so you think you can create a complex dance metaphor

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The kids and I are catching up on some So You Think You Can Dance.  This show feels like a bit of a milestone for our family, because it’s the first show that we actually all watch together and enjoy.  Well, I should clarify – I enjoy.  The rest of them beg me to turn it to Jake and The Neverland Pirates every five minutes, and then I threaten to just turn off the tv altogether, and then they huff and acquiesce because a show about dancing is better than trying to entertain themselves without the tv on GOD FORBID.

Anyways, I love this show, but has anyone else noticed that the story behind the dances are getting more and more elaborate?  To the point of absurdity?

The first season it was acceptable for the dance to just be a certain style.  It’s broadway!  It’s rhumba!  But then that little number about the soldier going off to war happened and now every show has to have a backstory to rival the plot of Mulholland Drive.

I mean, I guess it is hard to come up with 10 variations of “you are a couple who used to be in love and now you are sad" each week.  But seriously:

You are a couple that was in love, but then you both found out you were cheating on each other. AT THE SAME TIME. WITH THE SAME PERSON.

You are both woodpeckers.  One of you is older and wiser.  One of you is young and optimistic, but needs to learn more about life.  The older one is more like a woodpecker MENTOR.  Are you feeling it?  Are you really getting in touch with this character? ‘Cause I’m not getting enough woodpecker from you.

So, for our collective enjoyment, I thought I would give you the chance to suggest your own SYTYCD backstory.  If you were a choreographer, what would be your inspiration?  The commenter with the most ridiculous story will win a very, very valuable Rage Against the Minivan bumper sticker that you can use to adorn your own loser cruiser.  Or give to your child to adhere to your kitchen floor.  Your call.

Incidentally, I love that Debbie Reynolds is on it this week, because it reminded me to share this awesome video for you that Boo Mama posted on her blog.  In case you like to wash down your breakfast with a couple Quaaludes and a pint of gin, I’ve got the perfect workout video for you.



If only Debbie had Travis as her choreographer, to give her some deeper motivation . . .

Raise your hand if you've slept with Howard Hughes.  AND FLEX!

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oversharing on Curvy Girl Guide again . . . this time, about my extra-large butt

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I have a new post up at Curvy Girl Guide, this time talking about how much Forever 21 hates me:

Dear Sir (’cause I know a woman would not be behind this):

I have an issue with the sizing at your store.

I know, I know. The name of your store should be a warning. I’m not 21 – not even close. I know that my needs could be better met in a store called “Forever Mid-Thirties,” or “Desperately Clinging to My Youth.” But still, your budget prices and sassy fashions beckon me in again and again. . .

Click here to read the rest.

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can this generation eradicate poverty?

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Compassion International is behind a new campaign called Live58, aimed at uniting churches to eradicate poverty in the next century.  I’m excited about it for several reasons.  First, I’m a longtime fan of Compassion – we have been a part of their child sponsorship program for some time and have always loved the work they do.  I also love the fact that they are calling on Christians to respond to poverty in a tangible way.  I’m pretty vocal about my interpretation of Jesus’s teachings as being an edict to spread God’s love through care and compassion, and I think (based on those red letters) that serving the poor is where we should start.  Lastly, I’m excited to see the next generation really sinking their teeth into the ideas of social justice.  I know that some are critical of the current charitable marketing trends, but I like seeing a growing collective consciousness about helping impoverished people.

I do believe that most third world problems can be tracked back to poverty.  Children dying of easily preventable diseases . . . that’s about money.  Children dying from lack of food . . . that’s about money.   A similar-sized earthquake killing 63 people in Los Angeles and then 220,000 people in Haiti . . . that’s about money.  Children who are abandoned by mothers who lack resources or access to healthcare . . . money.

Live58 makes some provocative claims: that first-world Christian church is holding enough money to eradicate wide-scale poverty.  It’s a lofty goal.   They fully believe that we will be the last generation that bears witness to widespread extreme poverty.   USA Today did a piece on Live58 this week and described it this way:

Scott Todd's "58:" project declares that eradicating poverty is not only possible but probable, if the people of the church put their backs into it.

Such audacious optimism is one of the most infectious, exciting qualities of the new evangelicals movement of which Todd is part, and it surged like electricity through his and other presentations at this spring's Q conference, the signature annual gathering of next-generation Christian leaders.

In the video below, they point out that in just 25 years the percentage of people living in extreme poverty has been cut in half.   In 1991, 52% of the world lived in extreme poverty.  Today, it’s only 21%.  Could we get this number down to zero?  What do you think?

I’d really like to believe, and I’m hoping to play a part.

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haircut

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I'm a better aunt than I am a mother

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Ever since my nephews were old enough to fly without a parent, we’ve been having them out for part of the summer.  I think the first time they came out they were 4 and 7.  Now they are 14 and 17.  It used to be that we had to pay extra money for them to be escorted to and from their seat by a flight attendant, wearing an Unaccompanied Minor sticker.  Now they are old enough to check in themselves, and one of them can drive.  (gulp).


For many years we hosted them before we had kids of our own, so it was a kind of parenting “trial run”.  Man, I was a good mom back then, before I had kids.  We poured ourselves into the boys for the days they were with us.  We were so intentional . . . we packed our time full of fun things, and in the evenings we took time to sit down with them and really listen.  I remember doing affirmations with them, talking about their hopes and dreams, and giving them encouragement and advice in the areas where they were struggling.  We always spent a night or two doing a “slumber party” where we stayed up talking late into the evening.

(on a trip to Mexico with Austin and Derek, 2001)

On the first night the boys were here, we fell back into that pattern.  I was sitting on the floor with them and an easy familiarity took over, as they talked about their current life, their joys and frustrations, all of it laden with heavy sarcasm and smack-talk, of course.   I felt a great connection to them, as I have in so many summers past.

We also had a ton of intentional time with my nephews these past weeks.  I pretty much blew off most of my responsibilities in favor of seeking out fun things for them to do.  I let the house fall apart, I didn’t get enough sleep, but man, we had fun.

But I did have this nagging feeeling this whole week . . . I think it was a mixture of guilt, nostalgia, and sadness.  Because I know that I am not this cool with my own kids.

My time with my nephews has always had two goals: build on intimacy and build on fun.  This is the kind of mom I always thought I would be: a mom who seeks out fun experiences for her kids, and a mom who is present and listening and available.

Much to my surprise, though, I have become a very different mother.  A mother who is tired and cranky and often on auto-pilot.  A mother whose M.O. is less about intimacy and fun and more about getting through the day.  A mom whose goal most days is to just get the kids to sleep and keep the house from falling apart. 

A mom who sometimes (often) does the bare minimum to keep the boat floating.

And that just made me feel a little sad this week. . . . that I’m not the mom I hoped I would be.  That my mom skills don’t stand up to my aunt skills.  I’m sure that this is a combination of many things.  My time with my nephews is usually a concentrated and finite amount of time. We’re usually in vacation mode. I’m not doing the dirty-work of discipline and day-to-day.  And obviously, they are two less children and even at their first visit they were a bit older than my kids.  Of course, I have the benefit of being the cool aunt and not the every-day mom.

But still, there is a little pang that my role as a mom feels so different from my role as an aunt.  I think there might be some middle-ground here that I’m missing.  I’m pondering this today.

