Lighthouses and Cottages

 If you had asked me 10-20 years ago what I thought motherhood would be like I'm sure I'd have rattled off some of the usual clichés which basically would have amounted to something along the lines of a glorified version of playing "house" and I'd have acknowledged that, sure, there would be crying and poop involved.  

For many women I'm sure that's what they get.  A few sleepless nights, maybe a colicky baby, but for the most part they have a blissful picturesque view of Motherhood that looks very reminiscent of a Thomas Kinkade painting.  Cute little cottage with some fun little forest animals peering from the trees while soft smoke streams from the cobblestone chimney.  Life is just this wonderful little existence with soft light and warm feelings.  Happy little baby they get to dress and feed and play with in perfectly decorated nurseries.

This has definitely not been the case for me.  For starters my road to Motherhood was not an easy one to begin with, considering it started with years of infertility.  Those years lead to a choice to adopt, not one child, but three.  A sibling set via foster care.  At the time they came to our home they were 4 years, 3 years and 8weeks.  They had all been through a lot, and we were not the first placement for the first two who had been taken from their parents almost a year prior.  A good example of the raw and not-so-pictureseque reality is this story.  Needless to say this particular view of Motherhood was not Mr. Kinkade's specialty.  Not polished and glowing, but harsh, real and rough around the edges.

Years later I would have a biological child.  Under very unideal circumstances, you can read what happened here.  At the time this meant Motherhood to me was single parenting despite having a boyfriend, public assistance and a deranged ex.  Not the material for which Kinkade has a technique.  

Moving forward, the boyfriend and father of my biological child did become my husband.  And with him he brought three stepkids to the family.  Meaning now I have the holy trinity of Motherhood- Adoptive parent, Biological parent and Step parent.  It is as if three universes are trying to coincide. Juggling the struggles that my older three kids have with accepting the choices their birth parents made, dealing with their adoptive dad (my ex) having his own parenting issues.  Trying to help them establish a healthy relationship with my husband, and all the new kids involved.  I'm very fortunate that they absolutely love their little 'half' brother, and my husband for that matter.  There are the challenges of my own bio son just being a toddler.  And of course balancing step parenting.  Dealing with the mothers (there are two) of my step kids, making sure to maintain healthy boundaries without compromising a loving relationship.

Because of all of the extenuating circumstances, I have had to have so many 'hard conversations' with my kids.  All I can say is that this woman absolutely sums up how difficult some of them have been in this video.

I will say my kids and I have had so many hard conversations, like the time in Yosemite I linked to above.  Another one of them was when the youngest of my three older kids realized she was adopted as well.  And all that that implied.  Next was when I had to talk to them about how I was pregnant despite the explanation we had always given prior, that my 'tummy was broken" and that's why I didn't have tummy babies before.  Then there was the conversation about how their adoptive father was not the father of my tummy baby.  Then the talk about us getting a divorce.  Me getting remarried.  The talk about what Step siblings are.

Then there was the conversation about how their biomom has another child.  Not only did she have a baby and lost her too, but she got her back.  The conversation about how their bio mom finally got with her 'program' and fought to get her baby back, and is now parenting that child.  Then sets in the reality that she had a chance, several in fact, to get her act together and work her program to get my kids back, but she didn't.  But for that child she did.

And the painting of Motherhood in my life has gotten really raw, really dark and I am doing my best to keep as much hope in the picture as possible.

Looking into the future I know there will be more hard conversations.  Motherhood for me will always be a battle to shelter my children's hearts while allowing them to know the truth.  I already know there will be a day when my first bio child realizes that he is in fact a bio child, that the others are not, and that he's not blood related to my older three.  That he is only a 'half sibling' to all the older ones in fact.  That despite the fact that kids in our home call my husband and I 'mom and dad' that they are not all 'ours'.  When he will realize that is why there are times when the others are not here.  He will now have a younger sibling that has the same parents as he does.  We are due in Feb 2014 and he will finally have someone who doesn't leave him for the weekend, who calls both of his parents 'mommy and daddy' as well and who has the same half siblings as he does.

I also know that there will be a day when I am asked to let my olders go see their biomom.  There will be so many questions and I know for a fact they are not going to like the answers to all of them.  

No, Motherhood for me will not be a 'happy little cottage' from Thomas Kinkade.  It undoubtedly will be more along the lines of 'stormy lighthouse' like this.

That is not to say it is not beautiful.  There are many other women who have similar, yet different, versions of their own less than idilic Motherhood.  More challenging, more of those hard conversations, more of the raw emotion and the battles to protect our children.  For those women who are happy cottages, they are the warm glowing home on the edge of a brook or meadow that their children run to in youthful bliss.  For those of us who are these lighthouses in the storm, we are also a haven for our children, a glowing light to guide them, a place for them to stay safe from the harder childhood that life threw at them.  

undying love

I woke up this morning and, like usual, stumbled through making coffee and checked my Facebook like a good junkie.  i have quite a few friends from all over the world and will regularly see posts about issues that i, unfortunately, know nothing and have heard nothing about.  whether it's a bus bombing or lack of shoes or water, there are always some new posts about some injustice around the globe that i should feel something about, and sadly, rarely actually do.  yes, those kids in africa are there, they just seem so far away.  of course i know they are real, yes i know they're hungry, yes i know they're dying.  but africa is a little beyond my reach and it just seems to be what it is.  and so i sip my coffee and shake my head, "that's a shame..." and i move on.


this morning i had a story in my status feed that i couldn't just shake off, just a shared photo actually.  but as we all know "a photo's worth a thousand words".    

yes, you saw that right, an abandoned baby in a trash can. *  


although this photo was taken in india, where this is horrifically common, i have seen many news stories of girls/women doing this here in america.  at the prom, at work, in motels.  


