Adoptions and Thankfulness

The day after I had Asher, hormones arush and crazy, I realized the profound love of a mother and wept for, as my postpartum mind put it, "all the babies without mommies." I thought of orphans all over the world who were born into a world without a mother's love, without a mother's touch, without a mother's voice (do they feel so lost, I wondered, not hearing the voice they "knew" in the womb?). My head was in a rather pitiful place.

To this day, stories of adoptions as well as a baby passing away can easily make me cry. Yesterday, for instance, I cried at church when the pastor talked about visiting his adopted daughters grave (she passed away at 6 weeks due to trisomy 13), cried while reading a story in Wondertime about an adolescent, blind girl adopted from China and cried - oh, yes, still more - while reading "The Story of Edgar Sawtelle" and the loss of Edgar's parents' baby (note that we had two days of overcast skies and rain in Colorado, highly unusual, and apparently not so good for my sense of happiness).

It is no surprise then, that on the happy occasion of our nephew's official adoption by his step dad that on entering the judges chambers and seeing a bookcase full of families adopting children from around the world that I teared up, and I teared up as the judge signed the final form making our nephew's adoption final. Such joy in seeing children happily united with a family - with a mommy and/or daddy. Such joy in seeing our nephew's dad officially recognized as his dad.

Explaining why we were going to see Jaden on the day of his adoption to Asher was interesting. I really didn't want to get into the biology of babies - yet how to explain that Jaden's stepdad was "becoming" his dad! When I told Asher something to this effect, he replied, "But Tio is already his dad." Wise words indeed. Sensing the joy of the moment, after Jaden received a certificate from the judge and an uncirculated quarter, Asher turned to Jaden with a big smile and hugged him. How did he know?

I woke up this morning with a small depression hangover from Sunday. The sun was just coming up - thank God! - as I drove to work, and I tried to work on being thankful for what I do have. Apparantly, practicing thankfulness can increase our happiness by something like 25% (whatever that means!). I looked in my rear view mirror and saw the blond heads of my two kids, and I felt thankful for them, for their place in my lives and for the unending joy I find in their lives. There is something unendingly mysterious - in the emotions and the journey - of parenthood.

Da Boot

I have a friend from work who has been through the grinding mill with her ex-boyfriend. Suffice it to say that they had very different ideas about commitment and sex. So for a second time in just under two years, my friend was flung out into singlehood after a six year relationship (and lots and lots of tears and yelling). Some time in the weeks following the break up, my friend had the following late night text message conversation with a male school counselor she had worked with at a school (purely - and I mean purely - professionally):

Guy: Hey. What's up? My girlfriend and I were thinking that you would be perfect to do a threesome with us.
Friend: This is xxxx xxxxx''s phone. Did you mean to text me?
Guy: Oh, yes. We think you'd just be perfect.
Friend: Go to hell.

Um, yeah. Niiiice (from a middle school counselor). Uncharacteristically, this friend, who has a huge heart for people and their potential and a small heart for her own gifts and what to expect from people, especially men, took the conversation to the director of school counseling. She complained. People listened. The male counselor had a big sit down with the three female counselors at his school - so embarassing - and he ended up leaving his position. My friend expressed new found power following her break up and actions that made her feel so grown up and like a powerful woman who just wasn't going to take the crap anymore.

As Michael and I are back together, how much I recognize my friend's new found power and developing that power myself. Following Michael's moves out, I felt like I first lifted myself up by my bootstraps and then was powered forward by a new found inner strength. Two things were symbolic of this - my new found ability to make appointments (I used to put off getting my hair cut or making ANY appointment because I didn't feel "old" enough or part of that world to do it . . . emailing for doctors appointments totally enables me) by phone and a pair of knee high black boots my mom and her husband bought me. I put on the boots one day for work and felt, quite suddenly, like a woman. Like an adult. Like part of the grown up world.

I have wondered as life moves forward, if getting married at age 22 changed how I "grew up," if being flung out on my own made me grow up in new ways or if just having a life crisis paved a path for new growth. As much as I'd have liked to skip over the last two years, I have learned, like my friend, to be more forward and more of a self-advocate. I take less crap and expect more from people. For this, I am thankful. And I am still ready to kick some more ass with my sexy boots (or at least get my hair cut).

Sweep this Room

I have a windowless room in my head, this guest house of being human, that I am trying desperately to swepp clean, if not get rid of. On my bad days (and when I'm PMS'ing) my thoughts enter this room and start bouncing around like a bouncy ball in a small space, pinging from side to side and gaining momentum as it bounces off the same thought walls over and over and over again - walls made of trauma memories from the last two years. The bouncing ball may start out innocently enough, set off by some object or impending date, and then turn into a sharp, spiny ball of destruction, causing increasingly piercing pain.