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what I want you to know: cutting

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What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions.  It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here.  Today’s post is by an anonymous reader.

 

My road down self injury started with a diagnosis of depression when I was 14 and a prescription that didn't work. I tried cutting because I had heard about it as a coping mechanism and I needed to do something. I later got psychiatric help for my depression and gradually got to a better place. My depression and anxiety faded with therapy and medication but my urge to self injure has never left. I don't cut all the time; the frequency varies and I've become good at hiding my scars. I'm now 20 and still struggle with self injury from time to time.

There are an incredible amount of people who self injure, both men and women of all ages. We don't want attention and the majority of the time we're not suicidal. We hurt on the inside and its a way of release. Unfortunately, that release can become addictive like any unhealthy habit. This is a symptom of mental illness and we don't need stares and whispers, we need help. 

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what I want you to know: the legacy of growing up in foster care

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What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions.  It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here.  Today’s post is by LT, who blogs about her life after aging out of foster care.

When I was in foster care, I felt so different from the rest of the world. I knew I was different….how could I not. I did not have a family that was truly mine, I had no good friends; as most of my “buddies” were long-term foster kids living in the same homes I was, and were moved away sometimes without saying goodbye. I lived in 12 different foster/group homes in 11 years, I went to 8 or more schools, I owned very little material things including clothes. Nobody really cared about me, just to care. Workers and foster parents cared because they had to…some better than others. I smoked, I ate and I puked, I drank, I did drugs, I self-harmed, I was a mess….because no-one cared and I did not care about my self or my body.

I never went to camp, I never played a musical instrument, I never went to Disneyworld or any amusement park. I never played an organized sport, I never learned to swim, and I never was in a club. I never got a driver’s license and I never went to a prom.

All these things help to shape a person, their selves and their likes and dislikes.

Sometimes I never had a birthday or a holiday or a congratulations; many times I didn’t. I knew I could be used and no-one cared. I knew I could be “fooled around with” and no-one cared. I knew I could be treated as a housemaid and no-one cared. I knew I didn’t matter. I knew I was not a “person” because my feelings and needs did not matter.

Well here I am now, 20something, still living in the shadow of how I lived in foster care. Things are no different. I have no human family that is truly mine. I have no friends…I had “streets siblings” but like I have said before, they don’t know how to be in relationships either, so any street relationship is f--ked up. They come and go, moving from place to place, from street family to street family, just like foster kids. And for years, I choose to live solitarily, because of some things that happened in a “street family” — that mimicked life as it was at times in foster care.

Now that I am off the street, there is no-one IRL. I don’t fit in…I don’t belong. The people at my work who are my age are in school; and they worry about weather their mom and dad will pay their cell phone bill or pay for their gas or car insurance. They worry about which party they are going to attend this weekend. They worry about what they are going to wear the first day of their classes in a couple weeks.

Me…. I worry about if I have enough money to stay off the streets; to pay my rent, so I am not homeless again.. because I don’t have a place to run home to.. I worry about whether I am going to have to do something illegal (which would NOT hurt anyone else) to pay for Moonlight, god forbid things take a turn for the worse. I worry about that one of my 4 jeans will rip up the ass, because well, at work, we can wear rips in the knees, but not in the ass…..and I don’t have the extra $6.00 to buy a pair at Goodwill right now.

See how our worlds are so different…? —- See how I don’t belong?

My boss and his wife — I think they are good people. But I am waiting for the shoe to drop when they tell me what I OWE THEM. They gave me a bike. They have taken me to urgent care when I had strep and could not pay. They give me food. What do I need to give them? Although I have worked extra hours and worked catering for them, I assume what I gotta give them will be pretty big. My mind races constantly, some of which is too graphic to subject you to — but people that give, ALWAYS want something in return. The question is what?

I met a couple people on the internet, since I “logged-on.” Some sucked. Some were f--ked up in a scary way. Most come and go. Most want something from me…However, there has been one person that is fairly consistent– as much as an internet person could. That person has been nice and never really wanted anything back…so far. I think the “Slayer of Dragons” knows who she is. Ironically, she is a great mom to several adopted children with a lot of hardships from that – And she herself is undergoing massive changes in her life…for which my expectations are she will be gone from mine..although I Hope not. History with people…tells me otherwise.

The internet is a lot like living on the streets. People come and go and come and go – get what they need or just hang around for awhile – and then move on. It seems to be the nature of the internet in my experience thus far, that people are looking for something (isn’t that life?)….

I don’t really know what I am looking for…..really, I don’t. Actually I guess to be honest as I try to be; I guess I could say, I am looking for a family – but we all know that is unrealistic; as no-one adopts a f--ked-up 20-something with nothing. Ironically, maybe I really am not looking for anything, because I know deep down, I don’t belong. Maybe I am looking for a friend… but I don’t even know about that anymore; because there is always strings attached and I am tired of being the “used.”

Maybe I am just passing time, waiting for the end…

So, I’ve lived in lots of different places when I was homeless just like foster care; you could not believe how many places I have lived…Now, I am trying to settle down in this place for awhile. I don’t know why. I never graduated any school, but I got my GED after failing some sections a couple times. When you never had “social studies” or physics or chemistry or algebra or …you get the picture.

I still own very little — its pathetic and embarrassing. I work with people older and younger than me and they all have “stuff” and “gadgets” and the coolest clothes. I don’t even own a cell phone – I can’t afford the monthly bill. I don’t own an ipod or a camera or anything else that seems to be cool today. Some kid at work was reading a book on this pad thing…I never heard of it — called a Kindle. They cost hundreds of dollars… and I can’t even afford a $54 pair of sneakers (that I really want because of the colors), when I also really need a new pair….I gotta go to Goodwill. Which hell, is alot like foster care too — always second hand clothes and hand-me downs from other kids. I do own a bike that was given to me — probably the nicest thing I ever owned….ever.

I still eat poorly, I smoke, I drink to purposely get drunk, I self-harm pretty badly (beyond your belief), and I am struggling with mental illness. Even more telling, is I still don’t care about myself or my body. I REALLY don’t. The only one difference I see from foster care is that I no-longer am using illegal drugs; thanks to the cops on the beach who busted me sleeping under the boardwalk (recall my “come to jesus moment” regarding prison time).

I got a drivers license, but I don’t have a car. I don’t know how to swim; and I don’t know how to play an instrument. I am not in any clubs, I don’t know much about sports, and I still haven’t been to Disney or any amusement park (although god, I want to goto Disneyworld). I haven’t had a birthday greeting or a Christmas card or a congratulations from anyone meaningful since I can remember.

I don’t forsee things ever changing. How could they possibly when I have nothing to fall back on, when I have no support, when I have nothing…

I suppose I could go on…. But the parallel is telling.

If you are reading this and think it is a pathetic rant or whine –

Ask yourself this:

When was the last time something sad or terrible happened….

…..and you had no-one to share your grief?

When was the last time something good or happy happened….

…..and you had no-one to share your joy?

When was the last time something painful happened…

…..and you had no-one to share your pain?

That is one legacy of foster care…


……being utterly alone.

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what I want you to know: pressumptions about single moms

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What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions.  It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here.  Today’s post is by an anonymous reader. If you are new around here, this is usually a weekly series, but for the next few weeks it will be a daily feature.
  