my first thought as my stomach turned was 'what the hell?'.  followed by 'people need to know this really happens, they need to see this and feel something too!'  initially i reposted this to Facebook out of the sheer "see this people?? this shit really happens!  this is what this really looks like, not just the faces of the 'confused teenagers' you see when they run the story on the news! THIS is what baby abandonment really looks like!"  as i posted it i even had a comment saying "'no child left behind' needs to be taken into a new direction".  as i read comments on the originating post i saw mostly huge amounts of bashing surrounded the controversy of posting this on a social site and most of the comments were that this is "disgusting" and "my 3 year old almost saw this!" and "what about that baby's dignity??, they don't deserve to have their picture shown like this!".


for the sake of my unsuspecting Facebook friends i took the post on my page down.  not because i don't think they should see this, i think they should, but only for the sake of their potential three year olds who may be playing farmville.  


however, that being said, yes this is disgusting, yes it is horrible, and yes that baby deserves more dignity that having their photo spread around social sites.  HOWEVER, that baby deserved a blanket, a cradle, a home, a family and his MOTHER'S ARMS!!  this baby did not get the life s/he deserved, whether s/he was stillborn or murdered postpartum, either way, they deserved way more than this metal can full of rubbish.  


as i was in labor with sam i had my sister joyously shouting at me "i can see his hair! oh my gosh ash he has hair! i can see him!" and i kept pushing, knowing i was about to hold my baby and see his hair for myself.  at the point where i'd delivered his head i looked down and saw his hair, and was overwhelmed with love just seeing him part way out.  delivering the rest of him and taking him into my arms i was by far the most emotional moment of my life.  i'm pretty sure on the recording all you hear for a while is "oh my god, my baby, i have a baby!" and i continue to babble semi-coherently about how much i love him and he's mine.  he was early so still fuzzy with lanugo hair, and i couldn't stop touching him.  counting his fingers and toes, kissing his face and head.  loving and bonding and whispering promises of undying love.  that is what this baby deserved.  his mother holding him, stroking his dark hair, kissing those fingers, caressing every inch and tenderly cleaning and swaddling him.  like every newborn this baby deserved undying love.  and i'm just judgmental enough to say i hope this mother gets what she deserves.  if karma started in india let's hope it's most effectual there.








*(for those of you about to argue about photoshop, all i can say is, so what if it is?  i'd love to hope this photo wasn't real but that does NOT mean this doesn't happen, that does NOT mean this isn't at the very least an accurate representation of what it does look like.  so that being said, we're going to assume for the sake of argument that this is real and move on.)

all star dreams

i wanted children much the same way as 10 year old boys want to be in the NBA or NFL.  it was my dream, a fantasy, something for which to yearn and make imaginary plans; it was not something that was ever going to become real because not all of us are built for such things.  sure i had the right parts, just like most boys have arms and legs, but that doesn't mean they worked the way they would need to in order to make a baby. 

someone in my position has two choices; acceptance or misery.  i chose acceptance, i was not going to have kids.  i lived my life with hope, of course.  whether it was a scare with a boy friend or years of trying with a husband, it never happened but there was always that little hope.  (although, no, i wouldn't have necessarily been thrilled about having a baby with any of the boyfriends for purely circumstantial reasons)  after years of negative tests despite hopes and scares, my brain just accepted that my reproductive system was offline and wasn't operational.  pretty much like the poor kid who just isn't coordinated enough to even offer a decent free-throw shot.

believe me it came as quite a shock when i found out i was pregnant in november of 2010.  it didn't seem possible, like some cosmic joke.  years of preventing, trying, preventing again, trying again, giving up and forgetting the dream all weighed heavy.  i'd moved on, adopted 3 amazing kids and accepted my life.  seeing that little pink line reminded me that i did in fact not only have the right 'parts' but that some how all systems had miraculously come online.  ready or not a baby is coming.

initially- shock.  secondly- panic.  at the time i was separated from my husband and had just started living with our 3 children in a women's shelter for victims of domestic violence. the reality was that i had been having an affair and hadn't even had sex with my husband in over 4 months.  narrowed down the paternity but certainly didn't eliminate any concerns.

i can't describe the feelings.  possibly like being drafted to the NBA but only being able to play if you drown 3 kittens before every game.  and if you don't play, the kittens will die anyway.  as a near-miss abortion myself, and for other reasons, aborting the baby was not an option.  period.  i was going to have a baby regardless of how bad everything else might get.  while part of me was excited for all the reasons being pregnant and the anticipation of having a baby naturally are, part of me knew when game time came, the kitties were gonna die.  i wasn't going to be able to avoid direct questions about the affair, about being a single mom and now having a baby, about who-what-when, and of course "don't you know what condoms are for???".  i was still married, my partner was married, there were kids on both sides, and "don't you know this makes jesus cry??".

first 12 weeks we told very few people.  we knew no one would have a legitimate reason to be happy for us.  and quite frankly, i knew that some possible responses would be something to the effect of "maybe you'll miscarry and this will all go away" or more brutally "hopefully it dies".  also with the high potential of miscarriage i didn't want to hear "it's probably for the best".  i wanted to be excited.  i WAS excited.  and it was easier to stay excited with my partner if we avoided a bunch of negative comments, after all, there'd be plenty later.

relatively speaking it was a healthy pregnancy.  i was fortunate enough to start out at a very healthy weight for myself and although i gained more weight than i'd have liked while pregnant, it all ended up in a healthy range for both me and the baby.  along the way we drew a lot more supporters than i ever thought possible.  most notably my dad.  his first comments were that he was really happy for me that i got to experience this and when i mentioned the timing being really bad all he had to say was "the timing is always bad, but could always be worse".  and he was right. my sister's were all very supportive.  it was really easy for them to focus on the baby and not so much the situation.  my mom, however, was waiting with 3 kittens and a rain barrel.