The ball started to bounce yesterday morning when I woke up from a dream crying. Because my dreams in the past have related to reality and have even revealed things I was not seeing, I can take my dreams too seriously. Throughout the morning, the ball gained its momentum so that I was impatient with my kids, crying off and on and desperately in need of a lobotomy to sweep the damn room. How I wish I could remove some memories and associations. How I crumble with the weight of them . . . some days.

By nap time, I was desperately in need of something to change my thoughts so I made tea (heal with water), I flipped through my dusty Bible to Psalm 143 and felt relief in reading,
"Therefore my spirit is overwhelmed within me;
My heart is appalled within me. . . .
Let me hear Your lovingkindness in the morning;
For I trust in You;
Teach me the way in which I should walk;
For to You I lift up my soul.
Deliver me, O LORD, from my enemies;
I take refuge in You.
Teach me to do Your will,
For You are my God;
Let Your good Spirit lead me on level ground.
For the sake of Your name, O LORD, revive me
In Your righteousness bring my soul out of trouble."

I prayed for God to take the room, to deal with those things I have no power over, and to give me trust in what He is doing in my life, and I took a nap. It doesn't always happen that scripture nor praying relieve my mind, but yesterday, so thankfully, they did.

I am noticing that I have definite, strong times of PMS, but rather than reject them as merely hormonal episodes, in the last two months, I have, as much as possible through the agony of it all (because really I want to do something like tear all my hair out and run through the next few days with a nice lie in), tried to give these feelings space to be felt and to have purpose and, perhaps, to be honored.

The following poem is aanother place to meditate, as things were indeed cleared for new delights later in the day (like Asher's birthday celebration with all four of us together as a family):

The Guest House by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

(P.S. I'm going to start praying for just a light dusting of my rooms - who needs the violent sweeping!).

James Bond or Gasping Fish

Michael flew out to Miami on Monday, on his way to Haiti to do an advanced needs assessment for Mission to the World's disaster response team and a pastor in Haiti following the three storms and hurricanes that recently hit. I envision his work as a kind of James Bond version of ministry - fly in, drive around, assess, do crisis debriefing, escape impending danger, hunker down in a compound, make plans for future teams, fly out (Michael would probably beg to differ what with all the dirt, low-tech sleeping quarters, and lack of martinis, but it's my blog and there is no shortage of rum).

Our preparations for him leaving are not nearly so well coordinated nor suave. Actually, I think we pretty much look like two fish who've jumped ashore and are gasping for breath as he gets documents in order, packs, shops, checks his Blackberry, repacks, takes out stuff, repacks, attends to last minute work, checks his Blackberry, repacks, grabs a sandwich, runs out for something he forgot after checking his Blackberry, repacks; and I play with kids, help Michael pack, get the house in some kind of order (last minute before I'm the only parent), help Michael pack, make a meal, play with kids, help Michael repack, put kids down for a nap, schedule the drive to the airport, make a meal, clean up from packing, run to the store for something Michael forgot, and help Michael repack, breath, breath, breath (you might get the idea that when you're going to a really poor country following a disaster that your gear is kind of important).

My friend, Shari, asked me if I was stressed while Michael is away. For the most part, all of the stress is piled up before he leaves as both our anxieties are high about him getting everything together (patience is incredibly short, but we did quite well this time with only one or two tearful outbursts from me and one frustration outburst from him), me getting things in order at home, saying goodbye, me battling old trauma points and trying not to nag too much about him doing his own debriefing when he returns.

I woke up the day after Michael left with sore shoulders - I usually hold my stress there, but they felt like I'd been lifting weights (yeah, no kidding, a big ol' stress ball o' weight). Michael gets into work mode while he's gone, and phone calls are brief check-ins (notifications that he's still alive). I get my game face on at home. There's not much stress once he leaves, and, really, when it comes down to it, I think it's pretty damn amazing that he gets to do this kind of work and that I get to be the home support (although, you know, I really do have big dreams of going on one of these trips).

That's Me - at My First Football Game

I have never been a big fan of football. In fact, until yesterday, I had attended a whole 15 minutes of a game in high school and watched maybe a combined 30 minutes on television in my life. It's a game that I have never understood and can't remember the rules. I will start to watch a game, ask someone to explain what is going on and then promptly forget what I was told (part of it is getting confused by the idea that there are consecutive first downs - why are they all first?). I also have a very, very hard time with cheerleaders. I don't really understand them, their purpose nor the mindset of someone who wants to be one (at least a professional football cheerleader who seems to be a tamed down - or maybe not so tame - version of a burlesque performer. I have come to realized some cheerleaders are quite athletic but there such an objectification/anti-feminist version of women . . . ). At my high school, we did not have cheerleaders but a group of students, mostly boys, who were the "Knightmares" (our mascot was a Knight), and once got in trouble for throwing dog biscuits at an opposing teams' cheerleaders (my kind of cheerleading squad!).