  I'm a single mom.  I've never been on welfare.  I wasn't promiscuous.  I don't need your hand-me-down baby clothes that reek of spit-up and are so covered in stains and gaping holes that you should be embarrassed for not just throwing them away.  Thanks though. 

I'm an attorney.  I'm in my thirties.  This baby is my first.  I stay at home with her because I'm committed to giving her the most secure attachment I can.  I work ten hours a week from home, mostly when she's sleeping, and I make six figures a year doing that.  I know and love Jesus.  I've been a Christian for over ten years.  I have three Compassion children.  I don't go to church anymore because I can't stand the stares. 

I was married to her father.  He had some serious and unforeseen mental health issues early in the pregnancy and decided to leave us.  He has never met the baby and he doesn't support her.  He told me he'd rather I abort her because he wasn't ready to be a father.  I didn't.  I couldn't.

So I'm single.  You'll see me walking in the grocery store or the gym with the baby in a sling.  You saw me when my stomach was enormous and I wasn't wearing a wedding ring.  Please stop assuming I need your pity, your vomit-encrusted hand-me-downs, and your judgment.  I can hear you whispering about me.  I am smart enough to understand the subliminal pokes in your back-handed pretend-adoration of my daughter ("she's so happy even though she doesn't have a daddy" - Seriously.).  You don't know my story.  You don't know that I probably have more education, more income, more savings, and more ability to provide materially and emotionally for this child than you do.  More importantly, you don't know that I torture my own self lamenting over the fact that she doesn't have a dad and praying that someday soon she will, or that I would have done anything, short of ending her life, to save my marriage.  So please stop asking me how I'm going to tell her about her "dad."  It's really none of your business, and it's just rude.    

What I need, if anything, is your friendship.  I have plenty of great friends, but if you feel the need to poke your nose in my life then, by all means, get to know me.  Stop using every opportunity you see to remind me that I'm a single mom.  I'm just a mom!  I have the same sleep-deprived, can't-remember-when-I-last-showered, need-coffee-now, crazy, sweet, I-adore-this-baby-so-much-my-heart-might-burst life that you do in a lot of ways.  Bond with me at music class and baby yoga and swim class, instead of always making comments about how hard my life must be, or how you don't know how I do it, or blessing my heart.  Invite me to things.  Don't be so awkward around me.  I've reinvented my law practice and much of my life to welcome this child.  I've worked really hard and been really blessed.  You don't need to pity me.  Let's just be mommy friends, because I'm just a mom.  Even though I'm single. 
 

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Super Troupers

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I’ve been having a great time with my nephews this week.  We’ve all sort of settled into vacation mode with them here, acting like tourists and packing our days with all of the fun things we can think to do in the SoCal area.  The boys have seen a taping of So You Think You Can Dance, they’ve been to Balboa island, the movies, a Dodgers game, and tonight we’re driving up to LA to be in a flashmob.  We’re having a blast.  OMG I AM SO TIRED.

On Tuesday night we got to see the opening night of Mamma Mia at SCFTA for OC Family.  My mother-in-law came, too.  Between us, our ages ranged from 13 to 65.  My nephews are at a difficult age in terms of entertainment and I wondered how they would like this musical, so we did a little video review of our experience.   We all fancy ourselves theater critics now.

Mamma Mia is playing at the Segerstrom Center for the Arts June 21-26, 20011.  Tickets start at $23.75.

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what I want you to know: adopting an older child

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What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions.  It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here.  Today’s post is by the author of the blog Last Mom.  If you are new around here, this is usually a weekly series, but for the next few weeks it will be a daily feature.
  
 My husband and I adopted our daughter a little over a year ago.  She came to us at age nine.   She was abused, neglected, homeless and abandoned during her first four years with her biological family.  Then she bounced around foster care for the next five years.   She had a dozen sets of “Mom and Dad” before us.   We reassure her all the time that we are her Last Mom and Last Dad.

It took six months from being chosen as her parents to bringing her home.   She was a straight adoptive placement through the foster care system, but we were in Florida and she was in Texas.  ICPC and other aspects of the process took forever.  We weren’t allowed any contact with her during those six months.   She was actually in a group home during that time.  She was moved there just a couple weeks after we were matched because her foster family was no longer willing to work with her aggression and tantrums.   She was clearly a child in pain.   We knew it and agreed to the match.   We felt strongly that her behavior was situational and that she needed the right environment and help to sort it out.  We thought we could give it to her.

Being approved to be the parents of a child that is so obviously hurting and in need of your support, but having to wait for six months of paperwork is torture.   Our home and hearts were ready for her, but she was placed in a group home and didn’t even know we existed.  

Once ICPC cleared, we were finally allowed to send her a photo book and she was told that she was going to be adopted.   We flew to Texas two weeks later.  We met her on a Monday and visited with her for a couple hours after school each day that week.  On Friday she was ours forever.   Within a few short weeks, she found out she was going to be adopted and moved to another state with people she had met just days before. 

No amount of research, adoption classes or book reading can prepare you for life with a traumatized child.  They call older child adoption “special needs” adoption for a reason.   Her special needs are real and they are vast.   Fear, anxiety, anger, grief, shame and confusion are swirling around inside her all the time.   It is not uncommon for her behavior to reflect all the pain she has inside.   We get it.  We understand.  That doesn’t mean it isn’t hard or that we don’t get overwhelmed, exhausted or lose our cool sometimes.  

One of the hardest parts is the isolation.  It is very difficult for people to understand all that you’re going through.   A loving home is not enough.  Your child doesn’t just need “time to settle in”.  Traditional discipline structure or parenting styles are usually ineffective with traumatized children.   People become uncomfortable with the truth about how things are really going at home, so you stop sharing.  Traumatized children often act very differently when they are around others than they do at home.   You may start to get the feeling that people think you’re the source of the problem.  

Parents of kids with trauma and attachment issues need to be seen as the authority figures all the time.  An attaching child needs to learn to depend on their parents to meet their needs, comfort them, keep them safe and give them affection.   We have had to cut people out of our lives who refused to accept and respect our roles as parents of a hurt child.   

It can even be difficult to find professionals that get it.    Teachers, pediatricians and mental health providers might not take your concerns seriously because your child doesn’t show them the pain.  They save that just for you.   Our daughter is on the honor roll at school and has won awards for her positive behavior choices.   The school wants to drop the IEP for emotional disability that we carried over from her last school in Texas.   The month before they brought this up, we had to call 911 because she was having such an epic meltdown due to big feelings brought on by Mother’s Day that weren’t sure of our ability to keep her safe.  All three of us wound up with bruises, scrapes and scratches.  She caved in the roof of my car.   She may not show it at school right now, but her emotional needs are high.

We have had no luck in finding a therapist in our area that understands trauma and attachment.  We are on our third try.  Bad therapy is worse than no therapy.  We work hard on our own at helping our daughter process her past and her feelings.    Therapeutic parenting has been very effective and she has made great progress.   Her current therapist is not helpful.  In fact, we have to do a lot of work to keep her from being harmful.  Unfortunately, the only way to get medication prescribed for her anxiety is to meet with the therapist weekly.   Her pediatrician won’t prescribe anxiety medication, resources are extremely scarce and we’ve exhausted all other options.

