My youngest child doesn't care to practice anything. She just wants to be a superstar. She wants to to be the best soccer player and get lots of goals but doesn't like to practice. She wants a ribbon for every race during swim season without putting in the practice. She thinks to be the best on the basketball team all you have to do is shoot goals uncontested at the neighbor's house up the street. She doesn't want to hear anything about strategy or hard work. She just wants to show up and be the best. She has big dreams and all the energy in the world but zero willingness to be a student of the sport.
I was thinking about that tonight as I was watching her at soccer practice. I spend A LOT of mental energy on clever ways to teach my children about life without preaching at them. Anyway... I was considering the learning continuum for humans in general. It seems to me that by the time we acquire understanding of the requirement of hard work, our dreams have faded and all that energy is a thing of the past.
I've heard that you should learn something new every day. I figure that's a fantastic way to break up all the hard work of being a student of the game called life. If you learn a little bit each day I guess one day you know all kinds of stuff and it doesn't require all the energy that was spent during youth. SO... I considered what I learned today. I learned during lunch that Cookie Ulanski (a lady I work with) is a really funny lady. I'm not sure how knowing that will help me with life. I tossed it in my mental pile called "Stuff I Know". It's something, though, right? Just last night I discovered that I know that the hockey team in Detroit is called the RedWings. That little nugget slid right out of the "Stuff I Know" pile into my mouth right when I needed it and my Hubby Guy was amazed.
In other news.... There were two dogs tied to the soccer goal at the end of the field tonight. They looked like Chihuahuas but they also looked like Daschunds. I've officially decided they were Weeniehuahuas. I think that I should be in charge of naming stuff. It's lots of fun.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
On Spending Exactly One Dollar
When I was a kid and Mother decided to brave taking me and both brothers to the store with her together, there was one thing we always hoped for. We new that IF we could manage to not argue or fight, not ask for every item we saw of interest, not get in her way, and be the perfectly behaved, wonderful little children she always dreamed of having then one of two wonderful possibilities loomed on the horizon.
Sometimes as a reward she would let us pick out a candy bar at the register. That was pretty straight forward. My older brother and Mother always chose either a Baby Ruth or a Butterfinger. They always seemed to have a taste for the same thing. My little brother always got a giant Tootsie Roll. I always got plain M&Ms. That was a perfectly wonderful reward. We never argued for more. But, there was a better reward that if we had time she would grant us.
When all of the goodness we had exhibited lined up with the blessing of extra time in the day, she would let us each choose a toy that costed no more than a dollar. I remember standing in the toy section of TG&Y like it was yesterday. It seemed massive. In those days a dollar afforded you plenty of options. My brothers and I used to agonize over what to get. I seemed to narrow my options pretty quickly. The hard part was deciding which item on my short list would be best. I would go from aisle to aisle and stand in front of the item and catalog in my head options of the entertainment the item would provide me. I always had time to do this because my brothers had a hard time establishing a short list. My Mother was back and forth between those two trying to help them decide.
This week in our parenting journey a new challenge is afoot. This particular challenge is of a serious nature. We've been presented with data about our children and their specific needs that stem from their lives pre-us. We have results of a battery of educational and emotional tests they were given. These results came with recommendations for how to proceed. We wanted answers. Now we have them. The trouble is that there are several options for what to do with the data.
I feel, in a way, a lot like that kid in the massive toy department. I'm somewhat overwhelmed with the possibilities. Unfortunately, this time I'm not deciding what choice will be more entertaining. Though, one choice could provide that in a really sick and indirect way. That is for a completely different post. This decision is about what will ultimately better benefit the children. In my head I'm going from aisle to aisle and standing in front of the choices. Oh how I wish for the choices to again be a flashlight or a new set of jacks. On this decision I don't get a do over. There won't be another week and another dollar. I have exactly one dollar and I need to make the right choice.
Sometimes as a reward she would let us pick out a candy bar at the register. That was pretty straight forward. My older brother and Mother always chose either a Baby Ruth or a Butterfinger. They always seemed to have a taste for the same thing. My little brother always got a giant Tootsie Roll. I always got plain M&Ms. That was a perfectly wonderful reward. We never argued for more. But, there was a better reward that if we had time she would grant us.
When all of the goodness we had exhibited lined up with the blessing of extra time in the day, she would let us each choose a toy that costed no more than a dollar. I remember standing in the toy section of TG&Y like it was yesterday. It seemed massive. In those days a dollar afforded you plenty of options. My brothers and I used to agonize over what to get. I seemed to narrow my options pretty quickly. The hard part was deciding which item on my short list would be best. I would go from aisle to aisle and stand in front of the item and catalog in my head options of the entertainment the item would provide me. I always had time to do this because my brothers had a hard time establishing a short list. My Mother was back and forth between those two trying to help them decide.
This week in our parenting journey a new challenge is afoot. This particular challenge is of a serious nature. We've been presented with data about our children and their specific needs that stem from their lives pre-us. We have results of a battery of educational and emotional tests they were given. These results came with recommendations for how to proceed. We wanted answers. Now we have them. The trouble is that there are several options for what to do with the data.
