My husband is old.... his beard is turning grey, hes got bum knees.... I look at him and think, "how did this happen"? Meaning my life, my family, my health, my career, my 20's (gone). He's knocking on the door of 40 but Im older than him. We don't adopt any one religion.... Probably because I believe truths in each valid story of faith. I cant argue I was given an old soul, an old body. My outside appearance certainly doesn't match my insides....
Looking in the mirror now I have 45 more pounds on my frame, stretch marks from child holding, abdominal scars from a c-section, a chest scar from my pacemaker, black puffy eye sacks from Addisons/lack of sleep, and severe hand tremors like Parkinsons. In the background a stack of 18 boxes of girl scout cookies.... That Ive hidden from my children. YUP, for me. Cellulite is just a gold star on your accomplishment board I tell myself. I wear makeup maybe once a week, so I don't scare my students off. Yet I still get "You've got five kids???" or "You've taught ten years??" all the time.
I was hungry when I met Kevin, literally. Girls in college who waitress at sleazy bars live off Ramen noodles and Dr.Pepper. He was OH SO MATURE and could afford a few nights of dinner dates each week. I didn't really know we were dating, thats how experienced I was in the dating field. I had a boyfriend in college, and thats about it on my experience chart, and he was the kind of guy you were meant to be friends with too, not really date (for me).... I ordered the "hungry man platter" at IHOP on our first date, used the restroom with my girl friend, and then returned to a paid bill?? I turned to my friend with deer eyes, like "oh god do I have to kiss him now?". Thats what age 20 does to your brain. Thank god the internet or social networks weren't around when I was in high school, even college really. Id really be into self loathing if I had to be a teen NOW. I hide the internet from my 13 year old but think "no the sheltered girls were the worst" in high school. Don't get me wrong. Most of the good girls were good girls. BUT some of the super strict homes produced girls with an eye for a wild streak. Luckily my brother paved the way with a tattoo by age 15 so I really didn't feel the need to get into too much trouble.
The night my water broke, the same night about five hours prior I wrote a farewell letter to my husband, to my kids. One I paid for to be delivered a month later, which happen to fall on my father in laws death anniversary. I figured I could intercept it if I had come through labor all right. I know it sounds so morbid, but the Pheochromocitoma tests they were running, and my months of bed rest made me more of a realist than a pity party person. I suppose thats my one huge complaint in life, my outsides dont match my insides.... I guess thats why heaven is so appealing to me. My water broke three days before my "emergency" test results came in, a test that would tell us if I could have anesthesia. But a baby stuck frank breach it was anesthesia or nothing really. Yet I was so calm, I had this faith that if the drugs reacted and I went into some cardiac failure that my only concern was for my family left behind. I imagine these throbbing lights of souls interacting with eachother in heaven. No judgments on figure, faces, income, makeup, race, or religion. I'm not knocking anyones religion here, but my best friend is Muslim, I had a Rabbi great grandfather, we were raised Catholic, and Buddhism/meditation has been around since man kind really. Somewhere in my head I hope I never have to see my old man husband die.... His light is the center of our house. The kids and I orbit around his calm stability. He can be a pain in my butt at times, but if anyone comes for him they are going to come through me first.
It was around seven dates, seven meals, and I realized I had fallen for him. Damnit. I had a job offer in San Diego lined up, this wasn't in the cards. He had baggage, like BAGGAGE. Here is the kicker, HE NEVER tried to kiss me, date seven??? Really?? I mean boys in high school were buying a frosty from Wendys and expecting more right? Gross.
"Remember our first date?" I asked him last night..... "Yup you ordered the hungry man platter at IHOP".... "And that did it for you huh?"..... "Yeah I guess plus you CLEARLY wanted me" he says now. "Yeah just remember who kissed who you big butthead"..... I guess Im just glad I ordered those pancakes.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Swimming in the deep
Im not athletic, we've determined that. Anyone that needs a pacemaker by 30 is last on your dodgeball dream team, I get it. I wouldn't pick me either. My bucket list includes alot of items most people dont have, it usually involves a lounge chair...... But when a last minute cruise popped up I jumped on it to swim with some sting rays. You read that right, I jump into the deep end in most areas of my life. Stamp "WIMP" on me if its athletic, or has to deal with urine, as in animals that can kill and/or pee on you. Here's my theory, five kids, ive hit the pee limit. Plus anytime a cute Jamaican guy says "Hey MON we dont de barb them, they learn to trust you in five minutes" my first vision is Steve Irwin......so lets just say it wasn't a quiet "swim", my swim mates didn't have a jovial or come to jesus swim, my apologies. I believe the term "speaking in tongues" could apply to my fear level.
Our fourth child Bryce was born at 24 weeks gestation, on the floor of a kitchen that likely had never been cleaned. He weighed 1pd 2 oz and he was born to parents that didn't get to/want to visit him in the NICU. This is a sad thought but working my way through the weeds of Child Protective Services I have been able to create a vault in my head where all of those facts live. To be opened when demanded to by a licensed professional and/or my child when they are ready. I imagine an image much like the movie "Inception" of a huge doll house that cracks half way to show a vault of paperwork, steel trapped.