Older child adoption is doable.  It’s worth it.   Progress, hope and healing are attainable.   Our daughter shows us this every day.   We have not regretted becoming her parents for a moment.  I think it is important that people understand this journey is difficult, will change your life in every way and that you will likely have to face it on your own. 

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what I want you to know: married to the ministry

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What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions.  It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here.  Today’s post is by Claire.
 

I sometimes feel invisible.

You don’t always see me. You don’t think I’m a faithful supporter of the work of my husband’s ministry.

It's our ministry, but sometimes he's the only one you see.

“God does not see as humans see. Humans look at outward things, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (I Sam. 16:7)

Before I even met or married Ryan I knew my life would also be devoted to fulfilling God’s call. Although I do not rest on the laurels of a wonderful, Godly lineage, I do take pride that I, along with many generations of my family have committed myself, my marriage, my children and family to an all-encompassing answer to God’s call for serving others (Mark 16:15).

I supported him early in our marriage when Ryan was running from the calling that I knew God had on his life.

I supported him when he made a major career change and decided to go to seminary, which in our denomination has not served him well.

I supported him when we sold our brand new, 3,000 square foot, custom built home in order move into an older, smaller, dilapidated parsonage with our small children.

I support him many an afternoon when he comes in from work, disappointed, frustrated, and exhausted. He often thinks he can’t make it another day. I encourage him that he can.

I have supported him countless nights when he’s woken me from my sleep to ask me to pray for him when the burden of God’s message has been a literal, physical weight on him that it’s awakened him in the midst of his rest; and I have called up Heaven on Ryan’s behalf.

I support him year after year at our winter youth retreat by sleeping in the floor of dirty hotels just to make room for unexpected students who show up for the trip.

I have supported him most recently as we have seen a 25% total cut in our salary due to our church’s declining finances.

I support him by filling in the gaps at church by keeping countless nurseries, teaching classes, forming mothers’ ministries, undertaking children’s Christmas programs, speaking at events, setting up fellowship halls, cooking for and serving revival guests, leading VBS groups, writing correspondence, counseling, preparing communion elements, cleaning up after events, leading women’s Bible studies, driving all over town for last minute errands, decorating the church for holidays, cooking and taking dinner to families in need...all in the name of ministry and all for the love of and commitment to my husband and our calling.  I have done these things with a glad heart and unto the Lord.

I also support him by filling in the gaps in our home. I feed, dress, and get three small children to and from church every Sunday and Wednesday night by myself; I save, scrimp, clip coupons, and work part-time outside the home to make ends meet on a paltry minister’s income; I stay home with and care for our children during Ryan’s weekend retreats, extended missions trips to Honduras and the Philippines; I stay flexible knowing that the call of duty often means changing our family plans at a moments’ notice when the church needs Ryan or us.

Although you don’t always see me, YES, I support Ryan and will continue to support him with my prayers, my love, and my unyielding commitment to not only our marriage, but also our calling.

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what I want you to know: cancer at 24

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What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions.  It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here.  Today’s post is by Andrea Mayhew.
 

At 24 I was single,going out with friends and living a carefree life. It was December of 2002 and all of sudden my high school sweetheart came back in my life and we were planning our future together. Life was exciting and held so much prospect for the two of us. A month later,two weeks before my 25th birthday I was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma and had a tumor in my chest.  That was 8 years ago. My story is a typical cancer story. You know,somehow,someone,somewhere always has it. Cancer. You can get it by what you eat,what building you choose to walk in, where you live. But at 24 I got cancer & I was clueless.

I went in to a hospital my mom worked at because I had an extremely high fever and my back was KILLING me! Extreme pain. While in the ER the doctor noticed I had a cough and wanted to take an x-ray to rule out phenomena. As I was waiting with Jon,my high school sweetheart, we were goofing around and discussing our plans of the weekend. In walks my mom and the look of devastation was all over her face. She says to me,"Drea the xray shows you have a tumor in your chest" Just like in the movies I thought she was kidding and started laughing and told her to stop joking. She repeated the words to me and all I can now remember is saying NO over & over again. How could I have a tumor. I'm invincible right. Nothing bad could ever happen to me. I'm young. Sadly I was in a bubble.

Because now at 33 I know that babies get cancer,3 year olds get cancer,10 year olds get cancer, it's not just older people.


I had to have a surgery right away to remove the tumor from my chest and have it biopsied to determine what exactly it was. Surgery? Are you kidding me? I have never broken a bone.Never had a surgery. And now I was going in to have my ribs broken,my chest split apart so a doctor could remove a huge tumor in my chest cavity.I woke up from the surgery in the worst pain I have ever experienced. My oldest brother was at my side and I had a tube down my throat. It was a time I rather forget. After I completely came to I was told the tumor was indeed malignant and I would have to undergo chemo once I healed from my surgery.

Two weeks went by after the surgery and my mom went in the Cancer Center with me to hear about the types of chemo I would be receiving. All of this was just unreal. We walk in and I'm the youngest person there by a good 40 years. My Oncologist sits with us and tells me about Hodgkins.How it usually affects people between 18-30 years old. And how the type that I had was "the best type of cancer I could get". Looking back,those words helped me through this whole process. All those treatments, all the shots Jon had to give me at home to keep my white blood cells up,all the nausea, the cold sweats,the hot flashes,the taste of mercury 24/7, the constant pain I was in. Those words helped me realize that I would get through it. Sure I had cancer, it stopped time for a while but in the end it has made me realize just how much time we have.

Jon & I married in 2006 and our firstborn son came exactly 9 months later. Why waste time right? Our second born son arrived in 2009 and life is pretty darn fantastic. Mason my eldest asks me about me scar on my chest. At 4 years old all I tell him is that I had something really bad in me and the doctors had to get it out. He is fine with that answer now. Imagining my boys having to go through what I did makes me hurt for my parents and family. I'm so sorry they had to go through that. Cancer sucks.Plain & simple. I'm just so thankful for what I had and what I now have because of it.

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what I want you to know: adoption is born of pain

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What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions.  It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here.  Today’s post is by Shannon.

What I want you to know is that adoption is not beautiful. Not beautiful in the traditional sense anyway. There’s no innocence or purity it in.

My husband and I have two adopted children, a biological brother and sister, ages 6 and 3. They were adopted last year, and before they came into our care, they were living in a foster home.

My children are beautiful and my husband and I love them. We would never take back the decision that we made about them. But, ideally, our children would never know us. Parents would never go to jail for retail fraud, get addicted to drugs, or fail to make it through rehab. Police would never come to take children away from their parents. Babies would not be born with a drug addiction.

But, all these things do happen. And, that means that our children are no longer naive. It means that our family was conceived thanks to sadness and pain.

The process of adoption itself is not flawless, but I believe our family can become something beautiful in my own definition. We can struggle together and grow together. Because I believe that beauty can also happen after we’ve gone through the fire and come out stronger on the other side. That is what I want for family. That is what I want you to know.

Shannon blogs at www.oneinchofgrace.wordpress.com.

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that’s what HE said {father’s day edition}

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Here are some great writings on fatherhood from the interwebs.  Grab some tissues . . .                          