So, of course, when my friend, Shari, asked me on Friday to join her at a Broncos game on Sunday, I agreed to go. If nothing else, I wanted to witness what all the hub bub is about - get a taste of why people like football (and to get out of the house with Shari). And it was fun! It was really fun - watching all the 74,000 fans in their gear, funny hats, pom pom outifts and couples in matching outfits, slapping high fives when the Broncos scored, stomping my feet and yelling so the other team's offense can't hear plays (that was extreme fun - to be part of the game), chatting with the fans, screaming when the Broncos got close to a touchdown, watching people reconnect who have been sitting in the same seats for years and seeing each other at each home game, walking the halls in a large crowd of orange and blue, and starting to understand what the game was all about. I finally got a glimpse of the athleticism in the sport, which I'd taken to thinking was just a game of large, grunting men (though there are those, and I was kind of happy to see a place for them in an American sport).

I have to admit, though I've watched and understood so little, that I love the absolute Americanism of football. I remember soon after 9/11 watching some football awards and crying because it was so good to see America celebrated through the awards. I teared up at the beginning of the Broncos game, which was dedicated to the U.S. armed forces and had servicemen from the Army, Navy, Airforce, and Marines march during the opening ceremonies and a live feed from an Army unit in Iraq (followed by the cheerleaders performance and 600 junior cheerleaders - you know, we all have our dreams). Being at the game was like eating a huge piece of apple pie.

It will take something big to make me a die hard fan of any one team. I really do feel bad when the other team gets boo'd. So sad! Asher asked me what took me so long in getting back, but he has enjoyed making the orange pom poms I brought back for him and Harper into a weapon.

Men are Like Waffles - Women are Like Spaghetti

When Asher was between the ages of 1 and 2, he had a great fascination with construction trucks (which he called "di di" for diggers). We read all kinds of books from the library about how roads are made and books on the single exciting subject of dump trucks and front loaders. We got Asher diggers to play with at home. I made a point of driving around town to construction sites to see what the diggers were doing (ah, the life of a SAHM). When Harper was born, the Super Target was being built, and there was a great viewing point in a parking lot across the street where Asher could watch while I nursed Harper.

I gained a lot of knowledge about diggers and came to develop a stronger and stronger pet peeve about things that only do one thing. For instance, in building a road, there's a machine that digs, a machine that flattens, a machine that spreads out gravel and oil, a machine that rolls the pavement flat, and a machine for painting. One machine for each task. I have a smiliar pet peeve with kitchen tools and gadgets that only press garlic, only zest citrus fruit, only cut herbs, etc. Certainly, some machines really can do only one thing (although even there, there's probably room for creativity - like the coffee pots and grinders in one), but I believe we live so much with these single minded machines because they have been made by men.

To unpack this . . . I skim read a book a while back titled, "Men are Like Waffles - Women are Like Spaghetti." The premise was that men tend to live as if the parts of their life are sectioned and don't touch - like a waffle. Women, though, tend to live their life with all the parts intertwining, like a plate of spaghetti. This may account for why women are better at multitasking, generally, then men (and why some men don't believe there is such a thing). It also leads me to think that when a man sets out to design something, it will more likely be made for a single purpose. Roads have to be built, so we'll need separate machines to dig, flatten, spread, roll and paint. A kitchen tool is needed, so one will be made with that single purpose.

These days, when I ask Asher to help pick up toys, the process goes much smoother if I a) help him and b) give him a single, waffle boxed item to concentrate on. No doubt, these different skill sets are vitally important to the world, and a reason that I often feel so freaking complicated!

Bring It on!

Over the last two nights, I've had a hard time sleeping because my mind has been racing with presidential election and political thoughts. Last night, I was stuck on some internal argument about the Iraq war and diplomacy and what it means to serve one's country and democracy. It was quite interesting but a bit irritating at 11:00 p.m. I have said this before, and I will say it again, I am so excited to be living during this time in our history - to witness such an historical election during a time of some turmoil and situations that call for change. Though the two sides argue about who can really change things in this country, it's interesting that both sides see the need.

I was reminded again today about another aspect of the greatness of our country - that we can peacefully discuss differing viewpoints across the right-left spectrum and peacefully approach an election - but about our capacity for change. Driving in Boulder this morning, I navigated around bicyclists and a bus, and on the way back to Longmont, navigated around more bicyclists - more than I've ever seen either in Boulder or on Highway 119 in the almost four years I've lived here. We have some big lemons and here are all these people making big pitchers of lemonade. I love it!

I love to think about and realize the unintended consequences of new political policies and cultural changes and am excited to see the unintended consequences of the gas crisis. Already, we are driving less, exercising more out of necessity, pushing for greener energy and more fuel efficient cars. What else? Bring it on!