"i'm not even going to pretend to be happy for you"

well, at least she was honest.  she wasn't happy, not by a long shot.  i drew a lot of criticism from a lot of different places and continued to draw support from the most unlikely.  my kids were told when i was 17 weeks after an ultrasound established conclusively that i was pregnant, and with a baby NOT a jelly fish, and that he was in fact a boy.  again, thunderous applause from the audience, ex husband waiting with a rain barrel and the kittens.  unfortunately he has fostered an unhealthy relationship with our son (6 at the time) that made him feel compelled to run and tell him immediately.  it felt like it was raining cats for a while.

primary task was focusing on the positive and staying healthy, moving into an apartment with my three kids and continuing to work.  the night before 37 weeks i went into labor and, although it was not without its own drama, we got through it and had the baby. june 23, 2011 1:27 am.  6 lbs 4 oz, 19.5"

"labor and delivery" is a story for another blog, so i won't go into it here, but as for bringing home baby, we made it to the playoffs.  and for now, i think i may have filled my quota of kittens.  the nay-sayers are fewer and far between.  it's easier for people to focus on a baby and the miracle of life than to see the positive in a pregnant woman in my situation.  sure it helps that the baby is more cute than a field of frolicking kittens as well. 

i love the baby just as i love my other kids.  sure as an adoptive mom who's now had a biological child things are different but i believe it's in all good ways.  i don't love my older children less, but rather more.  their brother brings out newness in them and strengthens their relationships to each other and to me.  every night our round of kisses and hugs is never complete if they don't share it with him as well.  and although we're even more unorthodox than before, we are just as much a family.  maybe we should adopt a kitten to celebrate.

this is probably gonna hurt

i'm cursed with a brain of science and a heart of romance.  in any given situation i'll mentally break down all the possible scenarios and pick apart all the variables to logically deduce the best plan.  however, the heart wants what the heart wants and all too often i move forward with the most idiotic plans.  the most unfortunate part is that i dont proceed all blissfully ignorant of the cliff up ahead.  no, my brain has made sure to calculate down to the milimeter exactly how much distance and time i have till i meet my doom as my little heart's dream comes crashing down around me when plans fail.  any yet, fully aware, i fly forward and over the cliffs.  i suppose this is why i walked with ice block feet down the aisle and i got married.  twice.

the new new things.

in an attempt to blog again i realize that i haven't blogged in almost a year and there could hardly have been more "new" stuff going on if we'd tried.  from separating from my abusive husband via a women's shelter to miraculously becoming pregnant for the first, and probably only, time there has been enough "new" to fill 3 blogs.  i won't necessarily go back and fill in everything but i'm sure there will be bits and pieces of stories from the past year that make it into the new-new things to come. 

traditions and nostalgia

it was an amazing day with the kiddos out at Pioneer's park today.  it's always a little strange for me to take them there since i grew up going there all the time as a kid.  i'm pretty sure every time we go i text my dad to tell him know some traditions are never forgotten.  in another couple weeks as it gets a lot warmer i'm sure we'll take the tradition a step further and go to Zesto for Krunch-Kote cones or Nut-Brown-Crowns.  mmmmmm.... some traditions are delicious.

we started out exploring the nature center and then checking out the elk and bison which were pretty active and amazing to see.  we saw an enormous turtle and a bunch of geese.  indeed, spring is in fact finally here!

we had a blast playing on the new playground, although i have to admit i'm always a little nostalgic for the old one, especially the ancient fire truck that used to be out there.  i will say i'm irritated that the restrooms are quite the hike away from the playground, Theia blew through all her back up pants and rode home in nothing but chonies by the time we were done.

no trip to Pioneer's is complete without a hike up to the Smoke Signal statue so we went up there.  a friend caught up with us with her 3 kids and we all had a picnic lunch together right there at the base of the hill leading up to him.

all in all it was a fantastic trip.  one i'm sure we'll start doing every weekend or couple times a month at least.

in the spirit of nostalgia and reminiscing i'm showing a photo of me and my sisters at the statue circa 1985, and one of the kids today.  enjoy

turn about

there is something rather tragic when you realize you're at a point where you no longer love someone, no longer even like them, no longer want them, that you are fed up being hurt by them and would, quite honestly, be better off without them.

equally tragic is when you realize they feel the exact same way about you.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

if there is anything i've done right as a mom it has been that i've quite completely granted Claudia the freedom and confidence to talk to me about absolutely anything and everything.  we don't get solo time often, but when we do she opens her mouth and like an Indian Snake Charmer she circular breathes and does not stop talking until she's exhausted every word she has to say.  

Just the other night her topics included, but were not limited to~ First, how our belly buttons don't match.  it would appear the mine is less 'foldy' than hers and more of an innie.  Second, how my butt is bigger than hers, but hers is bigger than theia's. Third-how slavery was really 'not nice' and she hopes that doesn't ever happen to her. (i made sure to tell her that slavery wasn't only limited to this country or to black people, but that over the ages at different times people made slaves out of just about anyone they could catch or buy) Forth she wanted to know if she really had to get married when she grows up.  she has decided she really doesn't want to be alone, but she doesn't want to fight with someone and end up breaking up.  i told her that most people do fight, but it's how you fix it once you do that makes or breaks a couple.  she then went on to hold up two toys, a barbie and a shark and said "mom, wouldn't it be so weird if they got married?" i laughed and said, "yes hun, but just wait and see, somedays it will feel like that!"

i've always tried to make it clear to her that she can tell me anything, even if what she has to say is that she's mad at me or doesn't like something i've done, as long as she says it respectfully and doesn't just throw a fit at me.  still, it always comes as a surprise when she does.  she'll start out saying, without the slightest hint of irony, "mom, i don't want to hurt your feelings or anything, but you've been crabby" or "i'm not sure if i should say this but i think you have a pimple mom".  it just cracks me up that she's actually learning to be honest but in a way that doesn't totally come across as snotty or bad-attitude.  

she's beautiful inside and out and i'm glad to see in such a short time that at least in one area, the love and effort is paying off, and she's learning how to think independently and truly learning how to be herself.