Jaydn’s First Words  

A newly adopted dad hears his daughter say DADDY for the first time.

  

A Father(less) Day

A father reflects on father’s day and his estrangement from his own father

  

A letter to my dad, very much with us

A son’s letter to his father, who is suffering from Alzheimer's disease.

  

Fathers – Featured Submissions

a gorgeous photo essay on fathers from Confessions of a Pioneer Woman

 

She Misses Her Daddy

A foster child talks about how much she misses her father

 

F Is For “Father” or Something

Shawn’s meaningful humorous acronym on fatherhood

  

Fatherless on Father’s day (dialogue)

a single mom reflects on a father’s day conversation with her son

  

3 ways to say “Happy Father’s Day” to your kids’ dad

Meagan Francis from The Happiest Mom gives advice on honoring dads.

 

And last but not least, some musings on fatherhood from Bill Cosby:

P.S. If you have HBO, check out Doug Block’s documentary on fatherhood called The Kids Grow Up.

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happy father's day!

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what I want you to know week(s)

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When I had the idea to do the What I Want You To Know series, I figured it would involve a couple guest posts for a few weeks.  I had a couple topics in mind that I thought people would write about, but my vision was pretty small in terms of the breadth and depth of topics that would be covered.  I have been so blown away by the response to this series, both by the readers and the writers.  To those of you who read here every week, thank you for the support you have given to women who have shared.  I have loved seeing this become a place of support, and I appreciate how often people tell me that they look forward to the guest post every week.  (In fact, in four years of blogging, the most-read post on my sight has been Sarah’s essay about being single.)

And to those who have written your stories . . . THANK YOU for baring your souls and allowing us to see into your world and understand you better.  My original intention in this little online experiment was to create a sort of empathy-building experience, and you have really facilitated that with your openness.  You have helped me to feel like this blogging space I’ve created has a bit more meaning and substance than just me telling stories that will embarrass my children and whining about how dumb the contestants are on the Bachelorette.  (Seriously, though . . . BENTLEY!?!?  I digress.)

I was just looking at the submission form and was astounded at how many stories are waiting in the queue.  Stories that I don’t want to hold back.  So, I’ve decided to post a story a day for the next couple of weeks.  This will allow me to catch up the queue, but it will also allow me to spend the next couple of weeks focusing my attention on where it needs to be: finishing up this summer intensive I’m teaching, having fun with our visiting nephews, and getting our makeover of ShePosts running smoothly.  Oh, yes.  And the whole 6-day-a-week boot camp I’m doing.  Just those lil’ ole things.

I think you will enjoy the stories that are to come.  And, as always, if there is an aspect of your unique story that you wish people understood, or a facet of your life that you’d like to talk about anonymously, feel free to submit your story here. 

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three things I am totally addicted to right now

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I don't know why it took me so long to catch on to this series . . . probably the fact that the crime novel is a departure from my typical reading list. But I decided to try to finish the series before the movie comes out, and I'm totally hooked.



No, not that. This is a bag of kale chips. I tried to make this a few times last year but it resulted in a soggy mess. I finally got it down and I am loving it. Crunchy and salty but low in calories.  My favorite version is to coat the kale with a little olive oil cooking spray, then garlic salt and grated parmesan. I bake them for about 10 minutes at 350, and then turn off the oven and let it sit for another 5 minutes. And then I sit in a corner and hide from Jafta, because he likes them, too.

What is it about this show? I am so obssessed with My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. It's like a time capsule where where a bunch of girls dressed like Vegas hookers go back to the gender roles of pre-suffrage America. Part cultural expose and part train wreck.  I love it.  And I will never, ever let India see it, because I'm certain she would take one look and resolve to drop out of school, get married at 16, and live out life in a trailer if it meant she could wear one of those dresses someday.

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oversharing at curvy girl guide

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Guess what?  I’m going to be contributing to one of my favorite websites: Curvy Girl Guide.    It’s a life-affirming site for women of all shapes and sizes.  I’ve been a fan of this site since they launched and I’m thrilled to be joining the team.

I wrote my first post this week, and found myself slightly intoxicated by the combination of pseudo-anonymity and an environment of acceptance.  I went where I have not dared to go on my own blog.  I talked about facial hair.

Now, listen.  If you have a Y chromosome, this post is not for you  Seriously.  NOT FOR YOU.  Leave me my dignity and go look at this or something.

If you are a woman under 25, I’m not sure if you should read this, either.  If you are the kind of person who wants to know the day you will die, then you might read this as a cautionary tale.  If you’d rather not know about the awful things that await you with aging, then take a deep breath, think happy thoughts, and go peruse the American Apparel catalog and download a Bon Iver CD.  Or whatever it is you crazy kids are doing these days.

If, how ever, the idea of a post about facial hair makes you nod your head in recognition with a slight shiver of shame, this post is for you.

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The nephews have arrived.

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twin summit a success, except for the near drowning part

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On Saturday night Jafta had a campout with Mark, and I took the twins for a special "trip" of their own.  They've been asking to go on a trip with me since Jafta got to accompany me to a conference in March, and since they are four, I figured a night at a hotel would appease them.  I booked a room at a hotel near Disney, because it a) had a toddler swimming area, and b) was cheap.  They were pretty excited.

They spent the first day playing at the splash park.  Unfortunately, the pool area was closed on account of another child having a "code brown" before we got there.









I'm just glad it wasn't one of my own kids closing down the pool.





I had the brilliant idea to bring our own food, but unfortunately our room did not have a microwave.  So the kids got to eat undercooked Easy Mac I made with water from the coffee maker.  But it was the kind they always beg for: day-glo orange with pasta in the shape of a car - so they weren't complaining.

This morning we had some time to kill before the sun came out, so I let them watch tv for a while.  Unfortunately, the only channel with children's programming was PBS and they were showing H.R. Puffinstuff.  What is the deal with that show?  It scared them, and frankly, it scared me too.  Why it this still on?

After lunch, we hit the pool one last time before we got in the car to travel the whole ten miles back to our house.  This is the part of the day that sort of soured the whole trip.  On Saturday, I made Kembe and India wear life vests the entire day.  Even though the splash park didn't really have a pool, there was a very ill-placed hot tub next to the play structure.  And also, I am a paranoid freak.  So my kids were rocking the life vests, and this morning I even made a joke on twitter about it.

No one will be drowning in the dangerous mushroom fountain today. Not on my watch. http://instagr.am/p/Fnnc6/

Hahahaha.  OH CRAP.

So fast-forward to a couple minutes after that photo.  India is trying desperately to make a friend, and she asked me if she could take off her life vest.  No one else is wearing one, she says.  She is afraid the other girls will think she is a baby.  When I argue with her, she tells me she is also worried they won't like her because they will think that she is fat.  (I could write a whole post on my disappointment in hearing that come out of her mouth, too, but I'll save that for later.)  I felt badly, and let her take off the vest, reminding her to stay away from the hot tub.  She agreed.

She made a friend quickly and they were having fun going up and down the slide.  I could see her come down the slide but the entrance was on the other side.  I could also see the hot tub from my seat - barely, if I was sitting up and craning my neck.  Which I did, for about an hour.  After a while my watchful pose seemed a bit excessive, and I thought maybe I could relax for a bit, since India seemed pretty content with her friends on the slides.