I feel, in a way, a lot like that kid in the massive toy department. I'm somewhat overwhelmed with the possibilities. Unfortunately, this time I'm not deciding what choice will be more entertaining. Though, one choice could provide that in a really sick and indirect way. That is for a completely different post. This decision is about what will ultimately better benefit the children. In my head I'm going from aisle to aisle and standing in front of the choices. Oh how I wish for the choices to again be a flashlight or a new set of jacks. On this decision I don't get a do over. There won't be another week and another dollar. I have exactly one dollar and I need to make the right choice.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
On Growing Fur and Big Teeth
Ok... I know... I've been blowin' up the interwebz with posts about my family life. If you can't stomach another one look away. You've been forewarned.
In my experience "Mama Bear" seems to come out much easier or more naturally for Mothers who birthed their children. I am protective of my children but often not overly so.
Well, today it finally happened. I was reading a results of psychological testing report we received today about the girls. I read a line in it and thought "OH NO YOU DI' IN'!!!!" It made me super mad. What they said is dead wrong.
I'm certain that far too often I think surely someone out there could know my children better than I do and hook me up with some good insight. I think I'm coming to the realization that it's not going to happen. (Hubby Guy and) I know my children better than anyone. Psychobabblists may have some opinions and could perhaps be helpful but they don't know them better than we do. That realization feels very warm and fuzzy to me.....like a Baby Bear. Perhaps that Mama Bear is growing in me.
In my experience "Mama Bear" seems to come out much easier or more naturally for Mothers who birthed their children. I am protective of my children but often not overly so.
Well, today it finally happened. I was reading a results of psychological testing report we received today about the girls. I read a line in it and thought "OH NO YOU DI' IN'!!!!" It made me super mad. What they said is dead wrong.
I'm certain that far too often I think surely someone out there could know my children better than I do and hook me up with some good insight. I think I'm coming to the realization that it's not going to happen. (Hubby Guy and) I know my children better than anyone. Psychobabblists may have some opinions and could perhaps be helpful but they don't know them better than we do. That realization feels very warm and fuzzy to me.....like a Baby Bear. Perhaps that Mama Bear is growing in me.
Friday, April 26, 2013
On Playing Pick Up Sticks
In a recent post I said "At times I feel quite helpless when I try to line up the life I live with the ideals in my head about what life is supposed to look like." I was thinking more about that today. I think one thing that prevents me from lining up life with the ideals in my head is that I have conflicting ideals. There are multiple ideologies at war within me.
My brain says we are a family of 4. The girls are ours and ours alone. Their biological family has no rights. Hubby Guy and I set the example that we expect them to follow. The only history that matters began 2/29/08. We are an island. We have what we need and then some. Life is good.
My heart says that we are a family of 4 but have a very multifaceted family. The girls are ours but there are people out there who share history and genetics with them. They love all of the people that have been and continue to be a part of their lives. Hubby Guy and I nurture them but give them a measure of freedom to maintain relationships with biological family. That is important to them. We are a peninsula. We have what we need and them some. Life is strange but we do what we can.
Psychology says that it's healthy to maintain relationships with persons from their biological family. It also says that the most important bond to nurture is our family of 4. That's all that really matters. Hubby Guy and I are responsible for guiding them through the peaks and valleys that are part and parcel to their traumatic early years. History is "worked on" and future health is the focus. We are a tree fort. We have what we need and then some. Life is a calculated gamble and we hope for the best.
My friends and family say we are heroes and the girls are lucky to have us. They have no sense of our family. They don't understand what life is like for us. They mean well. They can't really offer much help. Hubby Guy and I just shake our heads and smile. We are a sitcom. We have what we need and then some. Life is prime time and we play the part.
My God says:
"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28
A man's heart plans his way, but the LORD determines his steps. Proverbs 16:9
For I know the plans I have for you"--this is the LORD's declaration--"plans for your welfare, not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11
If anyone speaks, it should be as one who speaks God's words; if anyone serves, it should be from the strength God provides, so that God may be glorified through Jesus Christ in everything. To Him belong the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen. I Peter 4:11
My brain says we are a family of 4. The girls are ours and ours alone. Their biological family has no rights. Hubby Guy and I set the example that we expect them to follow. The only history that matters began 2/29/08. We are an island. We have what we need and then some. Life is good.
My heart says that we are a family of 4 but have a very multifaceted family. The girls are ours but there are people out there who share history and genetics with them. They love all of the people that have been and continue to be a part of their lives. Hubby Guy and I nurture them but give them a measure of freedom to maintain relationships with biological family. That is important to them. We are a peninsula. We have what we need and them some. Life is strange but we do what we can.
Psychology says that it's healthy to maintain relationships with persons from their biological family. It also says that the most important bond to nurture is our family of 4. That's all that really matters. Hubby Guy and I are responsible for guiding them through the peaks and valleys that are part and parcel to their traumatic early years. History is "worked on" and future health is the focus. We are a tree fort. We have what we need and then some. Life is a calculated gamble and we hope for the best.
My friends and family say we are heroes and the girls are lucky to have us. They have no sense of our family. They don't understand what life is like for us. They mean well. They can't really offer much help. Hubby Guy and I just shake our heads and smile. We are a sitcom. We have what we need and then some. Life is prime time and we play the part.
