Author Archives: So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

About So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

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I'm a bookworm, nature lover, kick-boxer, candy fiend, sci fi geek, home body, progressive Christian and part-time student. I love my crazy life and the messy, fun, stubborn, silly, brilliant people who populate it.
October 2, 2012

5 Things You Didn’t Know About Me

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Finally! A post all about me, me, me…

I enjoy reading these on the blogs I lurk on ahem… follow. So I decided to link up to Jessica Bowman’s 5 Things You Didn’t Know About Me post, with my own never-before-revealed-on-this-blog facts.

This is a picture of me,
if I looked like Uma Thurman.
And was in jail.

1. I prefer going to movies by myself.
This is not to say I don’t enjoy going with friends (and my studlier half). But, as far as I’m concerned, SOLO is the best way to enjoy a film on the big screen.

I used to slink in, embarrassed to be alone, imagining looks of pity and derision on the faces around me. “I’ve got friends! It’s not what you think…”

In those days, I felt defensive and ashamed of my unorthodox preference. No longer!

I don’t have to share my popcorn. I can pick any mindless sappy/historical/comic book/sci-fi/action flick I want (preferably all rolled into one movie). I don’t have to explain who that man in the hat is or that he’s actually having a dream right now or why the blond girl is ACTUALLY his sister. My conscious mind can be entirely enveloped by the plot without distraction. I can relish my few blissful, responsibility-free hours.

2. I have my next tattoo all planned out.
I love the two on my ankle. It took me 8 years to get the guts to actually go through with it. I got them to remind me of my sons, Noah and Simon, and the afterlife where I will see them again someday. And just a tiny little bit, to feel like a badass (which would have worked so much better if I hadn’t gotten pretty, girly butterflies; also if I hadn’t worn socks around my Grandpa for 2 years).

The next one? The Hebrew words “b’tzelem Elohim” which means “in the image of God.” If I can remember that about myself… if I can remember that about everybody else in my orbit… won’t I do better in life?

3. I am writing a novel.
At the rate I am going, I expect it to be finished by early 2042. Seriously, I only have a prologue and some of the first chapter, but the stories are spinning around in my brain and the characters feel like real people to me. I’m just worried that I don’t have the writing chops to do them justice.

I’m enjoying all kinds of writing. But fiction is new and different and exhilarating. I’m just one more dreamer with “Write a Book” on my bucket list. I don’t expect fame or fortune. Or even a publisher. I just want to finish telling this story. And maybe I’ll even let someone read it someday. Maybe.

4. Each time someone tells me they read my blog, I am simultaneously thrilled and horrified.
I’m crap at taking compliments. And usually people follow that revelation with some type of positive reinforcement. I’m just going to assume that everyone who doesn’t mention that they read my blog, does read it and hates it. It’s really awkward to bring up in that case. So, thanks for not mentioning it.

As for those who do: it feels kind of like you just admitted to seeing me naked. Which is awkward for both of us. And kind of scary. And I never know what to say. So I usually mumble something self-deprecating and change the subject.

But mostly, I’m thrilled. So thanks.

5. Every single blog post I write goes on the chopping block at some point.

I never feel good about actually posting anything until after I hit “publish.” And sometimes I wish I could take it back immediately.

But I make my peace with it eventually and I’m glad to have it out there (or I wouldn’t be doing this at all). If Glen didn’t edit and approve of almost every post, this little hobby would have stayed in my imagination along with hang gliding and mixed martial arts.

So here’s me, slightly less mysterious than yesterday.

8 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in personality

September 28, 2012

Friday Favourites 31

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I am finishing up this blog in the van as we wing our way up the picturesque Sea-to-Sky Highway on our way to Whistler for the weekend.

Or I would be if we weren’t stuck in Vancouver traffic. We have passed 3, count them 3, car accidents in 6 blocks. White PT cruiser meets grey junker. Black hatchback meets black nondescript mid-sized. Red car meets pole.

So glad we can all slow down and take a good long look. Pole girl looks so embarrassed. Trying to act nonchalant, “whatever, no biggie, I do this all the time… we’ll all laugh about it someday… please Lord let the earth open up and swallow me whole… my dad is going to kill me.”

Been there.