A little while later India came running towards me, visibly upset, followed by an angry father who informed me that he had just jumped into the hot tub to pull her out.  And he scolded me and told me I should probably be keeping an eye on her.

And the thing is, he was absolutely right.  You don't relax around 4-year-olds and bodies of water.  You just don't - and I had a major lapse in judgement by trusting India to monitor herself.  Apparently, India's friend was a great swimmer, and she hopped into the hot tub with India following right after her.  India found herself in the middle, unable to touch the ground, and THANK GOD her friend's dad spotted her and saved her.  (Incidentally, I had pulled another little boy out of the hot tub of death the previous day.  A letter to the hotel about putting a hot tub in the middle of a splash park is probably forthcoming). 

I am still sick about this.  I have been fighting a repeating loop of "someone is going to die" since being in the earthquake in Haiti and this really sent me over the edge.  I had a hard time even functioning this afternoon, thinking about what might have happened had that dad not seen her.  What is so frustrating is that I had followed the kids around the previous day - playing musical chairs around the play structure, moving every time they moved, even while they played in life vests.  Today I didn't follow that instinct and we had quite a scare.

I have been turning down pool playdates for the last year because I find it too stressful to have my kids near water when they can't swim.  Today's s episode just reinforced my fears, but I'm kind of okay with that.  I'd rather skip the pool than have a repeat of today.  Our water play will be limited to the backyard water table for a while.

Swim lessons start in two weeks.  Hopefully my heart will have stopped the pounding by then.

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that’s what she said (6.11.11)

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Some good reads on the web this week.  Click on the title to read the whole thing.

Aiming to be a B+ by Sarah at Whoorl

“Friday evening, dinner table.

Sarah: Wito, how was preschool today?

Wito: It was fun! We played with dinosaurs and…(Sarah’s brain: OMG OMG IS THAT PASTA SAUCE ALL OVER HIS FINGERTIPS? HOW IS IT POSSIBLE TO GET THAT MUCH PASTA SAUCE ON THE HANDS WHEN USING AN EATING UTENSIL? HE IS GOING TO WIPE HIS HANDS ALL OVER THE NEW DINING CHAIRS, ISN’T HE? OH, THERE WENT ANOTHER NOODLE ON THE FLOOR. HOW MANY NOODLES ARE DOWN THERE? WHAT DO YOU THINK THE RATIO OF FOOD-IN-MOUTH TO FOOD-ON-FLOOR IS? 1 IN 5? 1 IN 15? . . .”

The Face Tainter from Mom-101

“I survived sleep training and potty training mostly unscathed. I've gone through the terrible twos, and the more terrible threes. Twice.  But I am not sure I have yet experienced anything as daunting, in my short years of parenthood, as working the school carnival.

As the face painter.”

Talking with Kids About Homelessness by Sharon at Mama Manifesto

“Though I consider myself to be a caring person, our San Francisco weekend pointed out my limitations and contradictions. As soon as we stepped into Union Square, I automatically shifted into "city mode," focusing only on keeping the kids close and avoiding potential risks. I didn't even realize that I'd ceased to be present to the dignity and suffering of the human beings around me until Lemlem started shooting out questions:

Mom, what happened to her legs?
Mom, is that guy okay?
Mom, why didn't you give him any money?

In every case, I realized with shock that I'd failed to even see the person she was talking about.”

The Next 20 Years, and the Paradox of Choice from Caleb at The exceptional man

“Then I realized that this choice we made is the same choice we’ve been making. It’s the same choice we made when we decided to get married at a young age. It’s the choice we made when we decided to be one of the first out of our friends to have kids. It’s stability over versatility, commitment over freedom of choice.

When looked at in this light, I actually found it kind of freeing”

Collateral damage from Tracey at Sweetney

“It’s been a couple of years, and so of course looking back now I can clearly see what I should’ve seen then. But I was drowning at the time, and a drowning person can’t see past their own flailing arms, fighting to keep themselves afloat, fighting for air, for life. That she stopped calling, making any effort, during the time when my life was falling apart around me and I needed her friendship more than I ever had. How could I not see that?  In my blindness, I still reached out to her – I so desperately needed her support, love, and understanding that nothing registered that should have. I couldn’t see the trajectory, because I still loved her. I still referred to her – frequently, and to many – as one of my best friends. I feel ashamed, humiliated, thinking of that now.”

If I Was Wearing Pearls They Would've Been CLUTCHED from Metalia

“I am rapidly realizing, though, that I have One Parenting Thing which makes me Hulk-like with rage. There are obvious situation, sure, like seeing kids not properly restrained in moving cars, or parents smoking all up in their kids faces, but this, while not life-threatening in any way, still makes me have uncontrollable, angry-judgy eyes.  I speak of parents taking their kids to horrifically inappropriate films. By way of background, I grew up with relatively strict parents. I was only allowed to see PG-13 movies once I WAS 13, and even then -- EVEN THEN! -- they had to vet them first. With that in mind, though, is there any reason you can think of which explains why two seemingly mentally sound parents would take their baby and toddler to a 10:20 PM showing of The Hangover II?”

leaving it behind by Sarah at But now to live the life

“Comfort and safety began to feel like a noose around our necks. Everyday, as our eyes were more and more opened to how most of our fellow human beings live and what the Bible says about that, that noose grew tighter and tighter. We were suffocating on our own selfishness. I still struggle everyday with selfishness and the tension of having more when others have so little. But it no longer feels like a noose, it is no longer suffocating me. Obedience has brought freedom. We are living simply and resting in the knowledge that God has us right where he wants us.”

A Magic Trick For Kristen by Shaun Groves 

“I couldn’t believe it. This child development center is the largest in the world. More than 700 children are served by Compassion through this center. I picked one folder out of many. One page out of hundreds. One child out of dozens. Randomly. And that child happens to be sponsored by my friend, Kristen Welch, who traveled with me to Kenya to blog about Compassion in 2010.

So, Kristen, I think this magic trick was for you. And your family. Don’t ever doubt that your generosity is being stewarded well by the staff at child development center PH238. Here’s the proof!”

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what I want you to know: my husband had an affair

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What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions.  It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here.  Today’s post is by an anonymous reader.

 

After 10 years of marriage and a long struggle with infertility, my husband and I finally achieved our dream of becoming parents through adoption. Prior to bringing our son home, we had the typical DINK (Double Income No Kids) marriage and lifestyle. We both worked hard during the week and spent our weekends enjoying our free time. We went on vacations, attended concerts, socialized with a close knit group of friends, enjoyed dinner at nice restaurants, completed projects in our yard and home, and pursued many hobbies. We enjoyed many hobbies together. We had our separate hobbies too. I went to graduate school. He took up golf. He played Xbox Live. I took up running and yoga. He enjoyed weekends with the guys. I shopped with my girlfriends. In spite of our infertility struggles, we were living a happy life together.

When we adopted our son, I was so excited about finally being able raise a child with my husband. Sure, our DINK lifestyle changed. No more nights out, no more free time. That was ok with me. I was on maternity leave and enjoying parenthood more than I could have ever imagined. My husband was great with the baby too. However, I noticed some changes in him. He started staying up really late at night to play Xbox live with his friends. I noticed that he was talking to his brother and his friends on his cell phone more than he had in the past. I began to notice that he seemed to be missing his carefree pre-father lifestyle. I asked him about it and he told me he was fine. He just didn’t seem right, though. He seemed distracted and distant. Still, I chalked it up to being an overwhelmed new dad.