Tools

one of my sisters called today and her first words were, "i have news!" to which i immediately responded emphatically, "you're pregnant?!"... "yes, how'd you know?!!!" i'm not sure how, but i always know. i'm ecstatic for her and i know that she's going to be the most fantastic mom of SIX ever. yes, this is child numero seis, her oldest will turn 8 in June!

she went on to say she should have called me first since she got mediocre at best replies from everyone else she told so far. not that they're not happy for her but that they all had an air of "don't you know what causes that?" or "uh, where are you going to put them all?" sort of attitudes.

i'm extremely analytical and can process out exactly why i think she's going to do a fantastic job with 6, 8 or 15 kids, where ever they end up, based on what i call the simple principle of 'tool acquisition'. i shared with her a bit and gave her a little of my perspective, for fun, i thought i'd share it with you as well.

parenthood can most easily be described as a job. plain and simple, it is work, constant work, to be a parent. like any job there are tools required. if i walk into my stepdad's wood shop i see all sorts of tools for wood working and carpentry. saws, sanders, screwdrivers, hammers, wrenches and a whole other assortment of tools with really specific purposes for which i don't know the names or meanings since it is not my area of expertise. if you asked my stepdad if he had all those tools from the beginning he'd of course say no. it takes years and years to acquire all the tools he has. he started out tinkering and doing what he could with what he had and as he committed himself to it he acquired more tools so he could do it better, more efficiently and in the end get much more exceptional results from his work. mind you, wood working isn't even his job, but "just a hobby".

an even clearer example would be a mechanic. walk into any auto-mechanic's shop and you'll see a million job specific tools hanging and laying everywhere. i can speak from experience when i say hardly any of those are necessary to change oil in a car, or a tire, or a head light. but if you want to do anything beyond the 'idiot's guide' you're going to have to man up and get some real tools, and educate yourself on how to use them. you can't learn any of it in a day, and in general you can't possibly afford to buy every tool for the first day of class.

as a parent you take on a new job. let's just say everyone starts out with a hammer, most basic of all tools. we all start out loving our kids and if love is a hammer, it's extremely useful and can be used for quite a few do-it-yourself projects when it comes to kids. beyond that you'll need a screwdriver (after all every parent has moments where they feel like they have a few loose screws!) the screwdriver is your logic. between Love and Logic, your Hammer and Screwdriver, you're equipped with the 2 most basic parenting tools, although they are basic they are also completely essential. if you're going to tackle the harder problems, deal with tantrums, illness, attitudes and injuries, you're going to need more than just a hammer and a screwdriver though. after all, you're not just building a bird house, you're trying to raise an individual which will reach adulthood with a firm set of their own tools which will hopefully be honesty, intelligence, compassion, integrity, honor and perseverance to name a few. essentially a tool box with at least a hammer, screwdriver (philips and flat head) few wrenches of their own, maybe some allen wrenches and depending on their experience and interest some awls or carving tools.

so as you continue to parent these kids, finding harder challenges and more complicated tasks, like my stepdad in his acquisition of wood working tools, you're going to have to find better and more specific tools for the job. you cant just pound love into your kids with your hammer everyday and hope to teach them every thing. at a certain point you're going to want to do the work more easily, efficiently and of course, with much better results. depending on whatever metaphor works for you, you're going to end up with a whole tool shed full of the specific tools it requires to raise your particular kids. you may even have a few different sorts. after all, i have one ultra defiant child, and one more emotionally needy and compliant one. they are absolutely not the same job!

if you'd asked me when i was 20 if i was equipped to do the job i have now, of course i'd have wished i was but would have had to admit that i wasn't even close. i had to go through difficult relationships, working through childhood wound-issues, finding out about infertility, dealing with a struggle deciding to adopt, then working toward becoming a foster parent. if you'd asked back then if i'd be able to sit through a visit with a bio-parent who's lost their child due to extremely poor choices and look at them without judgement, of course i'd have said no.(although even then i'd have known to keep my mouth shut at least). going through some of the hardest parts of life was what it took for me to acquire the tools to deal with my emotions, my losses and my miraculous gains. i'm not sure i ever could have imagined that it would turn out this way, that my particular parenting job would be like this. for me it's as if i set out to be a mechanic and ended up building rocket ships. this is far beyond what i could have hoped for myself and to all those who say "it takes a special person to do what you do" i say no, no one starts out with everything they need for the job, sometimes you have to go out and find it.

holy long time no post batman!

alright, so it's been forever, i'm committing from this point on to post more though so i expect to be held to that.

things with the kids are wonderfully chaotic. claudia is loving kindergarten, joe is finally (finally finally finally) mellowing out at school and we're not having nearly the behavioral issues we were at the beginning of the year. theia is just like her momma, the class clown that gets everyone else in trouble!

claudia surprises me everyday with her empathy. just today when she was getting ready to go on her over night grandparent date i had to tell her that their dog just died. we got there and when she saw she was really gone and saw grandma lisa had been crying claudia totally started to cry for her too. i can't believe how passionate and compassionate she is for a 6 year old! she worked really hard on a picture she drew at school and asked me if she could give it to grandma "to help fill her up" since she knew she'd be empty having lost her dog. it's just such the sweetness for which only children are made.

joe is totally 'mother hen' at school. he's the oldest kid in his class because policy doesn't allow him to be in my class as his mom. he's such a helper and loves scooting the other kids around and keeping them on track. we still have ultra defiant moments every once in a while but i have to remember how far we've come and stay positive. he's turning into such a smarty and has a smile that dares the sun to outshine it. love those dimples too!