Quote

“The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances.”
~ Aristotle
I’m totally pulling this quote out for my husband the next time a concrete post in an overcrowded parking garage jumps out in front of the van. It’s obviously the post’s fault, but we can be gracious about it.

Russian Dashcam Video

In honour of pole girl… it could be worse, so much worse.

And the runner up is…

Makes me glad to be alive. And not on the road with any of these people.

Blog

The friend who forwarded those last videos also encouraged me to check out the Bohemian Bowmans. Let’s call him… ummm…. Mr. McDreamy Hair. I quickly realized that I had read her work already and enjoyed it, especially her Chick-Fil-A piece. Jessica’s approach to parenting, faith and fitting into a new pair of jeans is funny and, above all, authentic.

She recently wrote a series about returning to church that was both shocking and encouraging. That’s MY church! Not metaphorically, for real. And these are my people (they may not be aware of my ownership, but nevertheless MINE)! I appreciate her guts in posting something both deeply personal and self aware.

And the nicknames. I really appreciate the nicknames.

Movie

I’m not exactly on the cutting edge these days. I still can’t bring myself to watch Blue’s Clues without Steve at the helm. This week I finally watched a movie that several people have recommended to me, many times. So you’ve probably all seen it already. If not, I’m adding my “Like” to the mix. A quirky take on the holocaust. Strange, but intriguing.

For a good time, do NOT watch this movie…

Hot Topic to Ponder and Discuss

This interview with Brian McLaren was a good follow up to the movie about a “perfectly nice” family’s participation in genocide. A discussion about Religious Hostility. What is Christianity to do?

Sappy Song

It’s kind of embarrassing crying the ugly cry while folding the laundry, but it reminded me so much of my grandpa. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he loved my grandma fiercely. He was lost without her those last 7 years.

So here’s me, in Squamish B.C. regretting this morning’s abbreviated nap time. The boy’s not a fan of road trips and he’s not afraid to show it. A crowded hotel room never sounded so good. Anything to get us all out of this van!

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September 27, 2012

McParenting

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

There are 2 kinds of parents in the world. Those who take their children to McDonalds. And those who don’t.

Sadly, we fall into the first category. I say “sadly” not because I’m wracked with guilt about the fat content, insane amounts of sodium and lack of real food value. Much.

I say “sadly” because our trip to “Old McDonalds” (as B calls it) usually dovetails with some of our less-than-stellar parenting times.

Times when we are overly busy. Rush, rush, rush, who has time to make something (from scratch) and put it on the table, then stand over the offspring like prison guards to ensure that they actually eat.

Times when we are feeling lazy. There is only so much of a person to go around. As we slice piece after piece off for housework, carpooling, changing diapers, earning money to pay for diapers… talking to family on the phone, talking to the neighbours, talking to the teachers, talking to the speech therapist, talking to that very friendly checkout lady (I’m an introvert, I like the talking, really, but it exhausts me)… reading emails, checking Facebook, watching Sliders reruns on Netflix… showering, bathing the littles, insisting that the big girls shower (and YES you have to wash your hair this time)… Pretty soon, we’re paper-thin and eager to settle for fast, relatively cheap and, above all, easy.

Times when we eat our emotions. We celebrate with food: got a bonus at work, a perfect mark on your science report, a birthday… We medicate with food: not invited to the party, playing single parent for the weekend, realized the your 8-year-old is NEVER, NEVER, NEVER going to be potty trained… Whoever named it a “Happy Meal” must have felt the same. It’s not a habit that has served ME well over the years. Yet, here I am passing it on to my children.

Times when I am feeling rebellious. I wasn’t raised like this. My Mom fed me nuts and twigs and all manner of healthy crap. We rarely ate out and NEVER had white bread or processed foods or anything with “whiz” or “a-roni” tacked on the end. She once told me that hot dogs were made with pencil shavings, sawdust and whatever else they could sweep off the floor at the end of the day. She was probably right. But I eat them anyway. Not all the time, but occasionally. Because I can. And no one can stop me.

