Coming to (the mainland of) America

I'm never going to put "attention to detail" on my resume. Or "self-starter." These adjectives do not usually apply to the anxious ADHDers. Thus, at this date, seven and a half months after arriving in Michigan, I still have Hawaii license plates on my van. I did get my Michigan driver's license though!! It came in the mail Saturday, so there!

Not to say I haven't tried. Today, for instance, I am 75 miles at from home,  sitting at the Fort Gratiot light house, listening to the waves of Lake Huron and watching traffic cross the Blue Water Bridge in and out of Canada. What does that have to do with license plates?  Well, duh, I drove out here to get out of dodge and go to a Secretary of State (Michigan's DMV) which serves a smaller population and, therefore, has shorter wait times. Spend your time driving and listening to music instead of sitting and waiting, right?  Exactly.

Oh, but I didn't have a copy of my husband's license. I have a pic on my phone! But I wrote our Michigan address on the form he had to sign since both of our names are on the title. And he has his Hawaii license still. With our first Hawaii address. Which doesn't match the title address, anyway.

"Honey! Do you have 10 minutes to see if you can fill out this form online and sign it and email it to the manager of this SOS branch?" He can't figure out how to edit it online or sign it.

Maybe I can go to a library and fill it out, figure out how to take a pic of his signature on the printed form, cut it and copy it onto the online form, then send it to him so he can email it, etc. etc.

Never mind. Girly and I will go to the beach. (She's homeschooled again.) She can see her first Great Lake and glimpse another country. We'll throw rocks into the water and freeze our feet when we take off our shoes and socks to feel the water.

I'll breathe it all into my soul: the big body of water with the wind blowing, fishing boats floating, sand beneath my feet, and waves gently rolling in.  I'll cry because it's not Hawaii; it's not my home, but it'll carry my spirit for a while.

Behold the power of Yoga

This looks like it says "mamaste". And I'd love to be doing yoga in this beautiful location.

A number of things have contributed to the changes in me over the past 7 months, and one of the things which makes me happiest is the fact that I am  *finally* doing yoga (semi) regularly. I've always dabbled here and there, even randomly thinking that I'd be a yoga instructor someday. That was about 14 years ago, and if I had, oh, kept with it, I'd be speaking to you as a yoga instructor today. Context clues can tell you that I am not, in fact, a yoga instructor. But I actually think I might have that as a 5 (or fewer) year goal.

Once we moved back to Michigan, I knew that I needed to do something to get out of the house and do something for myself. I've been getting more in touch with my body for the past year, and this seemed like a natural extension of that. Part of that getting in touch with my body has been learning to be kind to it and love it for the first time in many, many years. That kindness led me to decide that I wasn't going to run or push myself to go to the gym anymore. At least not for a while.

I decided to focus on healing my body and being nice to it, doing movement that I enjoyed and that didn't cause me pain. I love running, but it consistently hurt me. I didn't want my workouts to be about self-punishment anymore. I didn't want to force myself to go to the gym out of self-hatred and needing to lose weight to prove my worth.

Unlike the workouts I used to do, yoga inherently heals me. My muscles have been tight and twisted and knotty since...well, some since I was born. (I was born with jacked up legs. Club foot! They handed me to my mom for the first time with casts on both feet. I had braces like Forrest Gump!) Most of the other damage came starting in college. Twisting a knee, then favoring the other too much, supinating my feet when I walked, lower back getting messed up as a result of all that, rolling ankles, swollen, painful knees, etc etc. And through just half a year of focusing on yoga, I see changes in my body. I've seen my hips and IT bands loosen up, my knees hardly hurt anymore, and my arms and shoulders are noticeably stronger. The diaphragmatic breathing we do in yoga has also improved my breathing, though my puny lungs still stop their inhale long before the teacher says that it's time to exhale and move onto the next move.

The other wonderful thing about yoga is that it is meditation in motion. In the beginning, I often cried during practice because you're supposed to be in the moment. Some say that the breath is the entire point: observing your breath and clearing your mind. So while I'm stretching and moving through the poses (asanas), I'm trying to clear my thoughts and simply be. I'm still working on that, but what this meant in the beginning was lots of thinking and facing my feelings. Hence, the crying. At the same time, it brought me so much peace. And continues to do so.

