Not a Word from Your Sponsors

Saturday night, you could see the following type of exchanges happening on facebook for those of us in Santa Rosa:

Does anyone know why [highway] 12 is closed?

I heard there was a big accident.

Yeah, a bad crash with 2 fatalities. (links to local paper's website)

Oh, man. That sucks.  end scene, go on with your night

Sunday morning, those of us at church arrived to find out that those "fatalities" were our friend, Sue Hufford, and her mother-in-law, Sharon. I'm not going to recap the whole thing here, but they were killed (hopefully) instantly when their stopped car was crushed by a truck going 60mph driven by a young man who was high and looking at his phone at the time. Her husband and father-in-law were taken to the hospital with injuries, but they lived.

I cannot claim to have been close to Sue, so my pain is only a fraction of the pain of her many students, mentees, closest friends, and family. But we liked each other a lot. We were co-leaders (called "sherpas" in our church youth group) of a group of 12-21 (depending on the week) high school girls about 4 years ago.

Our silly group, with Sue being the non-redheaded adult there on the left. We made our shirts, which say "HOLLA" big with (lujah) underneath. We thought they were REAL funny. Some of the girls are also making the Michael Nunan stinkface.

 

Sue was quiet, especially when you first met her. Her closest friends may have seen her differently, but I always thought she was quiet. It surprised me that she wanted to work with high school girls, and also that she was an elementary school teacher. I felt like she was such a real adult compared to me. She wasn't very silly that year, and I often thought she didn't like me. (We won't discuss the game involving plastic wrap and a furniture dolly which sent her to the hospital that first night of youth group.)

Over the years, Sue and I chatted from time to time about how she and her kids were doing, but it was really after I became a foster parent that I think we connected more. She was always happy to hear about what was going on in our new lives as parents. In this past year, I had a number of really nice but short times with her. I saw her smile more than I'd had call to in the past. At our women's Open Mic night last year, I would have been thrilled if she really had been the one who could cackle like the Wicked Witch of the West in the game of To Tell the Truth that she participated in, and she awed us all with her talent when she played a few songs on the violin. Why were we surprised that a music teacher was so talented?

We sat and talked at her youngest's graduation party, and ran into each other at The Human Race, where she was raising funds for her salary like a sort of missionary of elementary music. Just the week before she was killed, I got to sit with her twice at different events. I sat with her and Jay at the Eagle ceremony for a young man from church. Even though she was wearing an Eagle Scout shirt from when one of her sons had achieved it, we knew each other well enough that I could lean over and mutter, "This is SO not my thing!" and she just laughed and said, "Yeah, it's a bit over the top." When I showed up for the first practice for Easter choir, I was so happy to see that she was there. She sat by me and, again, I was impressed by her talent and was glad to know that I could sit by her each week and be sure I had the right notes since I'm not a good music reader. We weren't close, but she was my friend and I'm just so sad.

There has been a tremendous outpouring of support and love and even outrage expressed over how they were killed. So many people have shared the news stories, even people who never met her, because it was a tragedy that didn't need to happen. This is good. I suppose that's a way that her death won't have been completely pointless: if people will stop texting and driving and be more aware; if other lives can be saved. A lesson can be learned. I know. I know this is important, but it also hurts a little bit. Amid all the "sorry for your loss"es and "can't we put away our phones?" I just want to yell "DON'T YOU GET IT! THIS IS HORRIBLE. MORE HORRIBLE THAN THAT! SHE WAS OUR FRIEND AND NOW SHE'S DEAD! SHE'S MORE THAN YOUR PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!" I'm afraid that her kids will heal hardened instead of tender. I'm afraid that I'll never see Jay smile and cracking a joke like he was every single time I ever saw him before this.


I know. I know. I'm being unreasonable. Maybe all humans are kinesthetic learners: we have to touch something and feel it before we can learn it. Our behavior isn't going to change until something is personal, and I hope that the degrees of separation between these deaths and you are few enough to do that for you. Personally, I have changed my phone behavior in the car, so I'm receiving the message, too. I can't make you cry for my friend, but I will accept that you have been affected by her story and will honor these deaths by changing your behavior and encouraging those around you to do the same. Let's do a better job of taking care of each other, okay?