My God says:
"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28
A man's heart plans his way, but the LORD determines his steps. Proverbs 16:9
For I know the plans I have for you"--this is the LORD's declaration--"plans for your welfare, not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11
If anyone speaks, it should be as one who speaks God's words; if anyone serves, it should be from the strength God provides, so that God may be glorified through Jesus Christ in everything. To Him belong the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen. I Peter 4:11
We may be a household of 4 but we are His. He gave us the instructions to work from. He is our strength. The girls are His, not ours. He loves us and He loves their biological family. He cares about every little detail of our lives. Hubby Guy and I are to remain faithful. We are a royal priesthood (I Peter 2:9). God will meet all of our needs. (Philippians 4:19) . Life is for His glory.
I would say that often I feel like I juggle all of these ideologies. That, however, isn't true. Unfortunately, each notion carries weight. Some are far weightier than they should be. More often that not, I feel like they've fallen heavy around me like a pile of life sized Pick Up Sticks. To move one is likely to upset the others. It's what I do though. I wrestle with life sized heaviness that comes and goes and is driven by circumstance.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
By Request... Places I've Lived
For as long as I can remember I've wanted to live in Virginia. Several times as a child we vacationed at the home of family friends in Southwest Virginia. I remember climbing out of the car and taking a deep breath of sweet, earthy air. That very specific aroma permanently implanted itself into my memory banks and launched a lifelong quest to make Virginia my home state.
The first 22 years of my life were spent in Mississippi. My first memories are from a house in South Jackson on Belvedere Dr. The thing I remember most about that house was that my room was just off the kitchen. It had a door on each end, one to the kitchen and one to the back hallway. I'm told that when I was a toddler I'd get loose and wander the house in the mornings before anyone else was up. My parents had to put hooks on the outside of the doors to lock me in until they woke up. I also remember that my father brought home a sassafras root. For whatever reason he left it on the back porch. I used to sit out there and sniff it because it smelled like really yummy root beer.
We moved to a second house in South Jackson on Spryfield Rd. when I was 5. I have many, many memories there. The houses on my street were backed up to houses on the street behind us. Between the 2 streets there was an entire community of kids my brothers and I hung out with. We had a building in our backyard. We used it as the neighborhood clubhouse. I have memories all over that house, the clubhouse, the yard and the neighborhood. I lived there until my sophomore year of college when I moved to Hattiesburg. My family owned that house for another 6 years or so, until well after even my parents moved out. My brothers lived there as roommates until the neighborhood got so bad they decided to get out.
Moving out of my parent's home began a span of 10 years of hopping around common to a person in thier 20s. When I moved to Hattiesburg, I lived in a dorm at the University of Southern Mississippi for my entire sophomore year. Dorm life was definitely not for me. My junior year began in my first apartment. I lived with 2 WEIRD cousins. That lasted only a semester. I then moved 2 blocks away to another apartment complex with a friend of mine from school. I lived in that apartment when school was in session until I graduated.
My summers during college are where my world opened up and ultimately paved the way to me ending up in Virginia just like I'd always dreamed. The summers after my freshman and sophomore years in college I was a camp counselor at a camp in South Virgina (The Master's Inn Christian Conference Center). Even all these years later I maintain that those two summers MADE my life. I had a blast. I lived in a teepee for 6 months of my life. There was no air conditioner. What it lacked in amenities it definitely made up in lifelong friendships and memories.
The summer after my junior year life changed again. I returned to Virginia. This time I lived with a family out in "the boonies". That summer was special too but for different reasons. That is a whole different post.
After I graduated from college I spent a summer working for another camp (Crosspoint) on a team that traveled all over the south central region of the US. That was fun but nowhere near as fun as the other camp. At the end of the summer I spent 2 weeks at my parent's house before deciding to move to Florida. I followed a boy to Jacksonville. It was a really bad idea. I didn't know that at the time. I spent a week or two at a friend's house, a month at a friend of a friend's house and then another couple of weeks in a garage apartment. By then the relationship was over and I moved in with my aunt in Ormond Beach, FL. I lived with her for 6 months.
After 6 months with my aunt I found a cool roommate from church and we got an apartment in Daytona Beach together. We lived in that apartment for 2 years. After that her parents bought a townhouse in Daytona Beach and we moved there. I lived with her there for another 5 years before I became weary of the situation. At that point I decided to get a place of my own. Coincidentally, my mother was ready for a change herself. She had been in Wyoming for several years. She decided that she'd move to FL and we'd be roommates. I found us a townhouse in Port Orange. That actually worked out pretty good.
We lived in the Port Orange place for a little over 2 years. During that time I decided I'd buy my own house. I had waited around forever because I never felt settled. I didn't know if I'd stay in Florida. I didn't know if I'd find a guy, etc. The entire time I was in FL I had the same job working at a local hospital. I decided it was ridiculous to rent forever. That was just money down the drain. So.... I found a townhouse in Ormond Beach, about 2 miles from work, and bought it. It was the first residence I actually owned. The funny part about that is during the process of buying the place I met a guy. That guy lived in Virginia. I lived in my townhouse for only 6 months before I moved to Virginia to marry my husband. My poor mother had to go live with her sister because she couldn't afford to pay the mortgage. That worked out well though because I sold that house after being listed for about 4 hours and a made a pile of money on the deal because of the work I had put into the house. The was just before the housing market crashed. Go me!
Because I have very traditional beliefs regarding cohabitation and was unwilling to do so, my future husband and his buddy worked to finish the basement of said buddy's home. The basement was completed and I moved from FL to Harrisonburg,VA. I lived in the basement for only about 3 months before future Hubby Guy decided it was entirely too cold for me down there and he switched with me. I moved into his house and he moved into the basement until after we were married. We came back from our honeymoon and were finally all in one residence.