It feels holy being in the darkened yoga studio with a group of people all seeking a quiet, peaceful space in our busy days. It has been healing for me in ways physical, emotional, and spiritual. I am so grateful

First Winter Back

Uncool, but warm

I do not like the cold. You might say I hate it. And yet, I am here to extol the greatness of shoveling snow and ice. Rest assured, I have been evaluated by mental health professionals and confirmed as neurologically atypical, so you may take anything said here with a grain of salt. (SALT! Get it?! We have to SALT the driveway. {I'll show myself out.})

I grew up in Michigan, but started trying to leave about 22 years ago. There were a couple short-lived attempts at living in Texas for Seth's sake, but my family and friends in Michigan lured me back both times. In 2005, though, I thought I had escaped for good. Seth and I moved to Northern California, where we felt like we belonged.

For 10 years, we enjoyed a busy life full of friends where, most importantly, we only saw snow if we wanted to. We would dig out our coats, buy some stretchy gloves from the dollar store, and drive to Tahoe for a weekend of sitting by a fire with occasional outings for sledding or a brief snowball fight. Then we would go back home to put on, at most, sweats. But even NorCal (I apologize, but it's an authentic abbreviation) had a bit more cold than I wanted, so we packed up and followed my dream of living in Hawai'i.

As you may have inferred from the into paragraph and title of this fair post, I am no longer in Hawai'i, but in Michigan again. Fear not, I'm medicated, in therapy, seeing a psychiatrist, etc. These issues shall not go unaddressed in my life. BUT MY POINT-


Thirteen years away saw my transformation from someone who didn't like reading outside because of all that pesky wind into an Outdoor Girl. Our two homes in Hawai'i  were so open to the elements that even being inside didn't really count as avoiding the weather or anything. When I visited Michigan from Hawai'i, I'd sit at my mom's table in the backyard most of my waking hours- I couldn't stand feeling trapped inside with the air conditioning and the house closed up.

Sun, water, and trees fill my soul. I've always called myself "solar powered", and it's true. Basking in the sun like a lizard can even help me feel better when I'm physically ill. Living on the ocean and being able to hear, smell, and see the water anytime chased away many negative moods. But not all of them. I realized after the fact that I was depressed the whole time we lived in Hawai'i. In California, my depression also got the better of me every once in a while, despite a fun, stellar life.

We left the islands and moved back to Michigan in July '18. You can see some of the reasons in my previous post, but suffice it to say that it was but one more layer of grief in the cartoonishly tall stress sandwich life was shoving down my throat. I arrived back in the midwest a broken shell of who I used to be, with exciting adventures in trauma still to come.

My wonderful husband snagged these for me. He gets me.

Now it is well below freezing. I have to wear both wool socks and fuzzy slippers in the house to keep feeling in my feet. I stay inside, bookmarking articles and opening tabs I'll never get to. My kids are generally useless with yard work without a lot of supervision, and Seth's Renaud syndrome means that he can't be outside for long in cold temperatures, so the shoveling is my duty.

When I first bundled up to go outside and get to work, I was proud of my being a responsible adult and all that, but I was also cranky and figured I would quickly be roping someone into switching with me. But I stayed outside. I put on the coat you see up above, "The Kindergarten Coat," which my mom left for me when she moved to Louisiana and I initially pooh-poohed as "too mom-ish". Now it is my bff.

After about 45 minutes outside, I did come in for a while, but then found that I wanted to go back out. There has been salting to do, slush and snow to clear off, and ice to chip away at- and I'm ::shudder:: enjoying it. Even on the 3rd or 4th day of having to do one chore or another. It has been sunny, which is a huge part of it, but I've also found myself writing in my head, or chatting out loud, and gazing at the beauty of my big, snowy, tree-filled yard.

Winter got me back outside. I'm adding it to the handful of things which have been making me feel "normal" again. I'm giving it the official stamp of #everydaygrateful. No one is more shocked than I am.

I really don't want to write this.

 But I will.

I don't even know if this is going to have form beyond stream of consciousness,  but I know it's good to share,  blah blah,  stigma,  blah blah,  awareness,  etc.

Over the past 6 years,  we've had a lot of loss; a lot of transition and change. Not all bad,  but still stressful and it piles up.  And,  yes,  I know that there are people who have it a lot worse,  but this isn't their blog and I'm not carrying their pain.

Have a list:
Became foster parents
Loved and lost kids we thought we'd have forever
Moved
Adopted
Started homeschooling
Only man I've ever called Grandpa died
Father-in-law died
Moved to Hawaii
Left California friends
Left California church
Dad diagnosed with cancer
Spent 3.5 months away from Hawaii
Brother- in-law died suddenly
Spent a month in Michigan without my family
My dad died
Went back to Michigan for a week

Also included: finished grad school (what the fuck do I do now?)
Haven't found a church in Hawaii
Pretty sure I've lost part of my mind
Ruined friendships
Midlife unraveling
Generally fucked up a lot

The clinical depression I've carried for decades now has all these layers of stress, grief,  and loss on top,  plus ADHD & anxiety (no, YOU'RE the basket case!), and I'm here to tell you I'm the most suicidal I've ever been.  Even more than when I attempted suicide 24 years ago.  That was more impulse on top of depression and hormones and starting college.