Rawr & stuff

I cried at a Katy Perry song yesterday. This song:



You see, my kids love Katy Perry. They're 8, so it's perfectly normal. They've sung "Firework" at school, making up different lyrics a la Madlibs. The first time they heard this song, they loved it. I tolerated it. I kept thinking, "I'm not going to buy it, because I don't need to buy every song they like. I already got 'Firework' and I don't love this song." But that's the weird thing about being a parent: your kids like something & you often end up liking it because they do. It makes them happy & that makes you happy. So I kept leaving it on.

I started thinking about the lyrics and my kids a week or so ago. I had explained to them before that it may have been about her divorce and how she was being strong again, but then I realized that it was an empowering song in general.

Listen, I try to avoid using words like "empowering" if I don't absolutely have to, but my kids need empowerment. They have been through PILES of shit in their short lives already, and I'm working really hard to help them grasp how awesome they are & the potential that they have; to get them away from a victim mentality.

So that's there the tears came in. On our two-minute drive to church yesterday (if we were better at getting ready on time, we'd walk), this was on the radio (What?! *shock*) and I started telling H that she and her brother should make this song their own. That was fine, but that afternoon, when I went ahead and bought it, I started to play it for them and just started weeping while trying to explain my thoughts to them. After being a little confused, I think they got it. Life and specific people have pushed them down. A LOT. But they are champions. Kids are the best at taking things literally and latching onto ideas, so I really hope that this sticks with them. Not the crying part, unless that just constantly reminds them of how much their totally awesome mother adores them, but the tiger/fighter/champion part. And not the emoticons. And let's stay away from Katy Perry's gender issues and candy bras. Let's just stop here.

But...but...what about ME?

As I've mentioned before, we didn't want kids for most of our marriage. We hung out by ourselves, were involved in lots of different stuff, and we've been slowly figuring out what we want to be when we grow up. Kids weren't part of the picture until they suddenly were. And it did feel sudden. Like, "Wait a minute here! I thought I was going down this road over here." A left turn.

I'm in seminary. I used to say that I wanted to be a pastor, even though I didn't know what kind. (Now I'm not sure I'll ever be a pastor in a church, but my call remains.) My call was nebulous, but I had a vague direction. As I felt my way through school and plugged myself into various ministry positions at church, I started feeling my way towards a more concrete direction, and that direction was high school students/college students/young adults.  Those are the people I want to hang out with, teach, and help. It came as somewhat of a surprise, but looking back, it really shouldn't have done. (I'm British now, yo.)

Then the parenting itch/call/bomb happened.

And it all stopped. The official college/young adult ministry had petered out on its own, but it was still very sad. Then I was overwhelmed by all the foster care stuff that started, and high school ministry was the only thing I could take off my plate. I was crushed. 

It didn't make any sense to me that once I finally started getting clarity, God gave me a big ol' nope. The good news is that, for a year now, I've been back involved with high school students, and it's better than ever. I feel like God gave it back to me and then some.

But..but..I've still tried to stay connected to graduates. I still want to walk with them and be part of their lives and "minister" to them. And I am still friends with many and get to hang out with a few, if not often enough. 

I have kids now. That is what my life is about, for the most part. I can't have people over like I'd like and can't go out with people as much as I used to. And I know that this is something I want and that parenting is the clearest calling I've ever had. I know this, but that doesn't always make it easy to let go of old ways you had of defining yourself. Of old dreams.

I understand that all/most parents feel this way about one thing or another or a whole host of things. I know that I don't have to let go of all my dreams and plans. I'm still plugging away at school and planning things and dreading things that have nothing to do with my kids. But it hurts my heart a little bit every time some of my friends talk about the young adult group they've started. "Wait! I'm supposed to be doing that!" "Can I help you?" I wonder if I read my calling all wrong (the old one) and I'm actually not good at it and wasn't meant to do it. 