We’re not the only ones. That indoor playground at our local Mickey Ds is often filled to capacity. And beyond. Shell shocked dads, doting grandparents, exhausted nannies, and guilty moms practice McParenting in all its many forms:

The McSanitizer: It’s true that the play structures are a giant, plastic petri dish full of germs and disease. To fight it off these twitchy parents scrub each surface with antibacterial wipes, line them with napkins, pull out extra pairs of socks et voila – instant McHazmat suit. A vigorous rub down in hand sanitizer is a necessary final step for decontamination.

The McWeary: This parent has surrendered. “Just eat something, anything…” I saw one dad pushing fries through the play centre netting into his sons mouth each time he crawled by. I can relate. “Mom, B just ate something she found at the top of the slide.” Try NOT to think about it. It was probably edible. “Can I borrow some hand sanitizer?”

The McThug: See no evil. Hear no evil. Or just chuckle about it and shrug your shoulders, like, “hey, whatcha-gonna-do? Sure my preteen just dropkicked your toddler across the room, but gee, isn’t he cute?” See how cute it is when I push YOU to the ground and step on YOUR face.

The McRockwellian: “No playing until you eat ALL your fries. I mean it young man, that milk…er…dairy-related-substance-shake isn’t going to drink itself. Let’s enjoy some meaningful family time.” Who are we kidding? Unless we recently installed a climbing apparatus in the dining room and invited every preschooler we’ve ever met over to give it a spin, this is NOT the family table.

It is what it is. Not that clean, not that healthy, not that safe and not all that family friendly. BUT the world isn’t either. Not even with bean sprouts and quinoa on the menu.

We all have to live in this dirty, imperfect, not-always-good-for-us world. So, if that same world OCCASIONALLY brings some reasonably priced, convenient, keeps-the-kids-out-of-my-hair-for-a-few-minutes food my way, I’m not going to feel guilty. Much.

Moderation in all things.

So here’s me, and maybe it makes me a total McCop-Out, but I think our family can handle a once a month McSplurge.

1 Comment   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in parenting

September 25, 2012

So You’ve Had a Bad Day…

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Have you ever wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over your head and cry like there’s no tomorrow? Have you prayed for a celestial fast forward? Have you asked yourself “what else could possibly go wrong” only to receive an immediate answer? Today is one of those days.

I swore to myself I wouldn’t write ANOTHER one of these woe-is-me-my-life-is-so-hard-pass-the-ativan posts. I am DETERMINED that this not become another bitchy Mommy Blog that whines incessantly,while smugly judging everyone who isn’t as busy/overwhelmed/proverbs 31-ish as myself.

But I write what I know. And Pollyanna I am not.

So tomorrow, or maybe the next day or the one after that, I will craft an eloquent post about the wonders and beauty of marriage and parenthood. Or perhaps, a challenging treatise on the state of the world. Or an exploration of theology vs. spirituality in real life. Or (more likely) a humorous anecdote about the unknown congealed substance that is perpetually decorating my shoulder (I’m actually HOPING it’s just snot).

But today, I’m writing this blog to avoid that crawl back into bed. Because it’s a hard day, and I can’t give into it. I won’t.

The cursor is blinking as I try to decide which direction to take this next paragraph. Shall I list all the many things that have gone wrong today? I can organize it into: ways I have let people down, ways people have let me down, and ways that life just doesn’t work out and there’s not even anyone to blame.

I feel like I’ve written that before (over and over and over again). I’ve certainly read it. And it’s boring, every time. And it doesn’t make anything better.

So instead, I will simply enjoy this moment. Because even on a hard day, writing is something I enjoy; something that cannot be undone or cancelled or infected by sticky-school-kid-viruses or burnt (stupid crock pot).

Most likely you are feeling worse, having read all this. But I’m feeling better. So thanks.

Today is a hard day. And I can’t muster up philosophical. And I’m not ready to joke about it. And I’m not rising up on wings like eagles. But I didn’t crawl back in to bed (yet). And that’s something.

So here’s me, if I can make it to 9 pm then I win! Tomorrow is a new day.

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Uncategorized

September 21, 2012

Friday Favourites 30

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Red Rocks Amphitheatre

Yesterday was a day of Great Importance for my husband. He explained to me that aside from the Life Changing Events: such as marriage to myself, obviously, and meeting each of our children for the first time, and I suspect the arrival of his iPad, though he didn’t mention it at the time… aside from these few things THIS was a day he had been waiting for all his life.