The kicker is that it's not like it makes sense.  I'm not thinking,  "Oh,  my dad is dead! I can't go on living!" No,  the shittiest part, the part that makes me hate myself the most,  is that my sadness is rarely about my dad.  It can turn into sadness about him,  but it rarely starts there.

I barely recognize myself sometimes. But it's me and sometimes I like it.  I like my new scars.  I like the few things that make me feel alive right now,  even if they're not awesome.

I've reached out on my scariest days.  Seth takes the meds with him to work now.

I don't know.  If you've never known this about me,  I'm sorry.  Don't be afraid.

Please don't comment about how much I have to live for,  try to encourage me,  or tell me you'll pray for me.  But,  yes,  do pray for me.  Just...I don't know.

I know I have to get out more.  See my friends. So my Hawaii peeps need to bug the shit out of me so I'll get out of bed,  okay? Know that I will be super annoyed with you.

So there! Transparency,  awareness,  you're not alone!!

Battle Cry of the Formerly Lazy

I've been pondering this post for quite a while now; possibly a year or more. It's in response to the thoughts some people express online and I know that more harbor in their dark, inky hearts. Those thoughts are along the lines of, "We get it! You went for a run. We're all proud of you but apparently not as proud as you are of yourself. Shut up!" 

The problem is this: we are proud of ourselves. Very. I would guess that 95% of the people who post about their workouts on FB have historically not been regular exercisers. Their lazy days may have been a long time in the past, and maybe now they love working out regularly, but that doesn't mean that it's easy to do every day. That doesn't mean that there isn't still a lazy, wheezing, overweight kid in the back of their minds, trying to get them to just sit down and watch TV instead of going to the gym. (For a great perspective on this, read Matthew Inman's Oatmeal entry about why he runs.)

When I started writing this post a long time ago, I had pictures of charts ready to go showing how much I'd exercised that week and how that was such a miraculous change from my past. I had to remove them because now my charts would look like janky hammocks strung between the days when I had the time and inclination to lift or run. When my kids were in school, they'd ask me what I did during the day while they were gone. I'd tell them that I ran or went to the gym, and they'd say, "Well, duh! You do that every day!" It filled present me with joy and high school me with shock to hear that. I couldn't believe how much I'd changed my life. I had changed my body so much that, even though I wasn't skinny, I didn't gain back any weight that I had lost after 6 weeks in Michigan last summer, barely working out and eating all the food of my youth. My body makeup had altered.

Just eating thimbleberries wouldn't have been bad, but thimbleberry jam on nisu, on ice cream sundaes, etc!!!

Now I'm back to the sluggo days. With the stress of preparing to move and then getting here and finding a place to live, my workouts have been very sporadic. I'm back out of shape and have to basically start over with strength and endurance, especially in the Hawaii humidity. My right leg really doesn't enjoy running, even though my heart and mind do, so I have to find other cardio. Last week, I decided that it was going to be jumping on the trampoline. Which sucks. I didn't make have time to do it over the weekend after that first time, but I did do it yesterday. IT SUCKED. I'd rather go on a walk for twice, heck, thrice! as long. But I did it. I know it will get easier eventually. I set that stupid timer on my phone and I freaking jumped until it was done. I was very proud of myself. So, yeah. I posted about it this time, too, but on twitter.

Another thing you need to know is that, for the most part, the running/biking/racing/lifting/gym rat/whatever community is VERY supportive. When runners pass each other on the trail, they give each other a thumbs-up or even say "Good job. You got this," especially if they see someone struggling. If you've ever participated in Team in Training, you will forever shout, "Go Team!" when you see anyone in a TNT shirt working out. So, even if someone does tons of races or has been naturally skinny their whole lives, they're usually trying to encourage others rather than shame them.

We all know that we need encouragement and accountability, so that's another reason people post about their work. You're likely to see someone post on FB that they're going to work out later so that they can't punk out and certain buddies will ask them if they did it. A friend posting, "Just did an easy 10 miles," might make me want to vomit because I have never called 10 miles easy, but it will also get me off the couch just like someone posting, "Just did a crappy, slow mile, but I did it," will get me off the couch.

