit in the arm chair with his feet elevated, watching sports, while I supply him with bottles of IBC Root Beer.
At least the parachute opened.
Fortunately, our brother in law Ben had thrown up on his jump master and our other brother in law Luke had provided us with an appropriate line for the awkward situation of having your throw up all over a stranger's clothes. "Well, at least the parachute opened!"
Sammie's note: Watch closely as I jump out of the plane and you'll know why I was throwing up 30 seconds later!
Melba's addendum: It's a testament to Sammie's wonderfulness that, even with his sore ankle, I came home from orchestra rehearsal last Monday to find the dishes done, the garbage emptied, and the dog walked. Sammie knew I'd reached my stress limit and sacrificed his ankle for my happiness. When I came home, I was touched and emotional:
M: Sammie, I feel really bad. You didn't have to do that!
S: I'm sorry you feel bad. I won't ever do it again.
M: I know you won't.
At least the para... you get the idea.
Fortunately, Sammie's parachute opened. Unfortunately, he threw up on the jump master on the way down and then sprained his ankle while landing.
But the parachute opened!
And I learned exactly how long 30 seconds can feel: as I see a small speck that I know is my husband falling or jumping or whatever out of a plane 10,000 feet above my head and wait for the parachute to open. That 30 seconds may have been the longest of my life and the shortest of Sammie's as he fell through the air with a jump master and parachute (that opened!) strapped to his back.
Once the parachute opened (and it did open!) Sammie got sick to his stomach. The instructor turned the chute so he could throw up. He said it just kind of dissipated into the air. (My mom later commented that she wasn't very comforted thinking about people flying above our heads, throwing up on us.) When he landed, he twisted his ankle and has been hobbling around ever since. Actually, he thinks it's the perfect injury because he needs to stay off it and keep it elevated. That translates to no dishes, no walking the dog, no cleaning. He needs to sit in the arm chair with his feet elevated, watching sports, while I supply him with bottles of IBC Root Beer.
At least the parachute opened.
Fortunately, our brother in law Ben had thrown up on his jump master and our other brother in law Luke had provided us with an appropriate line for the awkward situation of having your throw up all over a stranger's clothes. "Well, at least the parachute opened!"
Sammie's note: Watch closely as I jump out of the plane and you'll know why I was throwing up 30 seconds later!
Melba's addendum: It's a testament to Sammie's wonderfulness that, even with his sore ankle, I came home from orchestra rehearsal last Monday to find the dishes done, the garbage emptied, and the dog walked. Sammie knew I'd reached my stress limit and sacrificed his ankle for my happiness. When I came home, I was touched and emotional:
M: Sammie, I feel really bad. You didn't have to do that!
S: I'm sorry you feel bad. I won't ever do it again.
M: I know you won't.
At least the para... you get the idea.
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