It turns out that the house we first lived in was the first residence he had ever owned too. We lived there until our family suddenly doubled. Almost three years ago we moved into the castle where we live now. It's the biggest, nicest place I've lived in my whole life.
Yay! There you have it... places I've lived.
The first 22 years of my life were spent in Mississippi. My first memories are from a house in South Jackson on Belvedere Dr. The thing I remember most about that house was that my room was just off the kitchen. It had a door on each end, one to the kitchen and one to the back hallway. I'm told that when I was a toddler I'd get loose and wander the house in the mornings before anyone else was up. My parents had to put hooks on the outside of the doors to lock me in until they woke up. I also remember that my father brought home a sassafras root. For whatever reason he left it on the back porch. I used to sit out there and sniff it because it smelled like really yummy root beer.
We moved to a second house in South Jackson on Spryfield Rd. when I was 5. I have many, many memories there. The houses on my street were backed up to houses on the street behind us. Between the 2 streets there was an entire community of kids my brothers and I hung out with. We had a building in our backyard. We used it as the neighborhood clubhouse. I have memories all over that house, the clubhouse, the yard and the neighborhood. I lived there until my sophomore year of college when I moved to Hattiesburg. My family owned that house for another 6 years or so, until well after even my parents moved out. My brothers lived there as roommates until the neighborhood got so bad they decided to get out.
Moving out of my parent's home began a span of 10 years of hopping around common to a person in thier 20s. When I moved to Hattiesburg, I lived in a dorm at the University of Southern Mississippi for my entire sophomore year. Dorm life was definitely not for me. My junior year began in my first apartment. I lived with 2 WEIRD cousins. That lasted only a semester. I then moved 2 blocks away to another apartment complex with a friend of mine from school. I lived in that apartment when school was in session until I graduated.
My summers during college are where my world opened up and ultimately paved the way to me ending up in Virginia just like I'd always dreamed. The summers after my freshman and sophomore years in college I was a camp counselor at a camp in South Virgina (The Master's Inn Christian Conference Center). Even all these years later I maintain that those two summers MADE my life. I had a blast. I lived in a teepee for 6 months of my life. There was no air conditioner. What it lacked in amenities it definitely made up in lifelong friendships and memories.
The summer after my junior year life changed again. I returned to Virginia. This time I lived with a family out in "the boonies". That summer was special too but for different reasons. That is a whole different post.
After I graduated from college I spent a summer working for another camp (Crosspoint) on a team that traveled all over the south central region of the US. That was fun but nowhere near as fun as the other camp. At the end of the summer I spent 2 weeks at my parent's house before deciding to move to Florida. I followed a boy to Jacksonville. It was a really bad idea. I didn't know that at the time. I spent a week or two at a friend's house, a month at a friend of a friend's house and then another couple of weeks in a garage apartment. By then the relationship was over and I moved in with my aunt in Ormond Beach, FL. I lived with her for 6 months.
After 6 months with my aunt I found a cool roommate from church and we got an apartment in Daytona Beach together. We lived in that apartment for 2 years. After that her parents bought a townhouse in Daytona Beach and we moved there. I lived with her there for another 5 years before I became weary of the situation. At that point I decided to get a place of my own. Coincidentally, my mother was ready for a change herself. She had been in Wyoming for several years. She decided that she'd move to FL and we'd be roommates. I found us a townhouse in Port Orange. That actually worked out pretty good.
We lived in the Port Orange place for a little over 2 years. During that time I decided I'd buy my own house. I had waited around forever because I never felt settled. I didn't know if I'd stay in Florida. I didn't know if I'd find a guy, etc. The entire time I was in FL I had the same job working at a local hospital. I decided it was ridiculous to rent forever. That was just money down the drain. So.... I found a townhouse in Ormond Beach, about 2 miles from work, and bought it. It was the first residence I actually owned. The funny part about that is during the process of buying the place I met a guy. That guy lived in Virginia. I lived in my townhouse for only 6 months before I moved to Virginia to marry my husband. My poor mother had to go live with her sister because she couldn't afford to pay the mortgage. That worked out well though because I sold that house after being listed for about 4 hours and a made a pile of money on the deal because of the work I had put into the house. The was just before the housing market crashed. Go me!
Because I have very traditional beliefs regarding cohabitation and was unwilling to do so, my future husband and his buddy worked to finish the basement of said buddy's home. The basement was completed and I moved from FL to Harrisonburg,VA. I lived in the basement for only about 3 months before future Hubby Guy decided it was entirely too cold for me down there and he switched with me. I moved into his house and he moved into the basement until after we were married. We came back from our honeymoon and were finally all in one residence.
It turns out that the house we first lived in was the first residence he had ever owned too. We lived there until our family suddenly doubled. Almost three years ago we moved into the castle where we live now. It's the biggest, nicest place I've lived in my whole life.
Yay! There you have it... places I've lived.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Really Long Post On Our Mutant Family Tree
Our world is broken. Things went wrong in the garden and everything since has been broken. At times I feel quite helpless when I try to line up the life I live with the ideals in my head about what life is supposed to look like. To try and reconcile myself to the condition of humanity, I spend a good deal of mental energy considering the worldviews of others. Sometimes it helps. Other times, however, it leaves me profoundly sad.