You have to understand, my husband is a man with few loves. He’s fairly lukewarm in his regard for almost everything on the planet. But those few things he loves, he loves intensely, devotedly, deeply… He is a super fan (I’m just glad the kids and I make the short list).

Yesterday he had the opportunity to see his favourite band in concert, with a full orchestra, at Red Rocks (which is some famous outdoor theater in Denver that has great significance to concert dorks… blah, blah… something about U2… blah, blah) and he got it all at some killer deal so we can actually afford it (sort of). I don’t have to understand all that to realize that this was an epic pilgrimage for my man.

AND THEN he got a backstage pass!

He’s over the moon! And I’m wife-of-the-year for enabling him!

Did I mention he’s in Colorado? And our 4 children are not. At 4:30 this morning, as I rocked the fussy boy, I briefly questioned the wisdom of this decision (and made a mental not to feed the boy more prunes)… but not for long. You see, he would have given this up in a second if I had made the slightest complaint (see note above RE: intense devotion). Which makes me want it for him even more; he really deserves it!

It’s funny how the happiness of someone we love can taste even sweeter than our own.

Quote

How simple it is to see that we can only be happy now, and there will never be a time when it is not now.

~Gerald Jampolsky

Band

Today, for the sake of my husband, I have to choose The Airborne Toxic Event as one of my favourites too. They are storytellers, poets and the kind of real musicians that so many bands pretend to be.

Movie

Maybe it’s the adoption angle. Or the fumbling through parenting. Or the fact that this is one of the rare films you can take your kids to without wanting to stab your own eyes out (Alvin and the Chipmunks “Chipwrecked” comes to mind). Or that it was a rare chance for me to do something without kidlets in tow. But I really enjoyed this sweet quirky movie.

Perfectly Timed Photo

Silly, juvenile, cute, twisted… there are all kinds on perfectlytimedphotos.com and let’s face it, it’s kind of a waste of time. But it made me laugh.

So here’s me, half a dozen text messages (with just as many exclamation points) hardly tell the story, but I have a feeling we will be reliving every minute of the Very Important Concert all weekend.

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September 20, 2012

First Contact: Birth Family

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I sifted my fingers through. I banked up the sides. I carefully patted it back into place. My little pile of worries and insecurities.

It doesn’t feel so little as I slog through traffic and construction on my way to The Meeting. I’m preoccupied by the width and breadth of it. I suppose it is to be expected, from a student of psychology and a writer… worse yet, a blogger. A whole lot of self-absorbed navel-gazing.

I prayed my way through a list of concerns, for each of the people attending, saving my favourite subject until last. Me. How do I feel? What am I thinking? How will this affect me?

But it isn’t about me.

We slipped in the door 7 minutes late. They were sitting around the table already: the social workers with Birth Mom, Nana and Papa. Pleasantries are awkward and Nana can’t even look us in the eye.

Because this is hard.

WE haven’t taken him away from them, but he is gone all the same. They need, need, need… beyond what we can provide. We promise the bare minimum. Better not to disappoint. “We’ll see” is the watchword. A couple of meetings a year, pictures every few months… but it’s not the same as being Mommy every day or Nana who bakes cookies or Papa who explains what “offside” is.

Suddenly my little pile seems insignificant. One uncomfortable hour cannot compare to years of loss. Years past and years to come. We find common ground in a strange place as Birth Mom admits “at first, I didn’t even want to come and meet you.”

But it isn’t about them.

We show each other our best sides. They share little bits and pieces about S and their family. We greedily store away each morsel. He got his hair from his Birth Dad. The curls remind them of his big brother. They are hockey fans too.

Most importantly, we joke to diffuse the tension. It works. We can laugh together and that is a relief. It’s proof positive that our boy has a sense-of-humour-gene in the mix. I’m relieved. Humourlessness is a serious issue (ha ha ha… don’t judge me).

Birth Mom is young and sweet. She speaks with confidence. She calls him her “Miracle Baby” – the little champ who fought his way through every problem. She is trying to do the same. She is lovely.

Nana is protective, sentimental, sad… she is still grieving. And Papa wants to fix it all, but can’t.

By the time we leave, we are friends of a sort. We’ve faced anger and tears and discomfort. We’ve come out the other side because we are on the same page.