theia is in a delightful little stage referred to as "terrible twos". gah. need i saw more? on the positive side, she's such a snuggle bug and loves doing 'big girl stuff'. clears her own plate after dinner, throws her trash away, likes to wipe her own nose and talks talks talks talks. in a weird head-scratch-and-wonder way she's really in tune with music. she's really particular and there is some music that makes her cry and scream for me to turn it off, other music makes her dance and laugh her head off. it's really really quite strange and i'll be interested to see how she describes it and her experience hearing it when she's old enough to apply concept to it.


more to come, i promise!

happier ever after

man i know it probably sounds crazy but i'm so stoked to be turning 29 next week. i know i'm going to enjoy it while it lasts and i'm really looking forward to 30. i'm not going to wish my life away by any means but i'm certainly going to be glad to have my 20's all behind me.

i feel like 29 should be like the last chapter of a book, the climax has already occurred and essentially the author is going through and tying up the loose plot ends and polishing off how the protagonist handles the ending. leaving the reader with a nice sense of closure and satisfaction from the whole experience.

my 20's had such chaos going on, between great and terrible relationships and constantly moving back and forth across the country, now that i'm back in nebraska with 3 kids and working it seems like this would normally be the point where their would be some cliche like 'and they all lived happily ever after...'

i do have a feeling, however, that instead of a nicely polished ending this is going to end up being a cliff hanger that turns into some trilogy. living in nebraska or not, life isn't over yet, and i'm more than sure that 29 will lead to choices and adventures that aren't going to allow for an ending, let alone a story book one.

so here's to 29, and all the adventures to come. and although not necessarily happily, may it always be happier ever after.

Jane Doe

i'm not really sure how many people know what an animal lover i am. maybe i haven't finished the 'life' series of posts far enough to get into how my childhood was filled with helping animals give birth, everything from goats, to horses and dogs. we had quite the menegerie.

anyway. it pretty much grieves me to see animals in pain, or even ones who probably died a painful death.

so today i was driving from my house in one little town the 4 miles to the next little town. we've been having beautiful rain storms and i was looking for an excuse to get out and drive around hunting for rainbows with my kids. we come over one of the small hills directly upon a wounded doe splayed across the road.

initially i slow down knowing i'll have to just to get around her, as i get closer i can see how mangled her rear legs are, completely disjointed. i have seen scenes like this so many times having grown up in the country, never liking it, but i really have no idea why this time it's pulling my heart strings so hard. i pass her barely moving and as i see her eyes reflecting the now blue sky dotted with puffy clouds i just pull over and stop. my kids are in the back, totally aware of her and are asking me a million questions about her. 'is she ok... what happened... did she get shot... can we help her...?' all i can tell them is that i'm sure she was not shot.

i get out of the car, go check on her and sure enough, she's dead. i don't know why i expected any differently but i was still saddened. as i stand there in the middle of the road i know i can't just leave her. sure there isn't anything i can do to save her, but i can prevent anything worse from happening. at least anything that isn't part of the natural cycle of life. i did actually make a quick call to my dad to make sure it was ok to touch her (i've had experiences with wild life before to find out after the fact that there are some animals that 'they' say you're not allowed to touch, baby ducks for example.) when i get the go ahead i move her from the road, as far as i can take her to make sure she won't be the train wreck drivers stare at as nature takes her back.

her liquid ebony eyes stare at me and as i walk away i feel a little bad that i didn't close them, feeling her look at me, knowing she can't see. and i'm hoping others don't have to see her that way. i get into the car and after i assure my kids that i did all i could and 'of course she's in heaven' joe asks the question that to me reveals his kindred spirit of mine.

'momma, her eyes were open, couldn't you close them so she'd look like she was sleeping? so people won't see her that way? people get to close their eyes when they're dead.' we both know she's not a person, but we both know all things deserve dignity in death.

Mursula comes to visit

oh the joys of MRSA. few months ago we were in the hospital with Theia having emergency surgery to clean up her abscesses, spent a week stuck in quarantine and it was terrible. and that was actually her second occurrence.

i thought we were pretty much in the clear, it's been several months and she hasn't been having any issues.

few weeks ago claudia got a pretty gnarly spider bite on the back of her thigh. it turned into an abscess but we got it cleared out manually and it wasn't a huge issue. anyway, two days ago i see the beginning of a pimple on her buttocks and didn't think much of it till i check on it last night and see that it's bigger than a grape now (mind you most of it is below the surface, but i can tell by feeling it) and it's rock hard.

so i start to work on it knowing that it really must be drained regardless of it's origin. ended up gettting a huge amount of puss out but since we weren't sure how it got there, having had no contact with funky spiders in the past few days, we decided it must be looked at by a doctor just to rule out MRSA so we can confidently send her to school.

well of course seeing the doc on sunday night means a fun little trip to the ER, OH JOY!!! it actually wasn't that long of a wait, which was nice. the doc pretty much stated flatly that with MRSA now being our new super-cold, they treat all skin abscesses as though that's what they are. however, unlike theia, whose abscesses were very extreme and the infection much more advanced, in combination with her being much younger, claudia was allowed to leave the hosptial and he said she'd be fine to go to school as long as the sore area wasn't going to be too uncomfortable. well, it's on her butt cheek, so we decided to stay home.

i'm sure she'll be fine soon, back at school tomorrow, and back to work for me. it's just this annoying little part of our lives, this stupid infection that rears it's ugly head periodically. like Ursula the sea witch, so i've decided to call it Mursula. from now on if we have an occurence again, i'll just tell people "Mursula is visiting again..."

funny thing that we haven't even been here for 6 months and we've already had all our kids in the ER. nice...