Yesterday the girls and I spent several hours over at their biological aunt's house. We were hunting for pictures of the kids' pre-Lewis days. We looked through thousands of pictures. As I poured through boxes and boxes of the very well documented life of that family, I became sadder and sadder. The weight of the loss that family must have felt, and are likely still feeling, that those 5 kids were taken just fell hard on me. What completely captured me were the pictures taken in the months leading up to when the kids were taken. It was like watching a horror movie frame by frame. Particularly unsettling were the pictures from their aunt's wedding. The wedding was almost exactly 5 months before the kids were taken. It was a beautiful wedding. The bride and groom were happy. Her colors were really pretty. The kids were all in the wedding and they were perfection. The girls had beautiful dresses and their hair done. I saw pictures of them dancing and enjoying themselves. But.. in the hundreds of pictures (literally) of the event, in every frame that contained their biological mother, it is blatantly obvious that she was completely high. She's pale and drawn and all but drooling. She had a vacant, glassy gaze and was clearly there in body only. I found myself wanting, much like the way you shout at characters in a scary movie, to warn the the kids of what was coming. I wanted to warn them that very shortly life was going to do a 180 and would never be the same again.
Toward the beginning of our time with the girls, their biological parents told them during a visit that we had kidnapped them. They set them up to despise use. They told them that they had to stay with us until they were 18 but then they could "come home". That statement isn't true. They are card carrying Lewises forever. And..As time rolls on, their allegiance will dampen. It has a great deal already. But, I'm realizing more with the passing of time that that particular chapter of our story left me very hurt. I feel like it permanently planted a seed of doubt in my heart. I often question their love for me. I hold suspect any act of kindness from them. I realize that's a pretty big broken place for me that I need to work on. Unfortunately, it's nearly impossible to escape because we've chosen to involve their biological family in their lives.
The life the girls led pre-Lewis was a 24/7 party. There were no rules. There was no bedtime. They didn't require hygiene of any kind. School was a drop in one or twice a week event.There was no consistency... at all... ever. That is what they learned from their formative years. Life is a party. Responsibility of any person is completely unnecessary. Alcohol is perfectly fine. Drugs and any other things considered unhealthy and dangerous are fun. My oldest clings to those notions with every fiber of her being. It scares me and paralyzes me.
The minute they get around any person(s) from their biological family their demeanor changes. I can see their training from their formative years.I'm sure there's some psychological reasoning that explains that phenomenon. It's not like they turn into the little hellians they were before, but their attitude shifts into "party" mode. And... in their eyes I see love and acceptance for their biological relatives that I never see when they look at me. In one piece of my brain I get that. They've known them longer. The oldest one has anyway. Hubby Guy and I have been the little one's family longer than the biologicals were. She still acts like the older one at times. But, in another place in my brain I feel so disrespected. None of their biological family (who was appropriate) stepped up to take them in when they were taken. The children still feel, though, that our only function should be to take them to see biological family members who are all (to some degree) 24/7 party types. Their identity is with them, not us. Try as I may, that hurts. It pokes at a very sensitive place.
So in my consideration of worldviews there are three separate but intertwined people groups that I spend the most time considering. The first group is the children themselves. I can't imagine being torn from my family, broken or not. I can imagine how that would cause some pretty serious trust issues with adults. I can imagine having a draw to biological relatives. I believe with all my heart that's the biggest reason people adopt infants and children from other countries. The children may still have the draw to their origins but those people don't have to deal with biological family. What they put out in expense they get back emotionally over and over again by not having to deal with the issues we face daily having adopting older children locally. As much as I try to see the world from my children's point of view, it's hard not to be hurt by how much they pine for their roots.
The second group of people I spend time considering is the girls' bio family. We have ongoing relationships with their biological maternal aunt and her family and their biological paternal grandmother. So, they are in pretty regular contact with representatives from both sides of their family. For the most part we like all of them. The troublesome part for me is that they are not Christ followers. They are good people but just don't live the way we do. They don't believe what we believe. Some of them are even outwardly nasty towards anyone claiming to be a Christian or who is trying to live by Biblical imperatives. That part is truly for a different post. It's hard, though. They were upset by the children being taken. They still claim them as their own, yet strangers are parenting them. It's been a little more then 5 years and I feel likes there's still a gorilla in the room when we're all together. I hear them say they are grateful. I see how sweet and loving they are with the kids. I think of my precious niece and how I would feel if she were taken by DSS. If I couldn't take her for some reason and she was placed with some family I don't know who believes differently than me, I would completely flip out. I wouldn't handle that well. The gorilla's name is suspicion. He is a cruel, cruel animal and he works equally on all of us.
The third group to mention in the families of Hubby Guy and myself. Honestly of all the groups they surprise me the most. They are all far away so even though they support us, it often doesn't feel like they are even out there. They aren't the type of family that is involved much. They hardly know us. I would love to be near some of them and see them regularly. I would love for them to be able to support us in real time and be able to invest time in our girl's lives. It hasn't happened that way for us. Hubby Guy and I went from zero to 2 children, 5 and 9, overnight. There was no building excitement like with a traditional adoption or like with an infant. I feel like it left them cold. It's been more then 5 years and my own father hasn't even bothered to meet his grandchildren. He's never even spoken to them on the telephone. That makes me livid every time I think about it. That is probably a post for another time as well. I just can't get a handle on how they see our family. I can tell you with certainty that if my brother decided to adopt a kid, no matter what age, I would be there with bells on to love on that kid.