It’s all about him.

As long as he is happy. As long as he is safe. As long as he KNOWS that he is loved by all his family, in all its forms.

I don’t expect every meeting to go this smoothly. It will get bumpy and hard and inconvenient. We’ve inherited a new branch of “in-laws” and all the troubles that come with it. But that’s a pile for another day.

So here’s me, putting our son ahead of my comfort. Because that’s what Moms do.

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in adoption

September 18, 2012

Breaking Up With Normal

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

From: Christie
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2012 4:27 PM
To: Normal [mailto:conform@JustLikeEveryoneElse.com]
Subject: It’s over.

Dear Norm,

I’m sorry. I’ve chased after you most of my life. But I’m done. We’re through.

I know it’s not cool to break up by e-mail, but it’s your own fault. Despite your constant presence in my life, you’re hard to pin down. We don’t really talk. It’s all hidden pressures and unspoken expectations. Not healthy at all. I’m not angry. Really. I’m just done.

It’s not you, it’s me.

After all this time, I’ve outgrown you. I’m finally ready to admit after more than 30 years that you’ve never been my type. Because a relationship like this shouldn’t be so hard.

I’m tired of checking with you about what I should wear – sometimes your suggestions are uncomfortable. And I know we never saw eye-to-eye on hair. You make me nervous when we go out. What should I talk about? Which opinions can I share? What parts of myself should I hide? I know you’re thinking “the hair, that crazy hair” – but I kind of like it the way it is. So there.

You’ve changed.

It’s not all bad. I’m glad that you are recycling more and have dialed back the racism. But I hate the unhappy marriages, the workaholism and anorexic body ideals. Democracy is great, but it’s not always the best way to decide what is good and right and true.

If that’s not enough, you’re constantly reinventing yourself. And it’s exhausting juggling the different versions of you. There’s “Church Norm” who’s really into Jesus-talk, but kind of gossipy and judgmental. She tries to do a lot of good, but is arrogant and clumsy about it. “School Norm” talks a good game, but expects everyone to act and learn and regurgitate in exactly the same way. She’s inflexible and competitive, and sometimes more of a hindrance than a help to learning. “Hipster Norm” prides herself on being edgy and enlightened, but often forgets to be kind. Cynical and sarcastic makes for a funny punchline, unless you are on the other end of the punching.

Without even realizing I was doing it, I’ve tried to keep up with you. And I don’t like juggling the different versions of me either.

I’m ready to just be. Rough edges, awkward pauses and comfortable pants… the me who isn’t trying so hard.

I’ve met someone.

I’ve met a lot of someones, actually. People who dance with their dogs competitively. People who sell their belongings and move to Africa. People who dress up in costume for movie premieres. They’re offbeat. Out of step from the rest of us. Flat out weird sometimes. Which kind of freaks people out.

But here’s the thing: they’re awesome. They are fun and passionate and not afraid. And that’s looking pretty good to me right now. That’s what I want.

I hope we can still be friends.

There’s nothing wrong with you. I’ll raise my children to respect you. I’ll teach them to be appropriate, even socially acceptable. But they are special and unique and ultimately, I don’t see you as a life long companion for them, either.

We’re just not that into you.

I’m sure we’ll run into each other from time to time. After all, you’re insanely popular. That’s kind of your thing.

So, no hard feelings, k? I wish you the best… or the average, rather. Cause that’s more “you” after all.

Christie

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in creativity, personality

September 14, 2012

Friday Favourites 29

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I have started, and deleted, this opening sentence a dozen times. It’s not that I can’t think of anything to say (let’s face it, that is a rare, rare thing). It’s been a busy week and there are so many topics to write about, I can scarcely begin. So I’ll touch on them all. Brace yourself, it’s a rollercoaster.

Today my son Simon would be 9. And maybe he still is. Maybe they have chocolate cake and streamers in heaven. But as much as I dream about the boy he would have become, my only memories are of the tiny infant born so early and so silently. I haven’t found time to think of him until just now. I don’t know if that is good or bad. But I still miss him. I wish he could have met his little brother, he would desperately love someone to wrestle with after school.