"We have an extra seat" he said in June 2011, driving our SUV that held seven, "Yes we do lets hope the social skills training kicks in and we get a friend up in here for these coo coo birds". Six weeks later I was pregnant, the man needs to start pointing at water and saying "wine" and a BAM for effect. Fast forward 7 months and we are at Banner Desert NICU since I was 3 cm dilated at 30 weeks. The nurse was pleasant, calm, smelled clean, soft hands, everything you could want for a sick child. She looked educated, but not tired of her job, early 40's, mature enough, but not burnt out. She showed us the three night rooms where moms sleep while babies are in the NICU, a breast feeding area, and isolets, baby incubators, all except one were empty. We walked silently up and down the rows and I was in the front. I could feel the lump in my throat build as each isolet passed me, vacant. I heard soft steps of the nurse and my husband close behind. It was time to turn around as I had reached the end.... I swung around to my 38 year old husband biting his lip white. I whispered to the nurse "our baby lived here 8 months alone, we just, um, I guess we just weren't prepared, he wasnt ours yet so....." Tears fell down my husbands face as he nodded that was what he had been thinking the whole time. I could tell in his face. "Oh my, I will get tissues" the nurse said as she ran to a cabinet stocked with boxes that went on for days, as I imagine a unit like this needs. God, Grace, Kleenex, and realism fully stocked. I thanked her for the kleenex and she said "Im a bit teary myself, we never get to see if those babies make it, and the parents just dont come, they leave them here, so this new baby is a blessing since you couldnt....." awkward silence.... "No we could actually, we just didnt see the point I guess, Im 31 weeks so anything you throw at me we will be fine, if I have to live here or otherwise, I guess we didnt need to see this place, or maybe we did......".
Bryce will be seven this February. We were happy he hit 45 pounds and a size 4 outfit last month. He memorizes patterns, loves music, shapes, math, science, quiet, and dark rooms. He doesnt really have proper emotion yet but I think in time he will. If he doesnt that is OK. Bryce had been on tubes his whole life to eat so when we got him at 23 months they told me he had a slim chance to learn how to eat. I had a slim chance of staying sain in a house with a child who couldnt eat, AKA could die on anything in his mouth. We drove two hours each way to therapy in Tucson, while I taught High School Econ, while I was opening a business. Kevin and I were the only two that could feed him. Thats OK, its scary stuff, but talk about pressure. Phones stopped ringing.
Five years later and notes home include "Bryce did very well on his actual work today, but he spit on his classmate for no reason". "Bryce understood the second grade concept of regrouping but called everyone Buttheads at lunch", "Bryce is very responsive when we use the computer or smart board, but he has been grabbing teachers' breasts this week".
People may say we have a Le ze Faire attitude in life, maybe we do. That one baby in that one isolete that day I said a prayer for, it went something like this "Jesus, Buddha, Bretheren, Allah and all my grandfathers and fathers watch over this sweet baby, may the right home get this child, namaste, peace be with you, amen and Walakem Salam". My daughter was partially raised by a lesbian couple more committed than Britney Spears was at 1am in Las vegas, our other by a single mom with kids from different men "gasp living in sin". Our licensing worker has had the same boyfriend for 15 years or so. I will say this once, a baby wrapped in the arms of a loving, able, educated adult....... Or left lit by a bulb, effectively alone for 8 months, well its no choice for me, sorry. Civil/Equal rights that can save a few hundred kids from homelessness, helplessness, and GET a married committed couple that shows true partnership, Im in. LIFE and its lessons are so much bigger than some award show.
We have one picture of Bryce in his isolete, my husband hates it.... "Thats not my hand" he says....... We jump in the deep end. We swim with the barbs in, but dammit if I don't go down yelling. I might be small but weak is a state of mind..... My kid eats anything he wants, never tell me never. On to personal space and large crowd control next.................
"We have an empty seat now" he said last night looking in the back of our SUV that seats 8.......... I swear to God that might make TWO empty seats if you keep talking my love....... Shhhhhhh
Our fourth child Bryce was born at 24 weeks gestation, on the floor of a kitchen that likely had never been cleaned. He weighed 1pd 2 oz and he was born to parents that didn't get to/want to visit him in the NICU. This is a sad thought but working my way through the weeds of Child Protective Services I have been able to create a vault in my head where all of those facts live. To be opened when demanded to by a licensed professional and/or my child when they are ready. I imagine an image much like the movie "Inception" of a huge doll house that cracks half way to show a vault of paperwork, steel trapped.
"We have an extra seat" he said in June 2011, driving our SUV that held seven, "Yes we do lets hope the social skills training kicks in and we get a friend up in here for these coo coo birds". Six weeks later I was pregnant, the man needs to start pointing at water and saying "wine" and a BAM for effect. Fast forward 7 months and we are at Banner Desert NICU since I was 3 cm dilated at 30 weeks. The nurse was pleasant, calm, smelled clean, soft hands, everything you could want for a sick child. She looked educated, but not tired of her job, early 40's, mature enough, but not burnt out. She showed us the three night rooms where moms sleep while babies are in the NICU, a breast feeding area, and isolets, baby incubators, all except one were empty. We walked silently up and down the rows and I was in the front. I could feel the lump in my throat build as each isolet passed me, vacant. I heard soft steps of the nurse and my husband close behind. It was time to turn around as I had reached the end.... I swung around to my 38 year old husband biting his lip white. I whispered to the nurse "our baby lived here 8 months alone, we just, um, I guess we just weren't prepared, he wasnt ours yet so....." Tears fell down my husbands face as he nodded that was what he had been thinking the whole time. I could tell in his face. "Oh my, I will get tissues" the nurse said as she ran to a cabinet stocked with boxes that went on for days, as I imagine a unit like this needs. God, Grace, Kleenex, and realism fully stocked. I thanked her for the kleenex and she said "Im a bit teary myself, we never get to see if those babies make it, and the parents just dont come, they leave them here, so this new baby is a blessing since you couldnt....." awkward silence.... "No we could actually, we just didnt see the point I guess, Im 31 weeks so anything you throw at me we will be fine, if I have to live here or otherwise, I guess we didnt need to see this place, or maybe we did......".