When I consider the family tree of my children, more often than not I picture a very grotesque bush. The biological roots are extremely shallow. The trunk of Hubby Guy and myself is in decent shape but the quality of the branches leaves much to be desired. They are often broken, weak, or suspect. No matter how I draw it, I can't get the sum of the parts to equal anything particularly strong and sturdy. They have a mutant family tree.
The only hope I have is that God will take that grotesque bush and transform it. I absolutely believe that He will. The hard part, though, is the process needs a lot more years.
Yesterday the girls and I spent several hours over at their biological aunt's house. We were hunting for pictures of the kids' pre-Lewis days. We looked through thousands of pictures. As I poured through boxes and boxes of the very well documented life of that family, I became sadder and sadder. The weight of the loss that family must have felt, and are likely still feeling, that those 5 kids were taken just fell hard on me. What completely captured me were the pictures taken in the months leading up to when the kids were taken. It was like watching a horror movie frame by frame. Particularly unsettling were the pictures from their aunt's wedding. The wedding was almost exactly 5 months before the kids were taken. It was a beautiful wedding. The bride and groom were happy. Her colors were really pretty. The kids were all in the wedding and they were perfection. The girls had beautiful dresses and their hair done. I saw pictures of them dancing and enjoying themselves. But.. in the hundreds of pictures (literally) of the event, in every frame that contained their biological mother, it is blatantly obvious that she was completely high. She's pale and drawn and all but drooling. She had a vacant, glassy gaze and was clearly there in body only. I found myself wanting, much like the way you shout at characters in a scary movie, to warn the the kids of what was coming. I wanted to warn them that very shortly life was going to do a 180 and would never be the same again.
Toward the beginning of our time with the girls, their biological parents told them during a visit that we had kidnapped them. They set them up to despise use. They told them that they had to stay with us until they were 18 but then they could "come home". That statement isn't true. They are card carrying Lewises forever. And..As time rolls on, their allegiance will dampen. It has a great deal already. But, I'm realizing more with the passing of time that that particular chapter of our story left me very hurt. I feel like it permanently planted a seed of doubt in my heart. I often question their love for me. I hold suspect any act of kindness from them. I realize that's a pretty big broken place for me that I need to work on. Unfortunately, it's nearly impossible to escape because we've chosen to involve their biological family in their lives.
The life the girls led pre-Lewis was a 24/7 party. There were no rules. There was no bedtime. They didn't require hygiene of any kind. School was a drop in one or twice a week event.There was no consistency... at all... ever. That is what they learned from their formative years. Life is a party. Responsibility of any person is completely unnecessary. Alcohol is perfectly fine. Drugs and any other things considered unhealthy and dangerous are fun. My oldest clings to those notions with every fiber of her being. It scares me and paralyzes me.
The minute they get around any person(s) from their biological family their demeanor changes. I can see their training from their formative years.I'm sure there's some psychological reasoning that explains that phenomenon. It's not like they turn into the little hellians they were before, but their attitude shifts into "party" mode. And... in their eyes I see love and acceptance for their biological relatives that I never see when they look at me. In one piece of my brain I get that. They've known them longer. The oldest one has anyway. Hubby Guy and I have been the little one's family longer than the biologicals were. She still acts like the older one at times. But, in another place in my brain I feel so disrespected. None of their biological family (who was appropriate) stepped up to take them in when they were taken. The children still feel, though, that our only function should be to take them to see biological family members who are all (to some degree) 24/7 party types. Their identity is with them, not us. Try as I may, that hurts. It pokes at a very sensitive place.
So in my consideration of worldviews there are three separate but intertwined people groups that I spend the most time considering. The first group is the children themselves. I can't imagine being torn from my family, broken or not. I can imagine how that would cause some pretty serious trust issues with adults. I can imagine having a draw to biological relatives. I believe with all my heart that's the biggest reason people adopt infants and children from other countries. The children may still have the draw to their origins but those people don't have to deal with biological family. What they put out in expense they get back emotionally over and over again by not having to deal with the issues we face daily having adopting older children locally. As much as I try to see the world from my children's point of view, it's hard not to be hurt by how much they pine for their roots.
The second group of people I spend time considering is the girls' bio family. We have ongoing relationships with their biological maternal aunt and her family and their biological paternal grandmother. So, they are in pretty regular contact with representatives from both sides of their family. For the most part we like all of them. The troublesome part for me is that they are not Christ followers. They are good people but just don't live the way we do. They don't believe what we believe. Some of them are even outwardly nasty towards anyone claiming to be a Christian or who is trying to live by Biblical imperatives. That part is truly for a different post. It's hard, though. They were upset by the children being taken. They still claim them as their own, yet strangers are parenting them. It's been a little more then 5 years and I feel likes there's still a gorilla in the room when we're all together. I hear them say they are grateful. I see how sweet and loving they are with the kids. I think of my precious niece and how I would feel if she were taken by DSS. If I couldn't take her for some reason and she was placed with some family I don't know who believes differently than me, I would completely flip out. I wouldn't handle that well. The gorilla's name is suspicion. He is a cruel, cruel animal and he works equally on all of us.