Last night we threw a birthday party. I lost count after 43, but I’m pretty sure it was more like 50 sweaty-faced, laughing children darting in and out of climbers and slides; stuffing bits of food into their mouths before jumping back into the current. The walls shook with each body check in the hockey game next door. The noise was tremendous. It sounds crazy, but it worked! B isn’t able to tell us which 8 friends will make the cut for her party. And all the kids at school are wonderful to her. So, we picked them all. We rented out the play centre and handed invitations out to the whole of grade 3 (and their siblings, because I’m all about getting my money’s worth). With the help of our 2 favourite babysitters, it was far less work than any of the other parties we’ve thrown this year. And so much fun!

Yesterday afternoon, we finally got our van back from the dealership. Our blue Kia has a personality. She likes to give us a hard time: engine light and spontaneous downshifting et cetera, almost always when I’m driving. But she is on her bestest behaviour for the mechanics. She hates me. I was actually thankful when she acted up for Glen too (see, I’m not making it up!). Despite her erratic behaviour, she got us where we needed to go this week and FINALLY the experts figured out her problem. She’s getting needy in her old age and perhaps she feels we haven’t been spending enough money on her. The $450 repair should keep her happy for a while. Hag.

This week has been sad, thrilling, exhausting (always), frustrating and fun… it’s a messy life. I’m still a fan.

Quote

Success usually comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it.

~ Henry David Thoreau

Oh, I hope so! Because I am definitely on the right track then.

Piece of Planet Earth

I tell myself that I should get rid of it every time I see it. But I can’t bring myself too. Even when I almost walk right into it. Even when the neighbour girl shrieks and runs away. We have the most awesome spider web at our front door. It glistens with dew drops each morning. And at night the fat stripey spider scuttles around renovating and expanding her domain. I can almost hear David Attenborough in my head as Glen and I watch her take down a giant horsefly. We called the big girls and stood and watched for a long time. Not much makes us pause anymore. So I’m grateful to her.

I tried to get a good pic of our spider, but she’s shy. This is very close to what it looks like at our front door.

I call her Charlotte in my head and imagine she’s very intelligent, but if she tries to lay eggs in my house, there will be no mercy.

Video

Becca doesn’t do well with opening presents. It is too quick, too much new, too much pressure, just too much all around. So we decided to emulate friends and asked for donations instead of gifts. It’s handy that her Dad happens to work for the Down Syndrome Research Foundation.

In a special, sneak peek showing here’s a video about the work they do. YOU are the first to see it!

They told Edison’s Mom and Dad that he would probably never speak, may never walk… He showed them!

This video was made by my brilliant brother & sister-in-law!

Book

Somebody’s Child is a collection of stories told from every viewpoint on adoption that you can imagine – birth parent, adoptee, adoptive parent, sibling of a foster child… I would recommend it to everyone, not just those interested in “adoption stories.” Because these are essentially human stories, full of love and brokeness and angst and growth. Each one is compelling in its own way. Each one is so different. Which is kind of the point.

Disgusting Article

30 Canned Foods You Never Knew Existed and frankly, NEVER should have. Gross!

Here is Number 1 on the list: Whole Canned Chicken

So here’s me, chicken for dinner suddenly seems less appealing.

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in favourites

September 12, 2012

8 Years Old

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Total honesty… not the cupcakes I made for B’s Dr. Suess birthday, yet. These are the ones I’m planning to make. I’m sure they’ll look JUST like this. Really!
from goodlifeeats.com

One more birthday letter for the year…

First up, my favourite Guest Poster: the Dad.

Dear B,

As you’ve been telling me for weeks, you’re 8! Today it’s finally true! And, since you’ve been telling me “Happy Birthday Daddy!” several times a day for the past year, today I’m thrilled to be able to say, “Happy Birthday B!”

It’s been another year of adventure for us with you, as we wait with expectation for your next surprise that will have us laughing loud and long. Often it involves layer upon layer of dress-up clothes. Lately it’s involved you shouting, “Blow me down, guys!” and when we do, you teeter and squeal and eventually fall down backwards. Of course, once you got one laugh, we were destined to play this game about 800 times. That’s okay though; it’s still just as funny as the first time.

This was the year your world got rocked. After almost 8 years as the unchallenged ‘baby’ of the family, there’s suddenly a new baby on the block – one who’s not afraid to stake his claim to everyone and everything in our house!