So take it easy on our fitness posts, okay? Unless you're friends with the cast of the Jersey Shore, people aren't trying to simply show off. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to jump on the crap-o-line AND do a bodyweight workout tonight. I don't want to, but I will. And I'll be real proud of myself if
when I do.

Things that don't work

I posted this on my facebook this morning. I was determined that I'm not going to be counting down Sundays and crying all the time. But then I walked in, and I saw all my friends, and I knew that I was leaving them soon. I cried and cried because I'm finally mourning all that we are leaving.

For so long, I've just been really excited about moving to Hawaii. I was wishing that I didn't even need to come back here from Texas but we could just magically be in Hawaii. There is so much left to do that I'm just overwhelmed. I wish we could just be there in our new life already.

I read this quote from Walden last month, and it really grabbed me: 

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.

That's how I feel about Hawaii. About the ocean. I'm excited to get rid of almost all of our belongings and to start over. I want less stuff so we can have more life. I don't want things that don't matter. I don't want to be busy all the time. So I've been excited to leave.

But today I finally started facing all that we're leaving behind. Almost 10 years at church, making friends, teaching, being part of lives as kids grow. We're going to walk into a church (likely quite a few churches) in Hawaii and not know anyone. Students will walk by and I won't recognize any of them. We won't know the pastors or have gone through years of drama and change and growth with the church. We'll have to start all over.

We have so many friends here that are like family. People who know us so well and are always there when we need them. People we've laughed and cried with and kissed their babies and chatted with their parents. 

A church that values its people so much and constantly creates opportunities for adults and kids to feel God's presence in different ways: we're leaving it.

I know that we're going to be happy in Hawaii. We're going to find a church home and we'll have new opportunities and friends. But it will take time. Sometimes I think I'll relish the change, but I know it's going to hurt sometimes, too. 

So I lied this morning when I said I wouldn't cry every week. I probably will. I sobbed today and I'll sob on July 19th, our last Sunday here.

#weareredwood

W

Shop So You Don't Drop

"Retail therapy" is sometimes used in a joking way by (mainly) women to describe the times they feel like they need to shop. It's sometimes used by others, both men and women, in a sneering way to shame those people and make them feel frivolous and selfish. The implication is that no one needs to go shopping or buy new stuff.

To be fair, there are likely few instances in which something brand new truly needs to be purchased instead of something used or simply making due with what you have at home, but that doesn't mean that shopping for an emotional reason is without merit.

What we often forget is that clothes matter. What we put on our bodies can carry real emotional weight. You don't believe me? Go watch almost any episode of What Not to Wear, How to Look Good Naked, or even go all the way back to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. What you'll find is men and women truly transformed by being shown that they can look great. And it's sad but true to say that human beings (and lots of animals, for that matter) equate looking good with having worth. So when people who used to hide their bodies or hang their heads are shown that they, too, can preen and shine along with everyone else, it changes them.

We're status-driven. It's a simple fact of human nature. So even if someone goes out and doesn't buy clothes but, instead, something cute for the house, that still can build them up for a while. "Look what I have! Don't I have good taste?" Or maybe you saw something that reminded you of your grandma's house or that just made you happy when you looked at it, that feeling is real.

Obviously, this feeling can become a black hole of addiction; masking other issues that make someone unhappy, but as with most everything else, it's benign in moderation. So if those new shoes put a spring in your step or that funky bird statue makes you smile every time you see it, don't feel shallow. And don't make anyone else feel shallow, either.

I was made not for the cold but for the heat.

I dreamed of Hawaii last night. I had to go to Oahu realquick and I was so happy. It was just a small, beachy, tourist town and I was running (as in the exercise) up and down every street just thrilled.

I want to go to there.

I digress. This morning I was sweating in my house, so I figured it was hot out. I was going to work out, so I put on shorts and a t-shirt to walk the dog before I went to the gym. With the change in weather, I'm much happier being outside and I enjoy feeling like a good mom and taking the kids to the park or for a walk after school. Today I thought, "I think I'll get the kids and we'll go for a walk at the Laguna after school. It'll be great!"

Alas, it didn't happen. I walked outside, and it was cloudy with a cool breeze. Screw that. I hate being cold. We weren't going to the park.



It was 66 degrees.

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?

Keep Christmas With You...

If you now have a sad Sesame Street Christmas song running through your head, you're welcome.