Bryce will be seven this February. We were happy he hit 45 pounds and a size 4 outfit last month. He memorizes patterns, loves music, shapes, math, science, quiet, and dark rooms. He doesnt really have proper emotion yet but I think in time he will. If he doesnt that is OK. Bryce had been on tubes his whole life to eat so when we got him at 23 months they told me he had a slim chance to learn how to eat. I had a slim chance of staying sain in a house with a child who couldnt eat, AKA could die on anything in his mouth. We drove two hours each way to therapy in Tucson, while I taught High School Econ, while I was opening a business. Kevin and I were the only two that could feed him. Thats OK, its scary stuff, but talk about pressure. Phones stopped ringing.
Five years later and notes home include "Bryce did very well on his actual work today, but he spit on his classmate for no reason". "Bryce understood the second grade concept of regrouping but called everyone Buttheads at lunch", "Bryce is very responsive when we use the computer or smart board, but he has been grabbing teachers' breasts this week".
People may say we have a Le ze Faire attitude in life, maybe we do. That one baby in that one isolete that day I said a prayer for, it went something like this "Jesus, Buddha, Bretheren, Allah and all my grandfathers and fathers watch over this sweet baby, may the right home get this child, namaste, peace be with you, amen and Walakem Salam". My daughter was partially raised by a lesbian couple more committed than Britney Spears was at 1am in Las vegas, our other by a single mom with kids from different men "gasp living in sin". Our licensing worker has had the same boyfriend for 15 years or so. I will say this once, a baby wrapped in the arms of a loving, able, educated adult....... Or left lit by a bulb, effectively alone for 8 months, well its no choice for me, sorry. Civil/Equal rights that can save a few hundred kids from homelessness, helplessness, and GET a married committed couple that shows true partnership, Im in. LIFE and its lessons are so much bigger than some award show.
We have one picture of Bryce in his isolete, my husband hates it.... "Thats not my hand" he says....... We jump in the deep end. We swim with the barbs in, but dammit if I don't go down yelling. I might be small but weak is a state of mind..... My kid eats anything he wants, never tell me never. On to personal space and large crowd control next.................
"We have an empty seat now" he said last night looking in the back of our SUV that seats 8.......... I swear to God that might make TWO empty seats if you keep talking my love....... Shhhhhhh
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Papercuts, pickle juice, presentless poem
Wrapping presents in my walk in closet
Hearing creeks from each invisible footstep
I realize there is nothing for him under the tree
Nor will there be any for me.....
You see... We race this race of waking up, feeding faces
Catching buses, checking underwear, taking date nights to costco
Counting heads, counting minutes to bed time some nights
Counting stars above our gorgeous house, counting snores at 9pm... Him
Because mommy can't do the morning shift....insomnia is inherent in motherhood
Two..... The cardiologist appointments I have missed
Three.... The times my heart stopped according to my last visit
Four whole months ago.....but Meanwhile
Five children call me mommy.....so time is not mine alone.
"The full sampler platter" all 98 pounds of me said
Sitting at an IHOP, barely 20, too naive to know I was on a date
"Cawfee" he said, waitress perplexed. "Coffee" I said and she understood
He called me Megan more than once, my 30 year old self would have left......
Pancakes, hash browns, and this journey was all on its way
I sleep in sheets that smell of pickle juice from a baby who looks like his dad
I have a paper cut from wrapping five children's gifts in one night
I will eat leftovers, nights like tonight realizing I make six plates, not seven
I threatened to throw out a few gifts a few too many times this month
Daddy made cookies for "Santa" in the mean time
I will have cards written in crayon, leftovers for breakfast
My husband will smile as kids tear apart gifts they will break in 48
We don't have gifts under the tree we sneak gifts daily
I give my children the gift of showing them two parents that respect each other
Professor Williams in Psychology had a girlfriend of 30 years
"We fight in the tub, literally" by the time you stomp to the "spot" the issue seems mundane
Modeling healthy communication to children who are at risk
It's exhausting..... It's present-less, in the present......
A decade will pass, my 40 year old self will see my daughter at 20
"I met this guy"...... She will say
Well what's he say, my mom asked back then...
He says he adores me, she smiled..... Good.
Hearing creeks from each invisible footstep
I realize there is nothing for him under the tree
Nor will there be any for me.....
You see... We race this race of waking up, feeding faces
Catching buses, checking underwear, taking date nights to costco
Counting heads, counting minutes to bed time some nights
Counting stars above our gorgeous house, counting snores at 9pm... Him
Because mommy can't do the morning shift....insomnia is inherent in motherhood
Two..... The cardiologist appointments I have missed
Three.... The times my heart stopped according to my last visit
Four whole months ago.....but Meanwhile
Five children call me mommy.....so time is not mine alone.
"The full sampler platter" all 98 pounds of me said
Sitting at an IHOP, barely 20, too naive to know I was on a date
"Cawfee" he said, waitress perplexed. "Coffee" I said and she understood
He called me Megan more than once, my 30 year old self would have left......