I have 8 year old twins. They just moved in a week and a half ago. Seth & I will be quite busy for a long time. They are my focus, at least for a while. They need us desperately. I worry that as I spend time focusing on them, I will get older and older and this dream I barely had time to water will die or its time will pass me by. 

Parents: can you tell me about new dreams you got for yourself after you had kids or old dreams that you got to still work on or go back to? Especially those of you who may have been surprised by your kids for one reason or another. 

Happy To Be Alive Day!

Let's just put this out there right away: 20 years ago today, I tried to kill myself. That's what this is about.

On January 11, 1993, I was depressed, I thought, about a boy, so I took higher than the recommended dose of something and went to work. At work, I promptly freaked out and told my boss what I had done. She told me to go throw up, then she took me to the hospital. We were nervous and laughed, making fun of other people and myself and the situation (drinking charcoal is not pleasant, I say), but when my parents showed up I freaked out. I knew that what I had done was serious. I had to spend that night in the hospital, and I was so afraid to fall asleep, because I thought I would die and go to hell.

I hadn't really wanted to die, but just to escape. I didn't know how to deal with problems and emotions, I had been fighting depression since at least my senior year in high school, and I wanted to leave my life. If I would have had a million dollars, I would have run away and moved somewhere instead of trying to kill myself. I was mostly embarrassed by what I had done and didn't want people to know, but I ended up calling Dom in the morning and telling him, and then Carolyn called and pestered my dad when I didn't show up for biology, so he told her. I believe she said something like, "Mr. O'Brien, Robin wasn't in class, so where is she?"

After that, I got therapy and meds like I needed, though I had darker times to come later. But starting the next year, I called January 11th "Happy to be alive day." Though I had moments where I wanted to escape again and had suicidal thoughts, I knew that I didn't want to die. I don't remember every year to celebrate this day, but I was in the car this morning, heard the date on NPR, and thought, "Jan 11. Doesn't that mean something to me? OH YEAH!"

Twenty years. That's a long time. And I'm still happy to be alive. Don't get me wrong, I'm still depressed. It's part of me that may never go away. It's something in my brain; in my chemicals, and it's not a bad or defective or shameful thing. About 3 years ago, maybe more, I got on some anti-depressants for the umpteenth time and I've stayed on them since. Before I had done the thing that soooooo many people on psychiatric meds do, and after being on them for a while, I thought, "Oh, I feel better now. I don't need them!" DUH. I finally learned that it isn't about me having a bad life or not trusting God enough or any sort of need to pull myself up by my bootstraps. It's just something about my body.

So depression is like an old friend. I recognize it and know the steps to the dance. I'll admit that sometimes it takes me a little while to catch on. I'm dumb sometimes and I'll let my meds run out, then when I want to do nothing but sit on the couch, staring into space, I feel defeated. Then I'll either figure it out or Seth will say, "UM! Have you taken your medicine?" OH YEAH. That. Sometimes, even with my medicine, the depression is particularly strong. Nothing is necessarily going on in my life that is sad or stressful, I objectively know that I'm happy and have a great life, but I don't want anything. Those times always pass. I talk about them at least with Seth, if not with others, too, and they pass. I don't feel guilty about them.

My life is amazing and I'm happy to be alive. I'm thrilled to say that those people that were with me during that time are still my friends and I love them so. I'll use a word I stay away from and say that I cherish them. Thank you, friends, for visiting me in the hospital when it was obviously painful for you. Thank you for playing a super-depressing song followed by yelling at me for ever making you feel that way. Thank you, the boy at that time, for making me go to church with you after that. Thank you, dad, for telling me that "tens of people" would have been affected by my death. Thanks for putting a hospital glove on my teddy bear so that he became "Gregory, the Chicken Bear." I love you.

See? It happened again.

I start reading one of the ministry books, and I get about 1 page in before my mind starts whirring.  I stop to ponder; I create scenarios in my mind; I come up with ideas. 
So, as I tried to read more of College Ministry 101, I had to stop after a couple pages.  Too many ideas.  Too many thoughts about specific people. 

I love them too much.  And I know one of them is reading this- Hi, girly.  I love you and I want your faith to be strong and I want to encourage you to fight through the hard times and figure out what you should hold on to and what you need to let go of. 

