The Power of a Name

Six weeks ago, a wonderful adoption attorney named Colette emailed me. “Emily, I’m going to give you a call today or tomorrow regarding the adoption situation attached.”

I looked at the situation, and dismissed it on the spot. We had no profile book yet, no home study done. We had talked to this lawyer a month before, and liked her lots (a friend recommended her), but we didn’t think we were ready to move forward. It wasn’t part of the plan. Besides, I reasoned, there had to be 1000 other prospective parents lined up for this baby. This couldn’t really be a serious option for us.

But, for reasons known only to God, I dropped every pressing deadline I had, and spent the next 12 hours putting together an adoption profile book.

The next night, we were having dinner with friends, when my phone rang. I never answer my phone when I’m with friends. I love ignoring my phone. But I looked at it. Colette. I had to take it.

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One Year Later: An Update…Of Sorts

If there were a contest for laziest Catholic blogger, I’m pretty sure I’d win. It’s been so, so long since my last update, and so, so much has happened, that I’m at a bit of a loss about where to begin.

Probably the best place is with a word of thanks to all of you who offered such kind words of consolation after I wrote about our struggle with infertility and who have been praying for us ever since. At first, I tried so hard to thank everyone individually, but eventually I just got too overwhelmed, by the sheer volume of comments and messages and by life in general, which, if it’s been anything this past year, has indeed been overwhelming.

As some of you know, I’m currently under contract with Emmaus Road to write a book about the house renovations (working title is Don’t Paint the Subway Tile! Lessons in Love, Sin, Gin, and Grace from a Real-Life Fixer Upper). I’ll be starting on it in just a couple weeks, so thoughts about what I want to say are filling up my head. I have lots of those thoughts, but so few are what I had in mind when I originally came up with the book.

Don’t worry, though; the gin recipes haven’t gone anywhere. They’ll still play a supporting role in the book…even a starring role in some parts.

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Rachel, Hannah, and Me: Our “Great Anxiety and Frustration”

Apologies in advance for no house photos or renovation update. The house and I are at war today, and I don’t feel particularly keen on showing it off. What I feel like is burning it down.

I also feel like a fool.

Ever since Chris and I got engaged, I’ve been asking for people to pray for us to have a baby. Yes, I was 40 when we got engaged. Yes, I was 41 when we got married. Yes, I’m 42 now. But the fertility doctor I’ve been seeing this whole time (a NaPro surgeon for those tempted to suggest NaPro to me) has continued to assure me that all those things fertility doctors look for—hormones, cycle regularity, ovarian reserve—look great. I should be fine. No reason to think about my age. No reason to worry. Plenty of time for babies.

But, here we are, 14 months later, with every month feeling like a year, and still no babies on the horizon. And although I keep asking people for prayers, I am, again, starting to feel like a fool when I do that…and an old fool at that.

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Renovation Lessons: God is God, I am not.

Greetings from the land of dust, fumes, and noise. It’s been a while. I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a rough few months, though, filled with delays, setbacks, and unexpected problems (and lots of writing to pay for those unexpected problems). I haven’t blogged about it all because I figured you people have better things to do than listen to me whine. Today, though, in celebration of our mantles and bookcases getting installed and the picture rail going up, I thought I would do some whining with a theological point (and a few progress pictures, thrown in for good measure).

For starters: The Mantles (still in need of finishing trim, but in place at long last).

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Dining In the Time of Dry Wall Dust

They say if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans. If, however, you want to make Him do more than laugh, if you want to make Him double over and fall down on the floor in stitches, write a book.

In it, be wise. So very wise. Combine the writings of the saints and Scripture with practical examples and tips from your own life about how you personally Do The Wise Thing.

Admit, ever so humbly, that you don’t always follow your own advice. But give the advice just the same.

Before the book is even off the presses, God will be in hysterics. And you will find yourself nearly incapable of following a single word of your own advice.

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Day Drinking In the Rubble

Living through a major renovation teaches you all sorts of things about yourself.

For example, spending day after day, working and planning, eating and drinking, talking and resting in the same shadowy 450 square foot space, unable to invite anyone over for dinner or even a drink, has taught me that I would make the world’s most crashingly awful hermit. If I tried really, really hard, I might last three days—three dreary, miserable days that would inevitably end with me being kicked out of the hermit club, and all the other hermits cheering with glee since I’d spent those three days repeatedly breaking out of my hermitage and sneaking into theirs because I wanted a chat…and variety…and space.

Self-knowledge: I am a women who needs lebensraum. The lack of it makes me a little tick-tick.

On the other hand, if you’re looking for someone to keep you company in a bombed out, post-apocalyptic shell of a building, I am your girl.

Despite my love for beauty, order, and floors that don’t have 4’ x 8’ holes in them, I have discovered that I have a surprisingly high tolerance level for filth…and rubble…and 4’ x 8’ holes.

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The House: Week 1 (Part Deux)

Welcome back!. Today, we’re continuing the tour upstairs. Yesterday, for those of you just joining us, we covered the downstairs. I hope, after seeing that, you got offline and thanked God that you live in a home without bathtubs on the back porch. To us, that is the stuff of which dreams are made.

Although (drum roll)……Demo has finally begun! Yay!!!! Our wonderful contractor’s schedule finally allowed him to turn his attention to this project, and as I write, men are banging away downstairs. I couldn’t be more pleased with all the dust and noise. I’m sure that will change, but right now, as far as I’m concerned, the more destruction happening below, the better. A contained dynamite blast would be best of all.

Once it’s safe to take pictures down there, I will. But, for now, let’s go upstairs. As you’ll see, I’ve put zero effort into staging the rooms. My apologies.

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The House: Week 1

If, anytime in the next eight months, you find yourself wondering, “Where is Emily? Why is she such a slack, good for nothing, lazy blogger?”, just think of this.

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Or this…

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Or this:

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Welcome to our new home: a 3,000 square foot, 1890 Victorian/early Arts and Crafts Four Square, in Crafton, PA. Once the lovely summer home of a well-to-do Pittsburgher, it was turned into an up-down duplex sometime in the 1940s (we think). Lots and lots of remuddling went on then. More remuddling went on in the years that followed. Now, it’s ours. Yay.

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Who’s On My Dream Dinner Guest List…and Other Fun Questions

Guilty. That’s the single best word to describe how I’m feeling these days…at least about
this blog.

Yes, I know I had two surgeries in the month of November, moved homes, and am beginning a major house rehab. I also know I’m supposed to be limiting my hours on the computer while my eye continues to heal (emergency surgery for a torn retina was one of those two surgeries, in case you missed it). And I know I have deadlines galore still to meet that editors have been patiently waiting for ever since my eyes decided to go on hiatus.

Nevertheless, I’m still feeling guilty about my inability to blog regularly here. Not guilty enough to prioritize it over the other deadlines. But guilty enough to feel a little bit sick about it every morning when I sit down to write something else.

So, although more time or better eyes have not yet presented themselves, I have decided to mildly assuage my guilt by sharing the fun conversation I had with Zoe Romanowsky earlier this week about The Catholic Table: Finding Joy Where Food and Faith Meet.

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