Pancakes, hash browns, and this journey was all on its way
I sleep in sheets that smell of pickle juice from a baby who looks like his dad
I have a paper cut from wrapping five children's gifts in one night
I will eat leftovers, nights like tonight realizing I make six plates, not seven
I threatened to throw out a few gifts a few too many times this month
Daddy made cookies for "Santa" in the mean time
I will have cards written in crayon, leftovers for breakfast
My husband will smile as kids tear apart gifts they will break in 48
We don't have gifts under the tree we sneak gifts daily
I give my children the gift of showing them two parents that respect each other
Professor Williams in Psychology had a girlfriend of 30 years
"We fight in the tub, literally" by the time you stomp to the "spot" the issue seems mundane
Modeling healthy communication to children who are at risk
It's exhausting..... It's present-less, in the present......
A decade will pass, my 40 year old self will see my daughter at 20
"I met this guy"...... She will say
Well what's he say, my mom asked back then...
He says he adores me, she smiled..... Good.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Ranking Up
Do you look young enough, or is too pretty also your doom, everyone harbors a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room. You laugh too hard, or not enough. Your kids are too polite, so you are too strict. My kids don't know what an iPhone or DS is, so I'm neglectful. I make too much income, and donate money, but for marketing only. My clothing is used, I have two outfits I repeat as much as possible. I sleep too much, my illness is made up to justify laziness.... Women, we are tearing each other apart. Dissecting the most intimate cores of our sisters. My cars too nice, so I'm a bad mom. I don't attempt baking so my kids suffer. What happened to Rosie the riveter, women empowerment. Being truly happy when someone does well. I can say I can, feel happy for others success. I'm not between you and your ambitions. I cant run, but I can pass out water bottles. I hate crafts, but I can balance a budget and negotiate a business deal like no other. If I were a man I'd be successful, not a "bitch". You don't hear men starting conversations with "did you hear what Tom said about Steve at that holiday party?" I'm no where near perfect, I've got battle wounds to prove it. But those are on all of us, in us, making us. My hard day is no harder than yours. My five kids aren't harder than your two. My laundry method isn't efficient nor a method. My house is a mess, I'm sorry if it doesn't meet your standard.
When I see another women struggle I help, if I see them succeed I rejoice. Haven't we come so far in humanity, rights, and we throw them out the door because someone's mom tweets too much, or refuses to buy her 12 year old a cell phone, wears too much makeup, or not enough.
Take inventory on what you hate and twist in others, it's lacking in you or you wouldn't zone in. I'm good at most things, I'm not amazing at anything. I'm a wife, mother, sister, daughter, so when you have a negative word on your tongue or in your mind you are degrading someone's child. Someone's mom, someone's wife......
Jealousy doesn't have to equal venom. I want my daughters to look at other women and learn their worth. Learn no one can speak down to them or about them. After all they will be looking for partners someday and what we model they seek. In friendships, in partners. Jealousy is normal emotion, it motivates improvement. But why caddy?
We get one chance, let's use it wisely. Let's model our best. Let's value sisterhood instead of desecrating it because "she's wearing that?" Our grandmothers fought too hard for equality to allow their last days watching housewives pulling each others hair out, or worse smiling to their face to talk horribly later. Enjoy your vote, your right to a credit card, driving privileges, job opportunities, enjoy each other. I don't rank up, I didn't sign up to be ranked. I certainly won't rank you.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Finding him, finding them
When you are young (20 young), and your only real boyfriend has left you, you feel like the world has collapsed. Obviously the cosmic forces have done you wrong and the vision of your super duper life (Disney, trips, college) is dashed. It's comical now really. When you are barely 20 your idea of the future is next weekend, what body part to pierce, what cool apartment to rent. Almost a dozen years later I worry about IRA's, college for five kids, property taxes, hurricane warnings. I was always kind of sickly so a mother hen if you will. My friend called as I was studying chemistry to tell me she was at a party by my moms house (I was living back home, boo). I declined to figure out the strand diagram of iron or some other element, "ok. I'm the only girl here, but whatever". This girl is crazy, I'm thinking, all these old guys hanging with a 20 year old, obviously psychopaths. I showed up in pajamas and intended to drag her out. I stayed about 20 minutes, met the group of guys.... Decided it was harmless, and went to leave through the garage. A garage full of old cars and racing motorcycles. "Wow nice car!" I said pretty loud, to no one. "Really?? You like it" a voice came from the end of the drive. A tall/fit man, like a man size man, no high school boy. "Ummm yeah!" I responded. "That's really cool, it's my dads 68 charger RT, you know Dukes of Hazard" (no I don't know since I'm a baby). "You want to drive it?" Tosses the key. "Heck no!". "Ok hop in then". Clearly the murder/rape plot is about to happen, I'm pre law people. "Ummm let me tell my friend". So that was Kevin. Tattooed, emotionally unavailable, super single, and not wanting kids or marriage. "Bingo" the brain said, he's perfect.
Now young girls don't do this! This usually ends horribly. The only reason it didn't fall apart was I'm stubborn as an ox, and smart as a whip. Must predict mans next move to make him think you don't like him tooooo much. It's a dance. 3 years later Kevin proposed on a Ferris wheel on a race weekend. We married (secretly eloped) to Vegas 10/8/05 because I had calculated ( now in my administration program) that if we married before tax end we'd get $7k back in refund, to help pay for our march wedding. Yes, I'm that romantic. The line of envious men is zero deep.
My husband is an attractive guy, who thinks he's average. He's the best dad, that second guesses every class/event we do, or don't do. My husband buries treasure chests in remote places at 11pm, plants fake maps he "stumbles" upon in his history book over breakfast, and spends a day treasure hunting with five kids to make them think they are explorers. I've heard him yell at our children (child) one time, and it was "you never, ever talk to my wife that way". We've moved 4 houses in 4 years and 3 of the houses he saw after we offered, because he knows the kids need a special lay out, and he trusts my judgement. He forgets weekly routines, every week. We've forgotten a child once or twice. We've got a therapy fund going for that later in life.