One morning, I awakened with an idea to take our son to the local zoo. My husband had been up late again, so he was still sleeping. I got on to the computer to check for the time that the zoo would open. What I found on the computer screen shocked me to the core. That previous night, he had forgotten to shut down and delete an instant message threads between he and another woman. I read every word and looked at every picture. They discussed their late night chats. They discussed their physical encounters. They exchanged pictures. My husband also talked about how unhappy he was with me. She talked about how unhappy she was with her husband.

After I printed the chats, hacked his Facebook page, found all e-mail accounts, downloaded all of his cell phone records, and found additional evidence of this extracurricular relationship, I awakened him. He admitted to the affair. He told me that he did not love this woman. He said that he would stop the affair instantly. I did not believe him.

I had always thought that if my husband had ever cheated, that I would instantly leave him. When it actually happened, I did not know what to do. It wasn’t such an easy decision. This is the man who I love with all of my heart and soul. Or was it? I felt like I did not know this person at all. Turns out, he was sneaky. Turns out, he was not honest. Turns out, he was a cheater. That, in my mind, is not love. I was shocked, angry, and disappointed.

First, I threw him out of the house. He begged my forgiveness. I begged that he leave me alone. After some time, we decided to locate a marriage counselor. We began our road to saving our marriage and our family. We have worked hard to change our behaviors, rebuild trust, and rebuild love. It has not been easy.

Almost three years later, we are still married. We still work each day to respect one another and keep a healthy, loving marriage. The affair was a huge bump in the road and I am not sure if it is fully repaired yet. It took a lot of soul searching and counseling for me to find it in my heart to forgive him and to begin to trust him again.

I am a strong independent woman. I want you to know that there are circumstances where staying in a marriage after one of the partners has an affair is ok. I want you to know that the marriage and family can still be happy after such an event occurs.

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first-world problems that are ruining the lives of my children

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Sometimes I am just completely baffled by how ridiculous my children sound as they whine about their privileged little lives.  For example, we have Disneyland passes.  The cheap ones with the summer and weekends blocked out, but still, Disneyland passes.  Some families will scrimp and save for years to finally take a hallowed pilgrimage to Disneyland.  For my kids, it’s something we do on random weeknights.  And yet, now they’ve come to expect it EVERY weeknight.  And oh, the whining that some nights are actually spent at home.  It’s like they’ve lost the will to live if we don’t get to go to Disneyland and they are forced to play in the backyard.  ON THEIR TRAMPOLINE. OR WITH THEIR MYRIAD OF TOYS, BIKES, AND SCOOTERS.

Speaking of the myriad of scooters, here is another example.  One of the perks of my blog is that a couple times a year, I do a toy review.  As such, we have just about every scooter known to man.  We have the standard Razor, the junior one, the one that swivels and the one that writes with chalk.  The one thing we don’t have?  The one that makes sparks.  A fact that Jafta likes to remind me of EVERY DAY.

Incidentally, the other day I asked India what she wants to be when she grows up, and she told me, “I want to stay home and get toys in the mail like you do.”

Lovely.  I’m really keeping their expectations in check.

 I sometimes wonder if all of this fun stuff is just setting them up for disappointment.  For example, the kids and I have been invited to a couple cool press events where a character celebrates a birthday.  We got to go to Elmo’s birthday party and Strawberry Shortcakes birthday party . . . and do they marvel at how lucky they are to get invited to such a thing?  No.  Now every time they watch a cartoon or a movie I get to field questions about why they haven’t been invited to that character’s birthday.  Like they think I have Diego, Rapunzel, and Phineas and Ferb on speed-dial.

And I rue the day I took them to get Starbucks cakepops after school, because now every single day since then the ride home from school is full of wailing and gnashing of teeth over it not being a cakepop day.

I often think that we would all be happier if I did nothing special for them, ever.  If the backyard trampoline and the hardshell pool from Ace Hardware was all they knew, surely the whining would be less pronounced?

(Because let’s not even talk about the complaining about our lack of a real pool since our trip to Palm Springs).

And yes, the irony is not lost on me that I’m now whining about their whining about all of these first-world problems.  I just don’t want to be raising spoiled, ungrateful children.  And sometimes I have the sinking feeling that I am.

Today I think the insanity hit it’s peak.  Jafta tagged along with me to my last conference, and now India and Kembe are constantly brining up the fact that they have never been on a trip with me.  And while I recognize that they feel jilted, at the same time, I want to scream, What four-year-old goes on a solo trip with their mom?  I NEVER WENT ON A TRIP WITH MY MOM.  What world are you two living in?  But in their minds, this is a perfectly reasonable request, and the fact that Jafta has a father-son campout this weekend brought their angst about a trip to a fever-pitch.  Somehow I found myself trying to appease them by searching for cheap airfare to any city I could find.  I found some $20 flights to Vegas and a cheap hotel off the strip with a pool, and as I’m thinking through booking “our special trip” suddenly I was like, what am I doing?  No.  Just, no.  I do not need to book a flight to Vegas for two preschoolers just because they feel that their life is unfair.

But I did make plans for Karis to stay with grandma, and I booked a room at the local Howard Johnson’s for Saturday night - just me and the twins.  Which I’m sure will be hugely disappointing because we will be driving there instead of taking an airplane.  LIFE IS JUST SO HARD.

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my little badass

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Karis has not been the easiest of toddlers so far.  She has a very strong will.  She’s my first kid who has been a hitter-  if she wants something, she’s not afraid to bonk a sibling on the head for it.  She is determined to do everything that her brothers and sisters are doing, even if it means taking 20 minutes to strap herself into her carseat, and there is great risk of screaming and wailing if I try to help.  She doesn’t want to be carried, doesn’t want to sit in the stroller, and she certainly doesn’t want to sit and cuddle with her mama.  She is on the move.

Her strong will and fierce independence have created some tension in our house (tension is my nice way of saying that she really, really exhausts me).  But on our weekend away in Palm Springs, I feel like I finally caught a glimpse of the pay-off of all of this grit and determination.   It dawned on me: she’s just a cool kid.  A bad-ass. 

And in Palm Springs, it was like we learned to finally appreciate it.

She absolutely loved going hiking.  She refused to hold my hand and instead walked with the assistance of her “walking stick” that didn’t even touch the ground.  She believes that hiking means climbing on rocks, so even when there was a clear path to walk on, she chose instead to walk up the rock embankment on the border of the trail.  When her sister India got tired and begged to be carried, Karis trudged on.

At one point, Karis fell and really skinned her knee.  It was bleeding all down her leg.  Did she care?  Not so much. I’m hiking.

When we found the snow, she pummeled snowballs at her brothers.

When the boys got hot and took their shirts off, she did, too.

Are the boys hanging dead-weight from a rail? I can do that.

Swimming?  Not a problem.

Petting an animal with ferocious horns aimed at my head?  Sure.

Peeing on the side of a tree like my brothers do?

Okay, that one she might have had a problem with.  Still, it was cute to watch her try.

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these kids today. they grow up so fast.