hope of our sanity

there are actually only a handful of people who know that i truly care about homeless people. i could go on for hours about exactly why, but for the moment we'll just leave it at the fact that my heart goes out to people who've had really bad things happen that have left them in such a state of despair, those who are left quite simply empty and frantic. i will add a disclaimer that i do draw a distinction between the truly 'empty' and those who are lazy.

but that said, i'm always curiously drawn to the homeless who talk to themselves. who've been on the streets, or under them, long enough that they've begun to live in a world all their own, and speak to themselves since only they know what's really going on.

i think sometimes we're all like that and just don't know it. we're some how operating under the delusion that we're sane, but in reality, we all live in our own worlds, and are walking around muttering to ourselves. we're just hoping that maybe, just maybe, someday someone will come who sees our world too. some one who'll hear us muttering our unintelligible babble, and it will some how miraculously be their language too.

some how out of our emptiness and frantic searchings in our world, they can see in and it will have meaning to them too. they'll 'get' us, our natures, our language, our vision of how things are. from then on we can go on babbling and muttering, still crazy in the eyes of the rest of the world, but delightfully crazy together. finally not alone. i can see the scene unfold on the street...

the man bent over, hat drawn low over his eyes, not having made eye contact for years. scruffy beard, shoulders rounded as if carrying the weight of the world-like a boy wearing his father's coat, much too heavy, sagging over him and it's dragging him down. as he takes slow strides down the street, muttering under his breath, a woman approaches 'his bench', her eyes dark and lonely as she searches for a place to rest. pushing her shopping cart full of cans she's scavanged from the bins in the alley near by. she whispers as she limps towards the bench and for a minute she glances at the man, and he in a territorial offensive move, looks up at her wanting to scare her off. but their lonely eyes meet and they hear the other's words. and in that moment their worlds over lap. for once, neither of them is in their own world, but they're together, hearing-and understanding-each other, truly seeing each other, and it's a small dirt and scum covered miracle right there on the street.

they'll walk off together, him pushing her cart for her, letting her lean on him. they'll keep muttering nonsense the world will never understand, but they will both know that he walked up a beggar and walked away a king. a king who after a life time in solitary, has found his queen.

people truly in love never make any sense to the rest of the world. the way they talk to each other, how they see each other, what they do, think and feel. none of that makes sense to the rest of us, they exsist in their own world together. we even joke about them, 'it takes someone like her to love someone like him...' people who only love each other, but are not really in the 'crazy' sort have a much harder time of it. for us, we are still beggars, we are still crazy. muttering to ourselves in our language which to the one we're with is still meaningless gibberish. to people like us one of two things may happen, we may remain 'crazy' and eventually be convinced that that is what we really are and that there is no one who might see us for the kings we could be. or eventually, when you least expect it, and maybe no longer believe it's possible, you might find the one who brings you the hope of your sanity.

and it for some of us, it may be too late.

to fall on love or concrete

falling really isn't so bad, well, at least not the first time. usually that first time, it catches you off guard, you're not expecting it and you're down before you even know what happened. it's really not that the fall is bad at all, it's the landing that leaves the marks. the first time you fall you normally don't even notice right away, it comes later with the bruises, aches and pains that remind you that you even fell and didn't just have some happy ride which ended on the ground.

fall number two, now that's a whole other story. your reflexes are a little more engaged this time and you might actually try to catch yourself. this isn't second nature yet though so undoubtedly you still end up down, but certainly more aware of what just happened.

after numbers three, four and five you definitely begin to develop those reflexes and refine them, catching yourself nearly all the time. rarely do you end up down, except occasionally when it might happen just a bit differently and you can't quite pull it out in time. but for the most point, you've learned your lesson and it's certainly no surprise what's happening, and it begins to occur in slow motion.

as you approach the tenth fall, things begin to change. you start to realize what circumstances surround these trips and begin to safe guard yourself against them, avoiding the precarious and in general being more cautious. situations that would have lead to falling begin to fade since you're now avoiding getting to close to the ledge and are far more calculating.

quite a substantial amount of time can go by with zero falls, and almost no indications that they were even possible. life gets really comfortable, you might even realize you carry no bruises if you thought to look. old scars even begin to fade, receding white or pink lines that bear hardly any resemblance to the monstrous events that earned them. it becomes so easy to forget the safeguards, to ignore the instincts that taught us to brace ourselves, or avoid danger.

then out of no where, bang! after such a long hiatus, we take a wrong turn, lose our footing and in the nanoseconds we watch as the ground comes crashing back up to meet us. and this time, slow motion or not, it hurts like hell.

yes, our brain kicks in the minute we start to go down, but it's too late. with no safeguards, no precautions, we're left with nothing but the hope that our previous experience with learning to fall will kick in some old instinct and maybe we'll hit bottom in such a way as to do as little bodily damage as possible. remembering not to put our hands out so we avoid a broken arm, we sacrifice the knee and roll into it. this fall, more than any others, is definitely going to leave marks. scrapes, bruised bones and the general wounded ego-that we could have allowed ourselves be taken down so easily. no one wants to be caught down on the ground, picking up the pieces of themselves, having to brush off and some how manage to laugh it off and say 'well, i didn't see that one coming...'. we all know that in general, there is nothing worse than taking an epic fall, long and hard, plummeting like an idiot face first into concrete with all the world watching. all of us prefer to take our falls in private, where we can keep that shame to ourselves.

all of this considered, it is entirely and uniquely fitting to me that we call it 'falling' in love. although i'd have to say, if i had to choose the scars i'd rather live with, i might choose concrete over love.