This was my #365grateful picture from yesterday, and I know that may be weird. I noticed my feelings on this when we went to a friend's house and they had their naked Christmas tree on the porch, ready to go away, and it made me happy to see it. It didn't make me sad, but happy. And then, when I saw these trees outside our apartment, leaning against the dumpsters, it still didn't make me sad. Perhaps that's just how much power Christmas & it's traditions have on me: even stripped of decoration and discarded, these trees have the power to make me smile. I love Christmas a lot, and it makes me sad that stores start the season artificially early, so that most people are ready to chuck it all out the door on the 26th. But the 12 Days of Christmas starts on Christmas. Today is Epiphany, when we celebrate the Magi bringing their gifts to baby (or possibly toddler) Jesus. I'm not ready for it to be over, but I'm not sad, either.

Boom boom God God King Boom Boom

Find a word you know how to spell and stick with it.

'Tis the 2nd day of the year and I am grateful. Sleep was no more kind to me last night than the night before, so by this evening I was feeling desperate for something to be thankful for. Not that it wasn't a nice day, because I was outside and walked 4 miles with my kids and one of their friends. That was...pleasant from time to time. Also extremely annoying. But I live somewhere beautiful where it's not too cold to go for a long walk in short-sleeves in January. Huzzah! But being with three 3rd graders for a few hours can make this new mom a bit "Hulk Smash!" at the end of the day. But But But

Thankfully, my kids are adorable. They both wrote songs and performed them for me. H's song had lots of hand movements: that last BOOM really gets thrown at you. It's powerful. B's song had lots of God and maybe two notes. He's a tender little monkey. They're both creative and loving and not shy. It can be a lot of fun.

I almost feel a little barfy/overly touchy-feely by having two days in a row be thankfulness about my kids. Even after 2.5 years, this whole Mom thing hasn't completely settled into my skin yet, but that's what this project is about. I'm taking a look at things in my life and really noticing them. Noticing what makes me happy, how much they're worth, and how I'm being changed.

Grateful for the Year

It's January 1st, and I haven't blogged in months, so of course I'm going for it today. I saw a video about this project called 365grateful, and it moved me. The woman talks about how just looking for one thing every day to be thankful for changed so much: her appreciation of nature, her kids, God, and the way she looked at her husband.

I've tried the daily blogging before, and it worked for a while. I'm not expecting to keep it up every day, but the goal will keep me writing more than without it.

Today has been a rough day. Even though we didn't party last night, we were all up late and we're all tired. There are four days left until the kids go back to school, and I'm nearing the end of my fuse. So seeking out something specific to be grateful for and write about was important to me.

I wanted to go for a very short run, and the kids needed to get some energy out, so we all went across the street to the park. I ran with the dog, and Seth stayed with the kids while they played.

When I came back, they were playing with two boys, running, dragging each other, and throwing a Frisbee. I'm thankful for the energy and spirit of my kids, even on the days when I'm afraid it's going to kill me. I'm thankful for their openness and ease in making friends, even if they never find out their names or follow any sort of manners or adult-recognizable social code in the process.

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.

Refer to Blog Title

Yeah, I don't sleep much. I originally started this blog as something productive to do when I can't sleep, so I figure I should get back to that. And for that reason you, lucky reader, get to have this post.

It could be stress. Things are mostly good, but there are always money issues and we're still hitting our stride with the kids. I don't feel super-stressed on a daily basis, other than immense annoyance with Windows 8, but I'm still not sleeping at night in my bed with my husband. Most nights (mornings, really) I'm getting 5 hours, which is about 1/2 of what my body would really like.

The most annoying thing is that I'm still really tired, so I can't do many useful things when I'm up. I can't study or read anything that requires thought. I should have screens off, but watching TV is about all I can manage. And then my lives are back on Candy Crush and I have to do that, you know.

So it's 5:30 in the morning on Sunday, and I am supposed to be teaching in 4.5 hours. I was exhausted all day yesterday & tried to go to sleep around 10:45, but it didn't take. So I finally just had coffee & a pb&j, even though I really want to go to Starbucks. No, what I really want is for there to be a Starbucks cart outside my door.

So it will be a mostly brainless day. My students will brainstorm with me and ask me anything, and then my kids will watch Doctor Who all day. They won't complain.

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. 

This Kidless Mother's Day- the life of a foster/adoptive parent in waiting

Hi there. I'm telling you right now that I'm going to try to not make this a total downer, despite the title of this post. I think I'll get hopeful, but you  have to bear with me.

Other than goddaughters (who totally count, don't yell at me M & A), last year was the first time I had kids on mother's day, and it was pretty awesome. We had our two sweet girls, who were 4 & 1, and I was so happy. Sure, dear husband dropped the ball a bit on making it special, but I loved our little family.