There was no way to fully prepare you for what was coming when we decided to add S to our family. As much as we talked about him and explained that a new brother was coming to live with you, we couldn’t really help you understand what was about to go down.

We worried about how you were going to react to this new little person competing for our time and attention – not to mention your toys! And, truth be told, it wasn’t always smooth sailing. You gave us a good run for our money for a little while there, finding ways to get our focus back on you, for better or worse.

But through it all, I was amazed at how you loved S. If you were upset about all the changes, you didn’t take it out on him. You’re not known for your patience, but I think you’ve been extraordinarily patient as you and your brother have adjusted to each other. You’ve shared – often willingly – and you’ve been a wonderful, loving big sister.

You’ve also grown up in ways that I didn’t foresee. Maybe Mommy and I being busier than normal has caused you to try things for yourself instead of waiting for us to help. I’m not sure, but I know that you have seemed much older and more independent these past few months. You’re talking in much longer sentences – it’s wonderful to be able to have real conversations with you!

Amidst all the changes, I hope you know that some things haven’t changed. My love for you hasn’t changed. My promise to be here whenever you need me hasn’t changed. The fact that I am so proud of you hasn’t changed. And your ability to make me laugh harder than I’ve ever laughed before hasn’t changed either. Thank you for bringing so much joy into my life. Happy birthday!!!

