The Plug in Drug

Last week was an unending whirl of activity - some fun and some stressful. I had four evenings in a row of fun activities and social gatherings and a three day week of work that included some not so fun situations to handle (I'm a peace lover and the idea of "confronting" anyone is possibly worse than the idea of sitting down to eat a steak but sometimes you just have to eat steak. With friends, of course). I woke up Saturday wondering where I had been all week, feeling like absolutely bushed. I spent much of the day on the couch. It was TGIC (Thank God it's cartoon day)!

Saturday is cartoon day in our house, which means that there are very, very few limits on how much television the kids can watch. If Asher knows that the next day is cartoon day, he has been known to get up at 4 to start watching cartoons, and we put it off until about 6 (but only if he goes BACK TO BED). Cartoons then play for hours on end. It's a great time for us parents - time to sleep, get a few things done around the house without interruption, spend time laying on the couch with the kids, have a cup of coffee together.

Unfortunately, television has a backlash effect on my kids. While they are so eerily sedate while watching, once the television goes off, the world seems more than normally difficult to handle. There are more tears, tantrums and less smiles and laughing. My theory is that while watching TV, life is very simple and pleasurable and once it goes off, my kids have to suddenly deal with the real world - pleasurable without a doubt but requiring more effort (like using actual words) and handling of a whole mess of emotions.

When I was little, my parents had a book called, "The Plug in Drug," which was about television. I never read it, but I clearly remember the cover and thinking about what the title meant. Watching my kids, I can see how television has a drug-like effect not only while they are watching but once it's off. They go through withdrawals.

Television has a place in my life and my kids (Asher is a HUGE fan of cartoons). I'm not always so happy about this and with little prodding could fall into a big "Kill Your Television" advocate. I still try to keep the tube off more often than not even as on a day like Saturday (with a day of rain), I took full advantage of cartoon day.

Aspen Moment

During my first fall in Santa Fe during college, a few friends and I drove up the road to the Santa Fe Ski Basin to check out the changing aspens. We had hit the peak of the leaf change, parked the car and walked into a grove of yellow aspen trees. Such a place is unbelievable - surrounded by leaves on the trees and spread all over the forest floor, that seem illuminated from within by a yellow light and that make a gentle, rustling noise in the wind as the leaves touch each other. Holding up all the yellowness are bright, white tree trunks, slashed with lines of black. Breathtaking.

Colorado is also home to aspen groves, which grow in a kind of family unit with many trees sharing a single root system. The last two years, I have been able to drive and see aspens at their peak again. A few weekends ago, on Michael and my trip up to Tabernash, we took a hike with friends and ended up in a few aspen groves. Walking off the trail, I walked into the middle of a grove and let the yellow light, the leaf rustle fall all around me. I breathed deeply.

Michael looked at me and asked, "Are you having a moment?"

"Yes," I answered. Indeed I was.

There was a time some year and a half ago where I felt like trees - among other things - were God's message of strength to me, messages to keep going and to continue hoping. What a joy to have messages of beauty now in these trees I love.

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.