About three months later, the 1yo moved out, and the rest of us were devastated. Yes, she went to a fabulous home and we still see her (not as often as we'd like) and we're very good friends with her (hopefully forever) parents, but it was and still is very hard. She wasn't talking when she was with us, but I have to tell you that it doesn't bum me out one bit that for all our efforts to get her to say "Aunt Robin," I get "momma" sometimes. She knows me as one of the people who fulfill that role for her.

Then on March 14th of this year, our big girl moved out after 15 months with us. Fear not-- we still see her fairly regularly, and her situation is good. Promise. But that doesn't make it hurt much less. She was over here the other day, and while I was standing in the kitchen doing something, she kind of sighed a little and said, "I love you, momma." As I think I've mentioned before, she's down with complicated families and having multiple moms & dads. More to love!

What you see pictured up above is part of my vision board. I've always been a big fan of cutting out pictures I like and I've covered my doors and walls in pictures even as an adult, but I never thought of it as anything more than silly fun. But a friend from church who is an artist teaches classes on creating vision boards, and I was able to go to a short one a couple weeks ago. We looked through magazines and cut out pictures that called to us. I had a lot of fun and brought a bunch of pictures home with me, but I didn't start putting it together until last night, and that's when it hit me: a vision board is a prayer in collage form. (If you need help with this concept, one place to look is Genesis 30:25-43.)

Even if there weren't some biblical support for the idea, it is still a good tool for clarity. When I was looking for pictures, there were some that spoke to me for far-off, fancy dreams, but many were simple things that almost made me cry when I found them. And the realization I had when gluing/praying in the wee hours of this morning was that, somehow, over the past two or three years, being a mom has become the desire of my heart. (I'm not going to explain what everything on it means, FYI.) Look at the kids I have there: I think there are 14 in that small section, and I have other pictures that I didn't put on there. I figured I had made the point. The fact that I just cut out the word "motherhood" is a big deal to me.

So I don't know how tomorrow (Mother's Day) is going to be for me. I haven't seen my little girl in over a month, and my big girl has been sick off & on for the past almost month, so I've only gotten 3 hours with her in the past three weeks. We're making decisions about adoption and we're feeling pulled in a few different directions without having much we see that we can really do about it. How about this: just don't ask me how I'm doing tomorrow, okay? You can hug me, but not for too long. I'm so very sick of crying this week. But I know that today or tomorrow is not the end of the story. I'm going to be a mom. It doesn't look like the journey my friends are on, but it's good for me & Seth. As you've already been told: I was made for this.

A life of film

Today Roger Ebert died, and I was trying to figure out why it bummed me out so. I mean, I'm usually sad when anyone dies, but this felt a little different. Then I noticed that he's always reminded me of my Grandma Maki, even though they don't look alike or anything.

Aaaah. Movies. I always watched movies with my Grandma. She was very cool. She figured out how to set her VCR to tape things, and had me borrow tapes with movies she loved and knew I should watch. That's how I saw Educating Rita. My Grandma even appreciated Die Hard and Terminator 2-- that's how cool she was. She took my sister and I to see E.T. when it came out, and we each had little, leather E.T. dolls with us. She took me to see The Muppet Movie. On one awkward evening, we rented Children of a Lesser God from the library, thinking that it couldn't possibly contain anything worth being Rated R. I don't recommend watching sex scenes with your grandma.

One of the last times we went out together was to see A Beautiful Mind followed by Applebee's. I was tired and crabby and criticized the movie, even though she loved it. I hate remembering that day. On a funnier note, when I bought Monsoon Wedding, I had her borrow it because I thought she'd like it. She must have been having quite a confused day because she later reported that she threw it out because she couldn't understand anything and why had I brought her a porno?!

She always subscribed to People Magazine, so that's how I first read Entertainment Weekly, which is truly a big part of my life. She also introduced me to Ebert & Siskel and the whole world of movie reviews. Oh, she loved it. It was one of the shows she watched and I loved watching it with her. (Did you know that I wrote a couple film reviews in college? Matt and I dabbled with a rating system from -5 to +5, with 0 being "It was a movie.")

So I guess that by Ebert dying, I feel like another little part of my Grandma is gone. One less thing that I didn't even realize reminded me of her.

photo credit: Articulate MediaWorks via photopin cc

I swore I was never going to do this (Part 2).

As you may be able to pick up from the (Part 2) in the title, this is a continuation of a post from two days ago. Feel free to look at that if you haven't yet. Today I will get into more of the specifics of how Seth and I became foster parents and why we don't have biological children. Let's jump right into it, shall we?