I've seen him cry 3 times, the first time I asked about his fathers passing, the time CPS said to return Lilly and Theo (3 months in), and when I told him I was pregnant. He was double the size I was looking to date, double the trouble, double the convincing to marry me, and double at being a husband, father, and supporter of any dream I've ever had. He's double the sarcasm, inappropriate after 2 beers, New Jersey accent by 3. Marriage is this dance that involves ups/downs, routine, emergencies, surprises at every turn.
He's mine, he's taken. And we both lucked out finding them..... Although I still believe some heaven bound spirits set our paths on collision.
Now young girls don't do this! This usually ends horribly. The only reason it didn't fall apart was I'm stubborn as an ox, and smart as a whip. Must predict mans next move to make him think you don't like him tooooo much. It's a dance. 3 years later Kevin proposed on a Ferris wheel on a race weekend. We married (secretly eloped) to Vegas 10/8/05 because I had calculated ( now in my administration program) that if we married before tax end we'd get $7k back in refund, to help pay for our march wedding. Yes, I'm that romantic. The line of envious men is zero deep.
My husband is an attractive guy, who thinks he's average. He's the best dad, that second guesses every class/event we do, or don't do. My husband buries treasure chests in remote places at 11pm, plants fake maps he "stumbles" upon in his history book over breakfast, and spends a day treasure hunting with five kids to make them think they are explorers. I've heard him yell at our children (child) one time, and it was "you never, ever talk to my wife that way". We've moved 4 houses in 4 years and 3 of the houses he saw after we offered, because he knows the kids need a special lay out, and he trusts my judgement. He forgets weekly routines, every week. We've forgotten a child once or twice. We've got a therapy fund going for that later in life.
I've seen him cry 3 times, the first time I asked about his fathers passing, the time CPS said to return Lilly and Theo (3 months in), and when I told him I was pregnant. He was double the size I was looking to date, double the trouble, double the convincing to marry me, and double at being a husband, father, and supporter of any dream I've ever had. He's double the sarcasm, inappropriate after 2 beers, New Jersey accent by 3. Marriage is this dance that involves ups/downs, routine, emergencies, surprises at every turn.
He's mine, he's taken. And we both lucked out finding them..... Although I still believe some heaven bound spirits set our paths on collision.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Dear John
My baby has brown eyes. Brown eyes with a silver haze. That's all he got from me. He wasn't born with brown eyes, and the shift from blue to brown was pretty quick. As if the 100% miniature version of Kevin wasn't enough, Kevin actually came in upset one morning that the baby had brown eyes, fingers crossed he has my spirit and study skills :)
I've never had to write a "Dear John" letter, mostly because some really stupid guys all left me first. (Insert laughter here). No really, if we were all judged by how we handled our break ups at 16 and 19 may the Lord help us all. If we were judged by anything we did from 14-20 I think we'd all shudder.... So sorry for my antics.
Many of you have followed our story of adoption via facebook, and now the blog. We've never hidden the fact that our kids came from a different background than what was "typical", but no family is typical. My husband gets a Kewpie doll tattoo for every child we get, only problem was we were done with three. So squeezing in the 4th, and then the 5th was a challenge. The artist asked what color Jaces' eyes are, for the Kewpie. Kevin and I kind of locked eyes..... "Well they are actually brown, but Im guessing Kevin will want blue"... "Yeah make them blue like the others". An odd phrase to stimulate a moms' mind from wandering down a daydream.
I never saw my babies eyes change, never. I got all of our kids at 14 months or older. For those of you that have read my posts you know I posted how the feeling on the day of my C section was the exact feeling on our severance day, when the kids were open to adopt. This is true. But as the days/months go by I would be lying if it doesn't feel different to look at a miniature version of your husband. Slight things like "Medical History" we can actually fill out (Not very Well Thanks Mom and Dad). My baby does pull ups and chin ups for fun, thats just hilarious. Now as an adoptive mom we did get the opportunity to meet our birth parents many times, not one all adoptive moms get. We know their Dad was slender, lean, tall, and had some athletic ability. Now thats a score coming from this couch lover, my sit-up is the one I do each morning. The only thing I remember of sports was my 8th grade PE coach yelling "Bethell get the hell off my field, you are a liability" after I couldn't finish my mile run. (Dont you miss the times you could say stuff like that to kids, but I digress). Recently I watched an amazing video of a woman adopted from Korea. Although she has no memory of her adoption she spoke of her heart in its state of being, versus the anticipating mothers. "To gain your family, I had to lose mine, I had to lose everything. Because you see this chapter, the one where you and I meet it gets awkward....... You dont have to listen to me and my heartache, my heart break, but you GET to".
Snap back to current time, Kevin getting a tattoo "So whats wrong with that women that she gave away her kids?". Its a question I take offense too, mostly because people assume if your child comes from abuse/neglect that that translates to hate for their birth parents. Of course a piece of you hates the actions, of course you do, the actions are horrible. Early on I decided that treating the birth parents, birth mom, with some level of respect would in the very least leave us open to watch the children grow up. Whether we kept them or not, we would be free babysitting, gas money, birthday gifts, car rides, whatever. So its a question I take offense too yes, but not one Im surprised by anymore. I suppose the majority of the world would not want anything to do with "such people" when you adopt from foster care. So Im different, im OK with different..... Our bio mom emailed four or five times the first year we adopted, then three times the following year, and now we are down to two... She wants to meet soon for lunch, because she is moving out of state. Not that we cant email still, but the reality of us ever sitting down to dinner is just not going to happen, that window has passed. I knew after severance that the distancing of ourselves from the birth mom should be like unpeeling an onion, layers removed one at a time. At first I did meet her for lunch once a year.... but as the emails get fewer and farther between I can see that the band aid has been ripped for her, and the tinge/pain has subsided. If she was even capable of feeling that tinge/pain coming from her own neglect history.
