Regression

We trick-or-treated tonight. Dietrich, our little dinosaur, was totally into it. We thought we'd be lucky to get 30 minutes out of the little guy, but we stumbled home, exhausted, more than two hours after we left.

And that's when I regressed. When my brother and I were younger, we meticulously sorted our Halloween candy, dividing it up by type, counting, trading and otherwise commoditizing the free loot. Once I saw the big bowl of candy that Dietrich brought home, I couldn't help myself. I present, to you, our take (though I imagine only Sam will care).

9 mini hershey bars
1 full-size hershey bar
2 kit kats
7 nestle crunches
7 bags plain m & m’s
4 bags peanut m & m’s
2 three musketeers
4 baby ruths
8 butterfingers
6 reeses cups
2 bags skittles
1 milky way
1 take five
1 twix
1 heath bar
1 charleston chew
1 heath bar
1 almond joy
1 gummy body part (sadly, we can't tell which part)
3 jolly ranchers
2 sweettarts (but one was open and hence got tossed)
1 laffy taffy
1 starburst
1 box nerds
2 tootsie roll pops
1 box red raspberry dollars
1 bag runts
1 air head
1 disney high school musical milk chocolate flavored strawberry pop rockin’ candy

consumed on the road or shared with grandpa
1 tootsie roll pop
1 charleston chew
1 kit kat
1 tootsie roll
1 full-size bag m & m’s
1 box whoppers
1 butterfinger
(I think we showed great restraint.)

Anyone want to trade?

For those of you who aren't so interested in the various forms that our Halloween goodies took, here's a treat: Our little dinosaur. Or toucan, according to one mask-wearing celebrant.

As Dietrich would say: "Happy Ween!"

It's all relative

While we were in Southern California last week, we got to check out our next home -- a back house in the historic section of Whittier. The property is owned by a family at our church in La Mirada, and we are not, by any means, the first people we know to live there. We've been to at least three gatherings at the little cottage, and each time the renters have been a different couple from our church. It's young-family approved.

The first time I set foot in the cottage, five or so years ago, I instantly wanted to live in it. It's old (historic!) with interesting angles, groovy built-in cabinets and tall windows.

I also remember thinking that it was very small. But, now that we've spent about a month living in a trailer, a one-bedroom cottage seems spacious indeed.

I also had never noticed the washer/dryer, the rows of built-in drawers or the space out back for a garden.

Isn't it fun to see how the Lord provides? I'm enjoying it.

Missing Ukraine

Last night we went to a missions dinner at our home church in Southern California. The speaker, Rudi Wiens from Far East Broadcasting Company, spoke a lot about the organization's ministry in Russia.

I got rather homesick -- twice. The first moment of nostalgia hit when Rudi sang in Russian. That made sense; I've grown accustomed to the language and the tenor of Slavic music.

The second moment, however, was rather random. Rudi showed a picture. I imagine he chose it because of the foreground image: an elderly woman, warmly dressed in traditional clothing.

The picture affected me, however, because of the background. It showed a crowd of people strolling down the street. Two of them were walking side-by-side, each carrying one handle of a plaid plastic bag. We call these bags Poland bags. They're sold in the markets, but the tags inside say they're made in Poland. The are a frequent sight on public transportation in Kyiv, snuggled between people's legs on the subway, taking up narrow aisle space on the buses.

We have at least five of them. We use them all the time: To move, to carry boxes of cookies to the seminary for big events, to haul Thermoses of hot tea to church on communion Sundays.

At the moment, they're stuffed full of my clothes, Dietrich's toys, our cozy blankets ... all sitting in Dietrich's old room, waiting for our return.

Baba and Papa's house

Trying to keep track of where the Oldenburgs are? We are too. Physically, we are in Morgan Hill, California. We arrived a week ago today. We spent the week visiting with family and setting up our home -- a trailer on my parents' property. It's cozy, and I love it.

Emotionally, we are all over the map. Mostly we're OK, until some little thing happens that reminds us of Andrei. For instance, today I noticed that the local pumpkin patch was heavily stocked with lovely orange gourds -- and two-child families and pregnant ladies. You can read some of Eric's thoughts on our loss here.

We are so thankful for all the e-mails, cards, books and toys for Dietrich that people have sent to encourage us, console us and help us get settled back in America. It's still hard to grasp how much has changed in such a short time, but knowing that we, and Andrei, are loved is very helpful.

Goodbye sweet baby love

Sometime between 12:30 and 1 a.m. last night (that's 10:30 and 11 p.m. in California), we delivered Andrei Elijah Oldenburg. Though he was tiny, he will always possess a huge portion of our hearts. Thank you for your prayers; God answered every one of them in His mercy and love.

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

Just getting started

This morning at about 11 a.m., the doctors did what they do to start an induction here. It's a much less chemical process than when Dietrich's delivery was induced. (Though, obviously, that was also a very different situation.) About nine hours later, some light contractions began. At this point, they're frequent but weak, and the doctor on duty predicts delivery in the morning (a.k.a. nighttime in the States).

Eric is with me in case the delivery happens in the middle of the night. When I told the nurses that he planned to sleep here, and asked if he could have a cot, they said, "We've never had such a situation before. But we'll think of something." I hope I'm not being a demanding foreigner -- in-room husbands are so common in the States that I didn't think it would be an issue. The nurses were very kind about it, and Eric just got his own hospital bed wheeled into our room.

Actually, every time we've made an unusual request, the doctors/nurses have calmly listened to our reasoning, and then said "OK" with no argument, no talk of violating hospital policy, etc. It's very reassuring.

I know you've all been praying a lot, and we can tell. We have so much more peace than I could possibly have expected, and the whole process is going smoothly (though admittedly slowly). Please keep praying, for us and for Dietrich as he misses mom and dad.

Still waiting

Day three of waiting for the delivery is coming to a close. I just talked with the on-duty doctor, and he said they would wait at least until Tuesday to see if labor starts "naturally." (I think this means without Pitocin or some other drug that is stronger than the shots they are giving me.)

As hard as the delivery will be, the waiting is not so easy, either. If you're praying for us, could you please pray that labor would start on its own tomorrow? Also, perhaps this sounds strange, but I'm praying that the delivery will somehow be a beautiful experience. Only God could make it so.

Other notes from Room 407:

Dietrich came to visit again yesterday, and spent the whole time putting on my hospital-issue slippers and then jumping out of them.

Two friends brought movies, popcorn and good conversation with them last night, but they managed to keep their feet away from my slippers. One of them did take the hospital-issue capes home for her kids.

Two servings of buckwheat soup have arrived in my room, but thankfully I've been able to avoid actually consuming the dreaded grain.

There are moms with new babies recovering on our floor, and I find their cries bittersweet. I think this whole experience will lead me to treasure a newborn's cry in ways I couldn't have a few weeks ago. And, though the cries don't make me cry, seeing things like tiny bassinets being wheeled down the hall do strike an uncomfortable emotional chord. Oh how I hope I will be able to rejoice with other mommas when they welcome their new babies into the world.