Love from,

Your Daddy

~~~~~~~~

Today you are 8-years-old.

For most people, 8 is when the cute starts to wear off. Not you. You remain as cute and sweet a little girl as ever. Except when you are cute and ornery. Even then, we’ll keep you.

This has been a big year for you. A lot of change and a lot of growing up have made for a bumpy ride at times, but we’re getting used to the drama. Our life is never boring, and usually, we have you to thank for that.

You are a born comic. There is not much you won’t do for a laugh. You’ll yell “Blow me down, guys!” until we’ve stopped what we are doing to puff in your direction, at which point you flail your arms, make worried “aaah, aaah, aaah” noises before collapsing in a heap on the ground. Your gales of laughter afterwards are contagious. Each night before dinner you lead us in the song “Open/Shut them” (presumably to ensure that our hands are properly folded for prayer time), then thank God for the food and for the cats who are partying. You’ve decided that your horse at therapeutic riding is named “Toot”; which is the word for ‘fart’ in our house and consequently, super-funny (he’s actually named “Dot,” but you will not be convinced otherwise).

You’ve always had a lot to say. From the beginning you taught me that everybody has stories to tell, whether they can express it or not. But this is the year we’ve begun to understand so much more of your stories. It is such a gift to hear your thoughts and ideas and strange pretends. You love to jump on the trampoline, then when “BubbleMan” comes, we are all required to lay down. Okay, so I still don’t understand a lot of what goes on in your world.

You are a true believer. When you are pretending, you do it with your whole heart and assume that it is just as real to the rest of us. Whether you are barking as a dog and eating your snack off the floor, or wearing 6 fluffy skirts, a neck tie, large floppy hat and mismatched shoes all afternoon (the costume of choice for a discerning “pwetty pwin-cess” we’re told), or even answering to a nickname (sweetheart, honey, silly goose…) – you will very seriously demand my attention, throw your hands out and trill “It’s me! B!”

The biggest change this year has brought is your sudden acquisition of a baby brother. Since he is not actually a baby, but the ripe old age of 2, you have actually acquired a partner in crime. Most of the time he is your little shadow, dogging your every step, getting into your stuff, and trying to hug you with his entire body. You have been mostly patient, if not a bit alarmed by his desire to wrestle. He’s a pretty good sport too, because you’re sister-ing style is somewhat tyrannical.

We call you the “Dastardly Duo,” and you have brought mischief to an unheard of level in our home. Just last week I noticed the bathroom door was closed with both of you in it (never a good sign). Worried that you had once again blockaded yourselves in the room (took 1/2 an hour to extricate you last time), I rushed in. Just in time. To see the sink overflowing onto the ground while you happily splashed one another. As I bundled up the sopping towels, having turned my back for no more than 2 minutes, I heard a piercing shriek. You had both climbed into the tub, fully clothed and turned the cold shower on. I was just relieved that nothing found its way into the toilet that day.

I’ve probably written more in my blog about your funny little quirks and extreme stubbornness, ahem… determination, than just about any subject. It can be a challenge, but you are certainly worth every long day, tearful break and prolonged battle of the wills. Because at the end of the day, you are a kind, gentle, funny, strong person. And the world is a better place because you are in it. And I am a better person because you are my girl.

I love you!

Happy Birthday 8-year-old!

Mom

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September 10, 2012

Losing My Cool

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Turns out, I’m not as cool in real life as I am in theory.

I’m talking about the kind of cool that stays calm and collected in the face of a challenge. The serene, unflappable cool that takes life as it comes and assumes that God is in control and everything is going to work out.

If you’ve read this blog before, I’m sure this doesn’t come as a surprise.

But it’s caught me off guard this week. You see, I was sure I knew how I felt about my son’s birth family. I was adamant that they are an important part of my child’s life and therefore, important to me. I was compassionate about their struggles and their losses. I was encouraged by every indication they gave of love and interest in S. I was cautiously optimistic about openness and a continuing relationship with them; regular updates, pictures, and biannual meetings on neutral ground did not seem much to ask. I was secure enough and mature enough to face their angst and anger without taking it personally.

Until we actually set the time for the meeting. Suddenly my high-minded ideals seem naive and impossible. Though my mind continues to believe the truth of it, my heart revolts. I am sad. I am threatened. I am afraid. And I am, inexplicably, angry.

This week I will finally meet the mother of my son.

That sentence doesn’t even make sense. It is unnatural and strange. I share this incredibly intimate bond with a woman I have never met. I know heartbreaking details of her most difficult struggles. I know as much about her medical history as any doctor. And her child is now my child.

She carried him in her body. She felt his first kicks. Her voice was one of the first sounds his ears heard. She held him in the NICU. But she was young and broken and overwhelmed. She could not be what he needed.

Unlike many adoptions nowadays, she did not choose us. Nor did she choose adoption for her child, though she agreed not to fight the ministry on it. So far.

Our adoption is not finalized yet.

After 6 months in our custody, the government will apply to make it permanent (this takes another 2-3 months). It is extremely unlikely that anything should threaten this, but not impossible. Someone could petition the court to overturn the placement. Someone could try to take our boy.

Friends of ours recently lost the child they are desperate to adopt, abruptly taken and returned to his birth mom. Their grief and very real concern about his safety is palpable. Legal or not, he is their son. And they are devastated.

My cool, rational brain recognizes that this is not a realistic worry for us. But my heart isn’t always rational. And I won’t breathe easy until we hold the final papers in our hands.

Birth family is not our enemy.

This is the family that brought our beautiful boy into the world. They gave him a name. They dreamed dreams for him.

We have a plastic-covered book of pictures which we call “Everyone Loves S.” The first page is a picture of our family, the next section contains pictures of foster family and the last pages are pictures of Birth Mommy and brothers and grandparents. As we look through it with him, we name each face and tell him “Nana loves S, Poppa loves S… Everyone loves S.”

It’s true. They really do. As best they can. And we know enough of their story to understand where things have fallen apart for them. They are not evil, heartless villains, just flesh and blood people who are in over their heads.

And some part of me is glad, because now I have the son I wanted so badly. This competitive streak is alarming. I examine their shortcomings and am reassured that we can do a better job as parents. Mine! I see their dark hair and eyes, noticing that S looks more like my children than theirs. Mine! And I know it is ridiculous to be this petty and insecure, but he is mine, mine, mine…

I guess I’m not as mature and confident as I thought.

But I can play it cool.

I will let my mind and not my heart guide me. I will set aside my fear and insecurity. I will keep mama bear in check. I will protect, but not attack. I will pray when I want to obsess and forgive when I want to judge and trust when I am overwhelmed.

Adoption has enough losses already. This week we will try to build something positive and redeem some connection with his past. Because that is what my son deserves.

So here’s me, and I know it’s not a competition. I read “Percival the Plain Little Cattepillar” 7 times a day. I catch him when he leaps off the monkey bars. I wipe his nose and change his diaper. I teach him to sign “please” when he wants ANOTHER handful of blueberries. I rock him to sleep every night. I’m his Mom.

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