I want others to figure out who the heck they are and stop wandering sooner than later.  I don't want to force anyone.  I don't want to guilt.  I want to walk with people.  I want to be an example.  Sometimes I just don't know what to do.

I've been lax in my writing exercises

But not in my physical exercises, I can assure you.
Nor in my homework duties.
You see, I've just been burnt out these past 2 weeks from class.  30 hours of class in two weeks + 1200 pages of reading + my other class reading & homework + figuring out paper topics + searching/buying/checking out books for said papers.

Thus?  My brain is mush when I get home and I haven't felt like turning the computer on and blogging at night.  I'm sorry.  I don't apologize to you, because I know you're cool with it, but I apologize to my future self and its writing abilities.

To celebrate diminished brain powers and lack of writing finesse, I shall pretend that this blog is my twitter feed and just blurt out some of my thoughts.  Enjoy!

• I'm reading Chi Running and worked on my form a little bit yesterday.  Well, a lot.  A planned 30 minute, light run to work on form turned into an hour and a half or so of being lost, being hot, having to poop, worrying about the dog, backtracking, resting in a park, and finally asking for directions.  My time was still pretty good, though, and I'm not very sore today, so I think the form worked.
• I think I'm going to do my first paper on Manifestations/Representation/? of the Trinity in The Chronicles of Narnia. So, I'm kind of skimming my way through them right now.  
• My right butt cheek hurts.
• I'm glad to be back in Sonoma County after being away for all of this week and most of last week.
• We didn't have the DVR set to keep more than one episode of So You Think You Can Dance, so we have to watch Wednesday's ep online, but I already know who went home on Thursday.
• You know what my 4 bookcases look like, yes?  Well, I currently also have 7 books on the back of the couch, one on the end table behind me, one pile of 13 on the kitchen table, another pile of 5 on the table, 6 on top of the bookcase in the kitchen, and I returned 8 to the library earlier.  Almost all of the books mentioned were/are for school.  
• I'm really really in the mood to go to Southern California.  Hmmm...one more...
• I love my life:  being in school, being in ministry, being in California, being in love, being in shape.  It's all good.

Oh, I do that.

Oftentimes, when people watch musicals they think, "Who does that?  Who bursts into song for no good reason?"  I think this all the time, too.  I'm really not a very big fan of musicals because I find them quite painful.

But I do burst into song for no good reason.  I sing about dinner, I sing to my husband (yes, he sings back), and today I sang about brushing my teeth.  I am one of those people. 

The difference is that I don't have serious conversations in song.  No marital spats, theological debates, or really anything that would take stomping, furrowing the brow, or pointing a finger while doing either of those things.  I am not Jean Valjean (24601).  I don't comfort my friends with heartfelt ballads about the pain they're going through.  (Okay, maybe I'd do this, but only to get a laugh out of them at the right time.) 

Perhaps I'm in a light-hearted musical about daily, domestic life.  I'll watch out for my dogs secretly practicing synchronized moves to complement my twirls and flourishes. 

Today? Oh, it was mediocre

I was up till past 5freaking30 this morning, so I ended up skipping church, which I guess was okay because I missed all the Father's Day whoo-hah.  After attempting to call my own dear father, I went back to bed. 

But I did buy him a book!  I bought him the audio version of The UltraMind Solution on iTunes, because I'm really digging on it and I think my parents will, too.  This book is blowing my mind, and part of me can't wait to try the dietary changes the author recommends because he makes it seem like magical fairy dust will come down and everything will be better. 

Believe me, I'm going into it with skepticism and not a ton of enthusiasm, because I'm not particularly excited about giving up gluten & dairy, if even for 6 weeks.  But if I see a change, you know I'll tell you about it.   Everything this guy is saying makes a lot of sense:  that our medical practices have gotten all out of whack and that we now treat every part of our bodies as completely separate and disconnected from the rest, and then we throw different pills at each part whenever something goes wrong.  He posits that our diets are so dysfunctional that many many of our ailments, both physical and psychological, would be greatly improved, if not cured, by taking better care of ourselves, with the chief manner being a change of diet.