Why don't we have biological children? We really didn't want them. Well, at least for most of our marriage. When we were engaged, I still wanted kids. Oh, did I. I was especially fond of toddler boys. Oof! I'd see a little man dressed in a plaid shirt and I'd whisper to Seth, "Take him!" (Clearly, I was joking. We're not kidnappers, y'all.) Then I started some nanny jobs, and I quickly got over my desire to have kids.

Believe me, I adore my now-goddaughters who I nannied back then, so this isn't about them being bad or difficult or anything. It was just that spending lots of time with them and the other kids I watched was so boring. And sure, there was the screaming in the car that made me very grateful that someone else was going to be in charge shortly, but there was also the knowledge that your life was no longer your own once you had kids. Good or bad, your lives are wrapped together. If your kid is depressed or messed up, so are you. I didn't want that, and Seth was always fine with whatever I wanted, so we went with that. And almost daily, we could look at kids being obnoxious or demanding and we'd look at each other and just say, "Reason #947 why we don't want kids."

So I got Norplant the year after we were married, and when the five years of that was up, Seth got a vasectomy. See? We were serious. The only reason we didn't do the vasectomy earlier is because we knew that doctors would give us a hard time or flat-out refuse since we were so young and didn't have any kids yet. We had thought long and hard about it, and we did. not. want.

Many people were concerned that we might change our minds and someone who will remain nameless even wondered if I was being fair to Seth, because what if I died and he wanted kids with his new wife? It was so lovely to talk to one woman who had never had kids, who when I said, "But everyone says I'm going to change my mind when I'm 35," just matter-of-factly answered, "Then you change your mind." It was not the end of the world.

Jump ahead some years, and as predicted, my ovaries started twitching at 35. I started having baby dreams, including one that I now think may have been about my niece. In that one, I was playing with a fabulous, blond, 1 year old girl. We were just having the greatest time kissing and laughing, and when I woke up, I missed her. I was sad all day. Another found me arguing with my cousin over babies found in little dirt piles on the sides of hills, as if they had been planted. A third dream, which was so clearly about adoption or foster care, was one where I was going down a road (through redwoods, I remember), and there was a man on the side of the road with his 3 or 4 year old daughter, and their car wasn't working or something. I stopped, went back to them, and said, "I'll take care of her."

We had always talked about adoption, but I was never going to do foster care. I did not need my heart being trampled upon like that. No, sir. But I know now that I was made for this. As hard and crappy as it has been, this calling is the most clear thing ever in my life. Believe, me, I'm often tempted to quit. The first five days we had our first placement, I felt nothing, she was difficult, and I wanted our old life back. When kids keep leaving, I want to say, "Screw this. I'll get a job, we won't have kids, and we'll travel and have money." And then I go by the children's group home and see a couple boys out playing basketball and I immediately think, "Do you want to come live with us?" Or I remember the day I was looking over a website with available kids (I call it petfinder for kids and I kind of hate it.), most of whom were older and/or handicapped, and I wept and told God that we'd do this, even if we didn't want to.

We weren't just pushed out of the nest, but I often say that God pushed us off a cliff. With many people around us adopting, the thought was popping up more and more, with Seth even saying, "Well, we'll probably be foster parents eventually," and me yelling at him, "Why would you say that? We don't want kids!" Watching the news after the earthquake in Haiti, I thought, "Okay. Send me one of those toddlers," (obviously not knowing that some people were totally exploiting the situation and taking kids.). We put that on the back burner though, because we lived in a one bedroom apartment and didn't have the money to move. But then a family situation arose and we thought we may be adopting someone, so we dove right into foster care classes and the licensing process.

I have a few posts already written from that stressful time period. Suddenly, my life was totally different and I wanted kids. I cried and felt like I was very much in a desert place with my faith and life because we were waiting on so many things to happen before we could just freaking get kids in our house.

It's scary every time a new kid comes to our house. We have adored and wanted to keep every kid that has lived with us. I've thought 5 different kids were going to be mine forever, and they're not. They'll always be my kids, but I won't see all of them and be their mommy every day. Our hearts were completely ripped out last summer when we were unable to keep the 1yo girl who lived with us, partially by our choice. Our fabulous 5yo daughter who lived with us for 15 months moved back in with her mom two weeks ago, and that's awesome. We hung out with her today, and she's still calling us momma & daddy. She's down with having a big, complicated family. In fact, next Saturday we're going to the 2nd birthday party of the girly who lived with us last summer, because they'll always be sisters.