Abyss to Precipice.

it isn't often we get a glimpse of what could have been. those parallel universes, lingering like shadows in light of our reality, revealing in their mystery the potential 'could have beens'. typically when one door closes and the next opens, the former door remains closed. usually that is the hard part, but often it is for the best. for who wants to move through these doors, making these choices, and then looking over their shoulder see a crack in the door, seeing what lies behind, that reminding them of what they had to leave behind to move forward?

the bigger problem is that for many of us, we will never have a great degree of certainty that our decisions made were right or wrong. living with the consequences, good or otherwise, is something we all must do. we cannot go back, there are no handles on this side of the door, and even those which have been left with a crack cannot be reopened, we could more easily rip open the universe than move back through one of those doors. and of course there can be no guarantee that the alternatives which were once there even remain.

i wish i believed that somehow life and these choices were some how linear, that each door opened in front of another, that there were some sort of reason, order, pattern, or distinguishable cycle to it all. that there could be any potential for anticipation, that it might be possible to foresee the outcome. so many people seem to have a plan, choice A, choice B, outcome C, then choice D and so on, and eventually the fruition of their plans, hopes and dreams brings them to a place, similar or better than for what they'd been shooting.

so often i've found that this cosmic sense of order and structure will have no practical application in my own life. i do not have two doors from which to choose, when choosing one and going through it i do not in turn find two more. instead, i am lost in an m.c. escher maze, with doors that open to nothing, stairs i have to climb only to reach the base, walk ways that i will eternally walk up and end no where. and each door that does not lead me to to the false beginning, or to nothing, leads me to a precipice.

what hope is there for one such as i when i stand at that precipice then? what am i to do? when life has given me these, i've jumped. jumped head long into the abyss below, falling into a beautiful disaster. most often, yes, left in broken pieces on the ground, but once put back together i bear scars as badges, reminders that at least i jumped. at least i didn't just cling to the rocks and stay there, not experiencing life for fear of being dashed upon the rocks below.

and for those who wonder whether or not it's been worth it, worth the pain, the scars and endless stairs i've had to climb to reach the next cliff, i say 'yes'. for with each climb i reach new heights, and the light of this reality scatters the shadows of mystery and brings me closer to where i know eventually i'll find myself supposed to be. better and beyond what i'd hoped for. i say 'yes', all the falls and the beautiful disasters are worth it, because as long as i keep jumping there is still a chance that one day, instead of a fall, i'll grow wings and fly.

signs

pretty much every where you look there are signs. street signs, dominate our entire field of vision as we drive down the road. there are a whole group of them telling you just what you can and cannot do"turn here, no turn on red, left turn only, straight, no turns, u-turns prohibited, left turn yield" those are fairly cut and dry. then there are the whole group of sorts that don't tell you specifically how to drive, but inform you that if you should happen to want to end up at a certain destination you must follow them. "40 miles to rome, hospital up ahead, to amphitheater take second left" and of course "food, gas, lodging".

often people talk about life as a journey, and we're like imaginary cars moving along the highway of life traveling to our destination. some people even talk about how they have finally 'arrived' or others talk about how the journey is half the fun. personally i think i must have lost my map, or am traveling in a foreign country where i can't read the signs.

how many times have i done the ridiculous? the life journey equivalent of making a u-turn on a one way street, or speeding ahead passing signs screaming 'bridge out!'? none of my signs make sense. i envy those people who seem to have been clued into the legend of these maps, who can understand these signs. it's all Greek to me.

when i haven't understood what to do, or where to go even God hasn't intervened to help me make sense of it all. no burning bushes speak to me, no hands writing on my walls. sure i've met a lot of talking asses, but none that have offered any valuable directions.

i suppose this is where i'm suppose to accept the adage that 'you have to make your own way' in life. although i'm not sure i'm ready to wield a machete and go hacking through the wilderness to find my own way, not even really knowing where i'm headed; i do think that there has to be some letting go of tradition, we shouldn't always have to follow signs. we can go driving off the path, exploring places that haven't ever been traveled over before.

after all, in the end those of us who do make our own way will be able to say we took "the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

connections

there is a movie called 'the forgotten' with the tag line "You'll Never Forget The Ones You Love". the movie essentially deals with this idea that aliens are using us as guinea pigs and their particular experiment is to measure the connection between parents and children by basically snatching the kids and wiping the memories of the parents. then they observe whether or not there is something left behind, some sort of 'love residue' that is outside the mind, some connection beyond.

anyway, when i saw this movie a few years ago i really liked it. i liked the idea that there is something real behind what we call love, something more than just ephemeral emotions that wax and wane, something real, tangible, that can be weighed or measured somehow. maybe it's because i've always struggled with really understanding my own feelings most of the time. i'm really horrible at labeling them properly and i'm sure sometimes when i'm feeling something, if i asked i'd totally call it something else. so this idea, that there is something completely objective and concrete between people is extremely appealing to me.

for example, i have, at best, a mediocre relationship with my mom. she doesn't understand me, and i'm sure i look down on her a bit for being weak. not that i don't totally love her though, i do, so much and i would defend her if she needed it and would go to the ends of the earth for her. which is the weird part, we barely look like we even like eachother, but somehow there is this connection between us. at this point i should mention that i didn't grow up with her, my dad had custody and i only visited her. that said, it makes sense that we're not close, but begs the question, why would i fight off bears for her? most people just shrug and say 'cuz she's your mom, she gave birth to you and you owe her.' alright, well i suppose from a sociological standpoint that makes sense, most people in any culture believe that you should do anything for your mom. but beyond that, the love part. my mom and i have had a really rough road and i'd have to say she's in the top 5 of people who've caused me the most pain in my life. but maybe that's everyone. get close enough to one person and on a long enough time line they're eventually going to hurt you. anyway, i just find it interesting.

so that all said, back to the idea behind this movie. i do think that there is something there, clearly some otherly real connection that just having emotions about someone. but i have no clue what it is. i suppose if the aliens didn't figure it out then we probably won't either. but i probably won't stop thinking about it.