"There really wasn't alot wrong with her" I smile back "just alot of misguidance, misinformation, malpreperation, you know ill equipped". The artist nods. "Don't know how you do it, Id hate people like that". I get that alot. "Yeah but then, their blood runs through my child". They got to see their eyes change. They had the opportunity to learn what each cry meant, what each gesture meant, what things they discovered at ages 1, 2, and up to 7 years old. They had the opportunity, but they didnt take it. So do I relish in my newborn when I see glimpses of his dad? Yes. Do I post like crazy on facebook? Absolutely. Do I know instinctively what each noise he makes means? Yes. Because I get to. Not because I love him more. Because I get to. Theo didnt cry, he didnt move, he didnt really try to exist. He was stagnant. I didnt know what he needed, and he didnt know he was allowed to need me. He had been taught to cry was futile, so he was silenced. I thought I got the jackpot on easy kid. This is the part where his chapter and my chapter meet. The part where he loses everything he knows, to get to us. Where strangers are in his face, happy. While he is inside, terrified.......... This is the moment he loses speech, this is the moment his hands flap, this is the moment he stutters, this is the moment he rocks, this is that moment, that anxiety, that "processing issue" we see every single day. This is terrifying, this moment, and it lasts forever somewhere inside him.
So I will respond to the request to meet up with my first "Dear John". It was a day I knew would come for sure, and a day that needed to come. It's a bittersweet waving best wishes to someone that had no training, no capabilities, and no true childhood of their own. I imagine the next time we meet will be at the request of one of my grown children. Although we are mistaken for LDS , or as Gaffigan would say "Shiite Catholics", we are not religious people. I believe in Karma, doing what is right, admitting when you are wrong, and taking help when you can. I believe "Im sorry" means alot. I believe your God, my God, Buddha, Gandhi, Allah, and any of your blessed, divine creatures would support a belief system of "just do good, try hard, and try your best to remember we are all just making it day by day with no instruction manual here, and play well with others dang it". If I'm turned away at the pearly gates so be it, until then I think we are doing OK. If we find Jesus anytime soon I will let you all know, I promise.
"All right man you are all done up, you got your five Kewpies with blue eyes, hows it look?" Perfect. Perfectly imperfect..............
I've never had to write a "Dear John" letter, mostly because some really stupid guys all left me first. (Insert laughter here). No really, if we were all judged by how we handled our break ups at 16 and 19 may the Lord help us all. If we were judged by anything we did from 14-20 I think we'd all shudder.... So sorry for my antics.
Many of you have followed our story of adoption via facebook, and now the blog. We've never hidden the fact that our kids came from a different background than what was "typical", but no family is typical. My husband gets a Kewpie doll tattoo for every child we get, only problem was we were done with three. So squeezing in the 4th, and then the 5th was a challenge. The artist asked what color Jaces' eyes are, for the Kewpie. Kevin and I kind of locked eyes..... "Well they are actually brown, but Im guessing Kevin will want blue"... "Yeah make them blue like the others". An odd phrase to stimulate a moms' mind from wandering down a daydream.
I never saw my babies eyes change, never. I got all of our kids at 14 months or older. For those of you that have read my posts you know I posted how the feeling on the day of my C section was the exact feeling on our severance day, when the kids were open to adopt. This is true. But as the days/months go by I would be lying if it doesn't feel different to look at a miniature version of your husband. Slight things like "Medical History" we can actually fill out (Not very Well Thanks Mom and Dad). My baby does pull ups and chin ups for fun, thats just hilarious. Now as an adoptive mom we did get the opportunity to meet our birth parents many times, not one all adoptive moms get. We know their Dad was slender, lean, tall, and had some athletic ability. Now thats a score coming from this couch lover, my sit-up is the one I do each morning. The only thing I remember of sports was my 8th grade PE coach yelling "Bethell get the hell off my field, you are a liability" after I couldn't finish my mile run. (Dont you miss the times you could say stuff like that to kids, but I digress). Recently I watched an amazing video of a woman adopted from Korea. Although she has no memory of her adoption she spoke of her heart in its state of being, versus the anticipating mothers. "To gain your family, I had to lose mine, I had to lose everything. Because you see this chapter, the one where you and I meet it gets awkward....... You dont have to listen to me and my heartache, my heart break, but you GET to".
Snap back to current time, Kevin getting a tattoo "So whats wrong with that women that she gave away her kids?". Its a question I take offense too, mostly because people assume if your child comes from abuse/neglect that that translates to hate for their birth parents. Of course a piece of you hates the actions, of course you do, the actions are horrible. Early on I decided that treating the birth parents, birth mom, with some level of respect would in the very least leave us open to watch the children grow up. Whether we kept them or not, we would be free babysitting, gas money, birthday gifts, car rides, whatever. So its a question I take offense too yes, but not one Im surprised by anymore. I suppose the majority of the world would not want anything to do with "such people" when you adopt from foster care. So Im different, im OK with different..... Our bio mom emailed four or five times the first year we adopted, then three times the following year, and now we are down to two... She wants to meet soon for lunch, because she is moving out of state. Not that we cant email still, but the reality of us ever sitting down to dinner is just not going to happen, that window has passed. I knew after severance that the distancing of ourselves from the birth mom should be like unpeeling an onion, layers removed one at a time. At first I did meet her for lunch once a year.... but as the emails get fewer and farther between I can see that the band aid has been ripped for her, and the tinge/pain has subsided. If she was even capable of feeling that tinge/pain coming from her own neglect history.