Like Pollan & Schlosser, he says tat we eat entirely too much processed food that is lacking in basic nutrients.  The FDA guidelines for vitamins and minerals really only get us to a survival level, not a place where our bodies are healthy and thriving. 

I'm excited about this approach because I have noticed and lamented the fact that I could make a fairly long list of things that are amiss in my body, and in Seth's.  I'm entirely too young to have a laundry list of medical problems and not wanting to bring them up to the doctor because I don't want to have to get one more prescription. 

So, I read the book.  The author repeats himself a lot, and I'm skimming a lot, partially because he doesn't really have to convince me and I'm not wowed by his illustrations of lipids and cell walls.  At times, it feels a little like a horoscope, in that he's casting such a wide net that everyone would have to say yes to some things in his checklists.  The thing is that I find myself wanting to check off nearly everything in his list of woes, and I do believe that medication mainly addresses symptoms instead of causes.

I suspect that, starting in July, we're going to be eating very differently, at least for a while.  And we'll see how it goes.  I really want it to help with a lot of things, because that will be our impetus to continue eating healthily. 

Hugs, friends!  Tomorrow I keep reading this book & I'll probably read the C.S. Lewis one I have up there on my Good Reads list.  I don't remember exactly which one it is, so you'll have to look up & slightly to the right. 

Gah

Sometimes.  Once in a while.  Not often.  But often enough to bug me. 


I want a baby.



But I am 35.  I was told this would happen.  And I was told I'd get over it.  And I always knew that, should I not get over it, we can adopt. 


Sometimes I don't want to adopt.  I want Seth's baby.  But I also want a Haitian baby. 

Of course, I realized earlier that I've been thinking about doing an internship at a Mexican orphanage, so it will probably be a Mexican baby/kid.  That's cool, too.  Probably even better. 

I don't want to talk about it.  You'll know if anything really changes. 


And, seriously, it's like once every 2 weeks or something that I think I want a baby.  I am a human being, you know.  Thought it doesn't twitch often, I do have a uterus. 

Baby Steps

As you may or may not know, I spend entirely too much time online.  Really, I spend entirely too much time in this here green, corduroy chair.  So, after using online timers and a variety of site blockers, I have taken the step of putting my computer in the dining room.  Since it's less comfy, I don't want to spend as much time there, and when I need to do homework, I have more room and can concentrate more.

Now, it's a laptop, so you'd think that this isn't that strong of an incentive to stay on task, but it's working.  I set up space at the table, and I leave my cord in there, so that if I want to spend a long time on the computer, I'll have to sit there.  Sure, I can bring the thing in here for a while, but I won't bring the cord, which shortens the length of my stay in cyberspace.

But, Robin, you say, couldn't you just turn off your wireless?  Yes, and I can also turn it back on.  Besides, I can find all sorts of creative ways to spend time on the computer that don't necessarily involve facebook or twitter.  The latest time-sucker?  Mint.com coupled with Dave Ramsey's FPU budgeting tools online.  We have a lot of money this month, so I've been doing a lot of fiddling with the budget.  "Oh, well now this came."  "But this isn't realistic.  I'll make a normal month's budget."  "Oh, but this should be tweaked."  "Ooh!  You can split up the Costco bill into different categories!" 

Hours of fun. 

Even before this foray into money wrangling, I could spend, oh, two hours easily fiddling with music.  Listening to recommended music, searching for new music, downloading free songs, listening, rating, converting (from mp4), deleting, making playlists, adding and removing music from my mp3 players (one for regular listening, including podcasts, and one for exercise, including techno). 

I've actually had to stop downloading music for the past month or so, because I just don't have time to listen to it all.  I realized yesterday that I had downloaded the entire catalog of one indie label early this year, and I had yet to listen to one song.  So, I'm slowing down.  I just looked, and I have 799 unrated (meaning I've never listened to them) songs on my laptop (that I've only had since August).  You see my problem. 

So, in the grand scheme of time-wasting, you can see that a small step like having to sit at the table to work will make a big difference.