this whole idea, the premise of the film, has taken on a whole new meaning for me as an adoptive mom. i've basically realized that everyone i know is in one of two camps, 'your kids are your kids no matter how they got there' and 'oh, so you didn't actually make them?'. maybe those two aren't actually as clear as i'd like them to be, but essentially there are people who just whole heartedly accept that adopted children are equal heirs to love and this child-parent supernatural bond, and others who don't but probably wouldn't openly admit it.

i personally am in neither camp. i know cop out on my part. i do think there is something to be said for genetics, and physically growing a child within you. (sorry men, i haven't figured out how to address you yet.) but i also know that there is a whole super reality that happens when you adopt kids. i haven't given birth to any kids, so i don't know what that experience, or being pregnant, or looking into eyes like mine, or any of those things is like or if it changes anything anyway. i don't know if that makes a difference as to whether or not you have that supernatural connection.

i do know that the minute i saw my oldest daughter bounce into the room the first time i met her i knew i already loved her. following closely behind was my son, and one look into his eyes and i knew i'd never look away.

some people call it luck that my kids actually look like me, or so they say. they don't. people look for what they want to see. i have black hair, and so does my son, my daughters actually have lighter brown hair. my eyes are a weird hazel/brown and theirs are the color of mexican hot chocolate. they are after all hispanic, and have completely different features and color than me. but some how it makes other people feel better to pretend like they look close enough to me that i could have made them. like some how that means we can be closer, or some how feel more related. that's total crap by the way, after all, my mom has fair skin, blue eyes and blond hair.

so anyway, i think i might be rambling, but that's just what i was thinking about today. what difference it makes whether you make babies, or get them. there isn't a right or wrong answer, and i'm sure it's not the same for everyone. but i know for me, well, let's just say i'd fight off bears for my kids, go to the ends of the earth for them, and in general want to deck just about anybody who implies that i'm some how less of a mom because mine grew in my heart, not my belly.

rain

"when it rains it pours". i find it interesting that this expression has such a negative connotation. i love it when it rains, even better when it pours. it's so refreshing, each drop of water pulling particles of dirt out of the air. and after, the way the sky is so clear, and the world airing out like clothes on a line. the rains of winter washing away the stains of autumn.

paper weight

i'm the sort of person who loves words. not just because i like to talk and they're necessary either. i'm a person who's been misunderstood and had my words twisted and misconstrued to the nth degree on so many occasions, that i've made it sort of a personal semantic mission to understand words, what they mean, what they do not mean, the best way to use them, and when it would be better to use another. personally, i believe that if i know exactly what a word means and what it does not, it will, at least in my own mind, eliminate confusion when i'm able to use the word which applies to that, and only that, which i truly mean. i'd be plagiarizing to go on with my point further were i not to quote C.S. Lewis' excerpt from his novel "Till We Have Faces" since it most accurately describes my personal feelings on the subject of words.

"lightly men talk of saying what they mean. often when he was teaching me to write in Greek, the fox would say "child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that's the whole art and joy of words."... when the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of our soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you'll not talk about the joy of words. i saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? how can they meet us face to face till we have faces?"

for me, there is a power in words, that no matter how much a picture argues, will never-and could never-be equaled.

i personally am in awe when i think of creation, when i think of that moment when God in His omnipotence made a choice about which tool to use in creating the universe. He didn't choose to rain down lightning, he didn't smash his fists together like flint sending an explosion of sparks to become stars and shards the worlds. with all power available, in the end, he chose not to shake the fabric of time and space with his fist, but with a word.

his word calling out, so full of itself, so powerful that it demanded the creation of space to hold it, demanded the creation of time to sustain the echo. to all those who argue that a picture is worth a thousand words, i ask, what single picture could ever hold a candle to a word, just a solitary word, that so complete in meaning is capable of creating the universe?

all of that said. there are some words that have significant meaning to me, or rather, their meanings are extraordinarily significant to me. all too often, although they may be the most complete definition of what i truly mean, i still refrain from using them because i know that the meaning would be lost on the one i use the word with. sure they would probably understand part of what i meant, they might even know the general idea behind the word, but in the end, the full weight of the word's glory would be lost on them. so instead, i grudgingly use more and smaller words, ones with less potential for personal connotation that might lead them to think i'm saying something altogether other than what i mean. it's actually quite disheartening to have to use empty words to fill in the void left by a word better suited, but unfortunately better saved.

of particular importance to me is the word intimacy. for me it takes every definition Webster could come up with, takes investigation into the Latin and its origins, to fully encompass the word. only then, when i've reconciled the true meaning to the idea i truly mean, do i use it. there are quite a few meanings that really don't fully sum up the word. such as its usage when talking about 'intimate apparel', of course technically when talking about clothing worn next to the skin you could call it intimate. living room style coffee shops are also often referred to as intimate. in this same vein, even references to sexual intimacy can be just as misleading, when often the word is used but really all that is really meant is the fact that it's an event that is private and personal. so for me, to use that word in these ways is, in my estimation, the equivalent of using a Stradavarious violin as a paper weight.

i actually love the words intimate and intimacy when talking about its meaning that pertains to things which exist within the inmost parts of the mind, the character or intrinsic value of one's essential nature; it resonates within me when it's talking about actual union on this deep and elemental level, and the part of the definition regarding two people having the intimacy that arises from close personal connection or familiar experience. in this regard, an intimate friend may very well be that. someone with whom you share your innermost thoughts, and reveal your true nature, and go beyond the corporeal and be who you really are, stripped of pretense, completely without deception. to me, it is during these unveiled manifestations of our pure selves, and only during these, that sharing an experience, whether it be having sex or climbing a mountain, can truly and fully be called intimate. and it is at these times when the word intimacy, like the violin, ceases to be a paper weight and becomes the instrument of music that takes your breath away.