"There really wasn't alot wrong with her" I smile back "just alot of misguidance, misinformation, malpreperation, you know ill equipped". The artist nods. "Don't know how you do it, Id hate people like that". I get that alot. "Yeah but then, their blood runs through my child". They got to see their eyes change. They had the opportunity to learn what each cry meant, what each gesture meant, what things they discovered at ages 1, 2, and up to 7 years old. They had the opportunity, but they didnt take it. So do I relish in my newborn when I see glimpses of his dad? Yes. Do I post like crazy on facebook? Absolutely. Do I know instinctively what each noise he makes means? Yes. Because I get to. Not because I love him more. Because I get to. Theo didnt cry, he didnt move, he didnt really try to exist. He was stagnant. I didnt know what he needed, and he didnt know he was allowed to need me. He had been taught to cry was futile, so he was silenced. I thought I got the jackpot on easy kid. This is the part where his chapter and my chapter meet. The part where he loses everything he knows, to get to us. Where strangers are in his face, happy. While he is inside, terrified.......... This is the moment he loses speech, this is the moment his hands flap, this is the moment he stutters, this is the moment he rocks, this is that moment, that anxiety, that "processing issue" we see every single day. This is terrifying, this moment, and it lasts forever somewhere inside him.
So I will respond to the request to meet up with my first "Dear John". It was a day I knew would come for sure, and a day that needed to come. It's a bittersweet waving best wishes to someone that had no training, no capabilities, and no true childhood of their own. I imagine the next time we meet will be at the request of one of my grown children. Although we are mistaken for LDS , or as Gaffigan would say "Shiite Catholics", we are not religious people. I believe in Karma, doing what is right, admitting when you are wrong, and taking help when you can. I believe "Im sorry" means alot. I believe your God, my God, Buddha, Gandhi, Allah, and any of your blessed, divine creatures would support a belief system of "just do good, try hard, and try your best to remember we are all just making it day by day with no instruction manual here, and play well with others dang it". If I'm turned away at the pearly gates so be it, until then I think we are doing OK. If we find Jesus anytime soon I will let you all know, I promise.
"All right man you are all done up, you got your five Kewpies with blue eyes, hows it look?" Perfect. Perfectly imperfect..............
Thursday, July 25, 2013
The end of an era
Every once in a while you get news that takes the wind out of you. My brother and I grew up in a close knit neighborhood on acre lots..... Everyone had a cow, a horse, a gaggle of kids....... Kids could run up and down each street and everyone knew the neighbors. We were the neighbors with the stay at home grandma, fort type playhouse, and wrinkly dogs (shar peis). On our street we had a family with four kids with two working parents (pharmacists), they were the family with baseball practice in the back, awesome homemade tacos, homework help.
The next street over on Villa another family with four kids (who are these crazy people with so many kids right), Mrs.G was a stay at home mom, and Mr.G was this magical scientist/explorer that worked from home. He had designed his house around an indoor pool, he designed his home around faith. When you walked into their home the clean glass surrounding the pool was a sight to see. Certainly these people must be super rich or vain? Quite the opposite. Some of my fondest memories were hanging out at their house with their daughter Laura who was my age. Our friends in the neighborhood would come over to swim in the middle of winter. We would swim and point out the stars and moon through the glass openings, he would point out constellations. There was always kids or an adult at their house, so I dont ever recall being turned away. Around the perimeter of their house was a full flower bed that Mr.G had planned and he tended them religiously. The man had quite the tan from all the hours playing outside with his kids and tending the rose bushes. It all sounds a bit fantasy I suppose, a bit ideal....... But it was a great neighborhood to grow up in. Mr.G was the most patient man I can recall meeting. I only can say he got frustrated with silver fish and pool covers, two things that would spoil an indoor swim. Every summer he would take me with the family to bible camp. I can recall the 3rd or 4th year he had this belly laugh when he said "hey they didnt charge me for you this year since you attended church with us so many times they added you to our family rate". He was happy I had attended church so many times, not that he had saved money. We prayed before meals in his house, ate everything on your plate, didnt talk back, and waited patiently on the couch until your friend was done with organ practice. We all grew up and moved away, all forming our own identities. Last I saw Mr.G I was in my late teens. One day I heard some awful news. Mr.G had been helping at a baseball game and suffered an injury when retrieving a pop fly. He was paralyzed from his fall. After I heard the news I had visited our neighborhood a handful of times, but my own sorrow for him was too much for me to knock on the door. I very much wish I had. I suppose I was leveled by the thought of him not being able to tend his own roses, or look into his microscope, go for a long hike, or catch a baseball. I think something like that could crush the spirit of any adventurous person. But, I thought, if anyone could do it it would be Mr.G. In the book "Love Does" by Goff it talks about people that "ooze Jesus" and who don't have to convert you. I cant say I ever spoke of religion in his house, it just was in the brick and mortar. It was in every tile, every rosebush, every meal, and every belly laugh. It was in every made bed, folded laundry, organized routine. It was in the peanut butter and banana sandwiches he loved. He oozed Jesus. A decade has passed since that news and I have moved across country with my own five. None of his children have a facebook or email so I did lose touch with them.... I always thought it a shame that when I drove by Villa street I didnt see the friendly gardener waving at cars going by..... Last night my mom called to tell me Mr.G died suddenly while on vacation. They think possible heart attack or brain aneurysm. Last I heard he was still paralyzed, although I had secretly hoped he just woke up one day completely healed. I am saddened that a person who would not want any pity probably lost out on catching up with a few of his extra kids due to our own lack of ability to address such an issue, our lack of maturity. I suppose I was afraid I would shed a tear and hurt his feelings.