The third group to mention in the families of Hubby Guy and myself. Honestly of all the groups they surprise me the most. They are all far away so even though they support us, it often doesn't feel like they are even out there. They aren't the type of family that is involved much. They hardly know us. I would love to be near some of them and see them regularly. I would love for them to be able to support us in real time and be able to invest time in our girl's lives. It hasn't happened that way for us. Hubby Guy and I went from zero to 2 children, 5 and 9, overnight. There was no building excitement like with a traditional adoption or like with an infant. I feel like it left them cold. It's been more then 5 years and my own father hasn't even bothered to meet his grandchildren. He's never even spoken to them on the telephone. That makes me livid every time I think about it. That is probably a post for another time as well. I just can't get a handle on how they see our family. I can tell you with certainty that if my brother decided to adopt a kid, no matter what age, I would be there with bells on to love on that kid.
When I consider the family tree of my children, more often than not I picture a very grotesque bush. The biological roots are extremely shallow. The trunk of Hubby Guy and myself is in decent shape but the quality of the branches leaves much to be desired. They are often broken, weak, or suspect. No matter how I draw it, I can't get the sum of the parts to equal anything particularly strong and sturdy. They have a mutant family tree.
The only hope I have is that God will take that grotesque bush and transform it. I absolutely believe that He will. The hard part, though, is the process needs a lot more years.
Friday, April 19, 2013
On Inheriting Silliness and Certain Instant Death
Weird is a word often used by my children and husband to describe me. I'm OK with that for more than one reason. I can think of many other things that are true that I'd rather not be called out for. I'm sure, too, that others outside of my family wouldn't hesitate to admit I'm weird. I embrace the moniker and wear it as a badge of honor. Just this week my youngest commented on how weird I am. That touched off a conversation about my closest friends and how they too are weird like myself. I love it!
Of one thing I am very certain.... I am definitely a solid representative of my Mother's bloodline. I've thought for the majority of my adult life that I inherited my silliness straight from my grandfather. I have such fond memories of my grandfather talking the craziness that I often hear coming out of my own mouth. My grandfather's easy chair to my young eyes was the pseudo command post of my grandparent's home. My grandfather sat there and talked craziness and acted like he was in charge. For the most part I saw him as a big kid in a grandpa suit. The truth I can see now is that my grandmother was both the brains and the muscle of the operation. As a child I didn't care so much who was actually in charge. I just appreciated the silly times. I can still see and hear in my mind the trip my grandfather would make multiple times per day from his easy chair to the bathroom. My grandparent's house was really small. It only took about 20 steps to get from his chair to the bathroom. He was a WWII veteran. He always rose from his chair pretty slowly. After he got done sputtering and groaning to get up he would generally launch into some kind of crazy talk. The one I remember the most is a line of a song he would sing. He would belt out "I was riding in the snow, in my Chevrolet" to the tune of Jingle Bells. That's the only line he'd ever sing. He also had a song about John Brown's mule, complete with authentic donkey noises. I don't remember the words, only the donkey noises. Ask me sometime and I'll demonstrate :)
For the last years of her life my grandfather's mother lived with my grandparents. We called her Mama Hodgins. We spent lots of time with her. I have very, very fond memories of her. She was the sweetest little old lady. I don't feel like I ever knew her really well as she died when I was 12. I do, however, remember specific things about her that make me think perhaps she was silly too. I think immediately about a picture of her with my brother and I. We were really little and apparently had gotten loose in the house "naked as jaybirds". Somehow we ended up standing in her lap. In the picture she has her hands strategically placed across us so that our "specials" were covered. I haven't seen that picture in a long time but I'm pretty sure she's giggling in the picture. I remember too that she had lots of odd notions. That is part of what my family sees that has brought them to label me as weird. One famous notion she had was that peppermint will cure you of most anything. Because my grandparent's house was small and there were often lots of us in it, sometimes one or more of us would have to sleep with Mama Hodgins. I remember lots of nights being awakened by her and made to suck on a peppermint. We weren't allowed to bite it or chew it. We had to stay awake until it had completely melted. I think I recall her doing that if we would cough in the night. I had terrible allergies and coughed a lot at night. I always thought that was the weirdest thing for a person to do to a kid. The only good part about it was that we got to eat candy in the night. I just wished she didn't have to wake me up. There were some nights that I asked for a peppermint as we were going to bed so I wouldn't cough later. She often fell for it.
I have so many stories of odd family members. The one story that that I believe is the capstone of our family weirdness concerns a family myth perpetuated by Mama Hodgins. I don't know anything about the origin of the story. I just know that it was taken very seriously in my family. According to Mama Hodgins, a person should NEVER, EVER have fish (of any kind) and ice cream at the same meal. I have fuzzy memories of that being extended to not having fish and ice cream in the same day. I have shared that story with lots of people in my lifetime. They all laugh. The truth is... I can't bring myself to try it. According to the family myth, a person who eats fish and ice cream in the same meal dies. That may very well be why I don't eat much fish. If I've gotta choose one or the other, I choose ice cream. Strangely enough, every time I have fish, I crave ice cream. That's likely because it's strictly forbidden.
So, I come by my weirdness honestly. It's a large part of what makes me myself.