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June is scaring me. It’s scaring me real good.

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Yesterday I printed out my calendar for the next month and just looking at it has me a little terrified.  It’s going to be a really full month and it’s going to require quite a bit of energy on my part.  Fortunately, with four children and excellent sleeping habits that shouldn’t be a problem.

MWAHAHAHAHAHA.

I’m teaching a summer intensive at the university right now.  I’ve not done this before at the pacing is pretty nuts.  It’s basically a full semester’s worth of class packed into six weeks.  I have 27 students and the preparation, class time, and grading that is required is kicking my butt so far.

My nanny is on a mission trip to Mozambique for the entire month.  How this happened to fall in the month that I’m teaching an intensive is beyond me, but that’s adding to the chaos.  Also, in just over a week, my two nephews arrive to stay for the rest of the month.  So I will have six kids.  (To be fair, they are teenagers and will probably make my life easier in many ways, but still.  SIX KIDS.  Help.)

I’m also starting the boot camp thing at my local YMCA tomorrow.  Yesterday I went to the orientation and I had to fight the urge to run out the door screaming.  All we did today was the “fitness test” and I am already sore.  (Both my body and my ego).  There was mention of us bringing our own buckets on certain days.  IN CASE WE PUKE.   I am fighting a life-long narrative of “not being the athletic type” by signing up for this class, and now that it’s coming down to the wire I am regularly asking myself what in the world I am thinking.  I am scared.  Real scared.

I am now three days into The Fresh Diet.  I am really, really loving it so far, but let’s be honest.  I’m hungry.  It’s a rude awakening to see what a sensible portion really looks like, when prepared by someone else.  But I do love having my “meal fairy” drop off my food each night and I think it will make this hairy month just a wee bit smoother. 

We also have all of the typical end-of-the-school-year activities, soccer games, birthday parties, etc, and the small matter of my other job and this little ole’ blog.  Which may be neglected a bit in the coming weeks.  Or may become a place where I whine incessantly about things like  “boot camp” and “summer intensives” and “philanthropic nannies”.  Time will tell. 

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that’s what SHE said

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Here are some of things I read this week that made me think.  (These are just snippets – click on the title to read the whole thing).

Unreasonable from Claudia at My fascinating life

“They got angry and frustrated at me for cleaning cat vomit off the floor.  They didn't want me to get out the cleaning kit; they wanted food and they wanted it right then. My selfish insistence on getting the puke cleaned up rather than putting their highchairs in the middle of the goopy brown puddle was impinging on their Cheerio time and they did not like it, no they did not like it one bit.  I cannot say just how crazy this drives me. If they were getting antsy because I was reading a book, or learning to make cake pops, or doing one of the twelve hundred other things I want to be doing and don't have time for then okay, fair enough. Yell your little hearts out, kiddos. Mummy is being selfish; shout until she remembers her responsibilities. But seriously, children. Cat vomit? I can't find any way to make them understand that I do not want to be cleaning up vomit. Do they really think I am choosing to do this because I don't love them?”

The system in which we live from Tara Livesay

“I've long wanted to try to explain some of the way gender roles and power work in Haiti. I don't think I can even begin to relay some of it. It is on the list of "topics to avoid while blogging." There is so much that is repulsive about it. I don't want to make generalizations, but men hold the power and there is no real balance. Seeing that imbalance change seems unlikely to us for a variety of reasons. . .”

Kristine’s Guilty Pleasure: The Bachelorette from Mamapop

“(Describing Bentley): And here we have the middle-aged-looking Abercrombie-styled Douche of All Trades. Now, everyone hates the guy because he’s arrogant and super cool and really into his hair and doesn’t even LIKE Ashley but thinks it’s funny that he’s still winning and…OH! And he uses his daughter as a pawn. CUTE! But the thing is that Ashley got a heads up about this guy’s bad intentions before she even started filming. Then, after meeting the guy and falling for his Fierce Body Spray, figured that the tip came from a stupid, selfish bitch anyway. So, while we sit back and watch his super-awkward high-school smoothness wave warning flags all OVER the place, Ashley sits on his lap and giggles like an airhead, repeating only his name over and over because, apparently, she’s just been rendered an blubbering idiot by the dude’s lumberjack plaids.”

 

For the Claire Dunphy's and not the Claire Huxtable's from Megan at Millions of Miles

“I'm the mom who forgets to take snacks to the soccer game and the mom who forgets to send in a toy on toy day at school and all other matter of things that make my kids feel crummy. I'm the mom who looks at the floor with last nights dinner all over it where the kids dropped it and thinks, "I signed up to be a stay at home mom. Not a maid." I always envisioned myself spending hours reading books with my kids and making healthy lunches to send to school and doing craft projects all the time and somehow, after life has pulled me in all it's other directions, those other things just don't get done. And they are the ones that are most important.”

Grandmother, mother, daughter from Heather at Dooce

“My mother laughed knowingly and said she remembers those feelings of pride often. She said that I will have much more of that to look forward to, and welcome. Welcome to It Finally Paying Off. Years of sleepless nights and temper tantrums, and out of the tangled mess comes a human. Watching her learn to function on her own, my mom said, is the pinnacle of parenthood. It is the most satisfying part of sacrificing so much of yourself to this endeavor.”

A Mother's Saturday Morning Serenity Prayer from Azucar at The Jet Set 

“Although I have prayed in the past that I do not turn into my mother, I realize this is moot. Thank you for answering that prayer by granting me compassion for her Saturday morning ranting and raving, for now I understand.”

If this ain’t class warfare…from Love Isn't Enough

“For the second time this year, a black mother has been arrested and charged with larceny – stealing education, defined in the simplest of terms as taking something that not only doesn’t belong to you, but rightfully belongs to someone else. For the second time, PUBLIC education has been defined as a proprietary right that only belongs to some children and not to others. For the second time, the law has allowed municipalities to decide what “public” is deserving, and what “public” is not. For the second time, the public-private distinction has absolutely dissolved.”

You think that's not objective from Campbell at And other ideas and thoughts ....

“I'm glad I was in a closed adoption situation. I knew the score, who my family was. Yes, while growing up I didn't know what had happened to land me in an adoption but I just can't get my head around the alternative. To this day I've never felt abandoned but can't honestly say I'd feel that way had I been exposed to a lifetime of observing a perfectly intact family who just didn't want me, or weren't allowed to get me back if they did.”

It is in the Stringing Together of Moments from Heather at Never a Dull Moment

“And all the crazy that they do, and all the crazy-making that they cause, and all the crazy work they create for me, and everything else that is crazy too— all of it suddenly held together strong in that moment with them on the stage looking to see if I saw and knowing that we were in it together. Nobody else in the room mattered, and nothing else amounted to knowing that we knew. All the crazy was folded in. And the center holds. And we knew it.

And there it is: everyday things fall apart, but the center holds.”

 

Two other things:

Tara posted an update about the Harbor House and a matching grant that they could receive.  They are doing amazing things restore young women's lives in Haiti.  Read about it here: Challenge Grant and Harbor House News.

Check out the nominated list of bloggers at Circle of Moms for Top Adoption Blog.  Some of my favorites are there.  You can vote for Rage Against the Minivan here.  (You can vote every day until June 21st and you can vote for more than one person, FYI.)

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