I spent alot of time not only in their lovely house, but in their home, in the fabric of a family. Especially around the time my father was sick with cancer. I know most of my 4th-6th grade years were a blur of playdates to keep me occupied from the illness in our own home. I can recall meals from Mrs.G arriving as well, even with a little baby at home, she made time. I am saddened I am across the country on the day many will mourn his passing. I am saddened I never made the time to let him know how well I had turned out. I am certain, without a doubt, where he is at this very moment. He is gathered with his Brethren, gardening shorts on, the sun on his back, hands deep in soil. Waving and hugging those who have greeted him on the other side. John denver or NPR on the radio, and a lunch sack with PB and banana sandwiches for when he gets hungry...... There are very few things in this world I am 100% certain about, but that for sure is one of them.
May the essence of his memory wrap his family at this time, may the thought of him totally free from any form of restraint bring them joy..... May they know that his presence in my life was nothing but a positive memory......May they know he was an end to an era....
My love and wishes,
Morgan Bethell (Wehner)
The next street over on Villa another family with four kids (who are these crazy people with so many kids right), Mrs.G was a stay at home mom, and Mr.G was this magical scientist/explorer that worked from home. He had designed his house around an indoor pool, he designed his home around faith. When you walked into their home the clean glass surrounding the pool was a sight to see. Certainly these people must be super rich or vain? Quite the opposite. Some of my fondest memories were hanging out at their house with their daughter Laura who was my age. Our friends in the neighborhood would come over to swim in the middle of winter. We would swim and point out the stars and moon through the glass openings, he would point out constellations. There was always kids or an adult at their house, so I dont ever recall being turned away. Around the perimeter of their house was a full flower bed that Mr.G had planned and he tended them religiously. The man had quite the tan from all the hours playing outside with his kids and tending the rose bushes. It all sounds a bit fantasy I suppose, a bit ideal....... But it was a great neighborhood to grow up in. Mr.G was the most patient man I can recall meeting. I only can say he got frustrated with silver fish and pool covers, two things that would spoil an indoor swim. Every summer he would take me with the family to bible camp. I can recall the 3rd or 4th year he had this belly laugh when he said "hey they didnt charge me for you this year since you attended church with us so many times they added you to our family rate". He was happy I had attended church so many times, not that he had saved money. We prayed before meals in his house, ate everything on your plate, didnt talk back, and waited patiently on the couch until your friend was done with organ practice. We all grew up and moved away, all forming our own identities. Last I saw Mr.G I was in my late teens. One day I heard some awful news. Mr.G had been helping at a baseball game and suffered an injury when retrieving a pop fly. He was paralyzed from his fall. After I heard the news I had visited our neighborhood a handful of times, but my own sorrow for him was too much for me to knock on the door. I very much wish I had. I suppose I was leveled by the thought of him not being able to tend his own roses, or look into his microscope, go for a long hike, or catch a baseball. I think something like that could crush the spirit of any adventurous person. But, I thought, if anyone could do it it would be Mr.G. In the book "Love Does" by Goff it talks about people that "ooze Jesus" and who don't have to convert you. I cant say I ever spoke of religion in his house, it just was in the brick and mortar. It was in every tile, every rosebush, every meal, and every belly laugh. It was in every made bed, folded laundry, organized routine. It was in the peanut butter and banana sandwiches he loved. He oozed Jesus. A decade has passed since that news and I have moved across country with my own five. None of his children have a facebook or email so I did lose touch with them.... I always thought it a shame that when I drove by Villa street I didnt see the friendly gardener waving at cars going by..... Last night my mom called to tell me Mr.G died suddenly while on vacation. They think possible heart attack or brain aneurysm. Last I heard he was still paralyzed, although I had secretly hoped he just woke up one day completely healed. I am saddened that a person who would not want any pity probably lost out on catching up with a few of his extra kids due to our own lack of ability to address such an issue, our lack of maturity. I suppose I was afraid I would shed a tear and hurt his feelings.
I spent alot of time not only in their lovely house, but in their home, in the fabric of a family. Especially around the time my father was sick with cancer. I know most of my 4th-6th grade years were a blur of playdates to keep me occupied from the illness in our own home. I can recall meals from Mrs.G arriving as well, even with a little baby at home, she made time. I am saddened I am across the country on the day many will mourn his passing. I am saddened I never made the time to let him know how well I had turned out. I am certain, without a doubt, where he is at this very moment. He is gathered with his Brethren, gardening shorts on, the sun on his back, hands deep in soil. Waving and hugging those who have greeted him on the other side. John denver or NPR on the radio, and a lunch sack with PB and banana sandwiches for when he gets hungry...... There are very few things in this world I am 100% certain about, but that for sure is one of them.
May the essence of his memory wrap his family at this time, may the thought of him totally free from any form of restraint bring them joy..... May they know that his presence in my life was nothing but a positive memory......May they know he was an end to an era....
My love and wishes,
Morgan Bethell (Wehner)
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