I really hope that some of you are reading this and realizing that you could totally do this. Oh, it sucks. Believe me. But it's important. And we know how much you all support us. We have amazing friends and family and we appreciate all of your encouragement and prayers and rolling with making another new kid feel like part of the family.

If you can, please donate whatever you can to the Redwood Empire Foster Parent Association. This money makes it possible that every kid comes into our home with a big duffel bag of new clothes, a hand-made blanket, some jammies, books, and toys that are just for them. That way, I won't have to put any more two year olds to bed in one of my t-shirts on her first night in a scary place. ;)

http://www.humanracenow.org/goto/odundore

I swore I was never going to do this.

Many people are understandably curious about how Seth and I ended up as foster parents and why we don't have any biological children, so I thought I'd start telling that story, or at least tell a condensed version of it. I will try my best to not use the words "journey" or "calling," but I can't promise you anything. Actually, I can go ahead and promise you that I will use "call" or "calling," because that's the only way I can describe some of it.

Not long after we moved to Texas in the early 80's, my mom had dreams about having babies that turned out to be toddlers, and she knew that these were messages from God telling her that she was supposed to go into foster care. (Crazy start, huh?) My sister and I were around 5 & 9, and my parents were only 27 &  32. When I look at my life and the stages my siblings and I are in compared to my parents, I can't even wrap my mind around all of it. I'm 38 and I barely handled having 2 kids for 3 months last summer, and my mom had two children and started taking in foster kids when she was 11 years younger than me. We have had very different paths.

We had two kids living with us while we lived in Texas. One boy went back to his parents, and when our family had to move back to Michigan, the little girl who lived with us moved in with a different foster family. It was awful leaving her.

Back in Michigan, my parents got licensed as foster parents again and my sisters came to live with us when I was in 8th grade. They lived with us for about 3 years, with my youngest sister coming to our house straight from the hospital after she was born. They eventually went back to their mother, and it was one of the hardest things ever. It was one of the worst things that has ever happened to my mom; to lose her baby like that.

A couple other girls lived with us during that time, and I had always thought we just took care of them briefly or as respite, but no, they lived with us for a while. My parents had five kids sometimes. I can't get my head around that. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised, as they both came from households with five kids. And now that I think about it, my parents will end up having raised five kids. Me & Beck, my once-foster sisters who both ended up coming back, and our nephew/brother. Funny.

I think that's where I'll end this part. I'll get more into the specifics about me & Seth tomorrow or the next day. My point is to tell our story for the curious, and also to show you that we are just normal people doing something that almost anyone could do.

Please consider supporting our work with children in foster care by donating to my fundraising efforts for the Human Race. I'm raising money for the Redwood Empire Foster Parent Association (REFPA) and this money goes towards supplying every child who comes into emergency care with a big ol' bag full of clothes, jammies, a blanket, a stuffed animal, and some books. These bags are so important both to the kids and to us as foster parents. We couldn't possibly be prepared for every size of kid who may come in, and these bags help us to clothe them and get them settled in their first few days before we can go shopping for them.
Thank you so much.
http://www.humanracenow.org/goto/odundore

Insert Pun Here

I'm tired of insomnia. Wocka wocka wocka!!

My husband? He can make the decision, "I should go to bed now," and do so. There he goes, and he's soon asleep.

My body? It takes that whole "second wind" thing entirely too seriously.
The scene: It's 8pm, my daughter has just gone to sleep, and Seth & I want to watch some TV.

Body: I am soooooooo tired! I could fall asleep right here on the couch!
Brain: No. It's way too early. You know that if we go to bed right now, you'll just be a bastard and treat it like a nap, and I'll be up in 3 or 4 hours.
Body: So, we're not going to bed?
Brain: Nope. Suck it up for a bit.
Body: Ooookay.

3.5 Hours Later:
Brain: Well, it's time to go to sleep now. This is a perfectly reasonable hour to go to bed. Let's do that, shall we?
Body: HAHAHAHA! I do what I want! We're staying up now!

Another 3.5 Hours Later:
Brain: Now? Can please go to bed now?
Body: Nope! You might have to pee again in a little bit, so we better just stay up all night. Why don't you start a movie?

I realize that central metaphor of my stunning drama has fallen apart because at some point, it is my brain keeping me awake, or at least part of my brain, while the rest of me desperately wants to sleep.

This has been going on, what, 8 years? More? I think I need to stop taking classes that don't get me home until midnight. Especially if we get a baby/toddler, I'll need to be partaking in that thing the kids call "sleeping at night."