Of one thing I am very certain.... I am definitely a solid representative of my Mother's bloodline. I've thought for the majority of my adult life that I inherited my silliness straight from my grandfather. I have such fond memories of my grandfather talking the craziness that I often hear coming out of my own mouth. My grandfather's easy chair to my young eyes was the pseudo command post of my grandparent's home. My grandfather sat there and talked craziness and acted like he was in charge. For the most part I saw him as a big kid in a grandpa suit. The truth I can see now is that my grandmother was both the brains and the muscle of the operation. As a child I didn't care so much who was actually in charge. I just appreciated the silly times. I can still see and hear in my mind the trip my grandfather would make multiple times per day from his easy chair to the bathroom. My grandparent's house was really small. It only took about 20 steps to get from his chair to the bathroom. He was a WWII veteran. He always rose from his chair pretty slowly. After he got done sputtering and groaning to get up he would generally launch into some kind of crazy talk. The one I remember the most is a line of a song he would sing. He would belt out "I was riding in the snow, in my Chevrolet" to the tune of Jingle Bells. That's the only line he'd ever sing. He also had a song about John Brown's mule, complete with authentic donkey noises. I don't remember the words, only the donkey noises. Ask me sometime and I'll demonstrate :)
For the last years of her life my grandfather's mother lived with my grandparents. We called her Mama Hodgins. We spent lots of time with her. I have very, very fond memories of her. She was the sweetest little old lady. I don't feel like I ever knew her really well as she died when I was 12. I do, however, remember specific things about her that make me think perhaps she was silly too. I think immediately about a picture of her with my brother and I. We were really little and apparently had gotten loose in the house "naked as jaybirds". Somehow we ended up standing in her lap. In the picture she has her hands strategically placed across us so that our "specials" were covered. I haven't seen that picture in a long time but I'm pretty sure she's giggling in the picture. I remember too that she had lots of odd notions. That is part of what my family sees that has brought them to label me as weird. One famous notion she had was that peppermint will cure you of most anything. Because my grandparent's house was small and there were often lots of us in it, sometimes one or more of us would have to sleep with Mama Hodgins. I remember lots of nights being awakened by her and made to suck on a peppermint. We weren't allowed to bite it or chew it. We had to stay awake until it had completely melted. I think I recall her doing that if we would cough in the night. I had terrible allergies and coughed a lot at night. I always thought that was the weirdest thing for a person to do to a kid. The only good part about it was that we got to eat candy in the night. I just wished she didn't have to wake me up. There were some nights that I asked for a peppermint as we were going to bed so I wouldn't cough later. She often fell for it.
I have so many stories of odd family members. The one story that that I believe is the capstone of our family weirdness concerns a family myth perpetuated by Mama Hodgins. I don't know anything about the origin of the story. I just know that it was taken very seriously in my family. According to Mama Hodgins, a person should NEVER, EVER have fish (of any kind) and ice cream at the same meal. I have fuzzy memories of that being extended to not having fish and ice cream in the same day. I have shared that story with lots of people in my lifetime. They all laugh. The truth is... I can't bring myself to try it. According to the family myth, a person who eats fish and ice cream in the same meal dies. That may very well be why I don't eat much fish. If I've gotta choose one or the other, I choose ice cream. Strangely enough, every time I have fish, I crave ice cream. That's likely because it's strictly forbidden.
So, I come by my weirdness honestly. It's a large part of what makes me myself.
Friday, April 12, 2013
On Growing Responsible Adults
How to grow a responsible adult:
1) Obtain child
2) Teach him/her stuff
3) Provide opportunity
4) BE DISAPPOINTED!!!
5) Realize you've done what you can
6) Patiently endure the years
7) Hope for the best
It's very hard sometimes not to feel like a complete and utter failure as a parent. I spent some time today considering my expectations for my children and do not believe that I am an unrealistic parent.
I want the very best for my children. I tell them this all the time. Hubby Guy and I are forever trying to teach them how to be successful. BUT... It seems all that good wisdom stuff goes in one ear and out the other.
When I was 10 and 14 I remember feeling like I knew everything. I also know that I got in trouble for decisions I made that made no sense to my parents. With all these many years of perspective I'm able to see that more times than they would like to hear about I was right and they were wrong. I did plenty of stuff that made my parents scratch their heads and I turned out great. Even knowing that, I have a hard time extending grace to my own children when they stand by their decisions.
My inner control freak has a terrible time with the notion that things I tell my children go seemingly ignored. I consider myself a pretty patient individual. This parenting stuff, however, is brutal. I want to be able to tell right now that they are gonna turn out ok. I want to know right now that they'll be able to hold a job. I want to know that they will have some integrity and strength of character. I want to know that they will live according to the Bible. And.... I can't know any of those things right now. And they show few signs of any of that coming to fruition.
In the meantime, we continue to scroll messages through their stubborn little ears. Hopefully, some of the messages are imprinting on their memory banks. Also, I'm trying to learn to dial back freakazoid uber mom who preaches first and asks questions second. I'm trying to remember that they are people too. They have brains of their own and they should be allowed enough rope to work with. And sometimes... I'm very chincy with the rope.
1) Obtain child
2) Teach him/her stuff
3) Provide opportunity
4) BE DISAPPOINTED!!!
5) Realize you've done what you can
6) Patiently endure the years
7) Hope for the best
It's very hard sometimes not to feel like a complete and utter failure as a parent. I spent some time today considering my expectations for my children and do not believe that I am an unrealistic parent.
I want the very best for my children. I tell them this all the time. Hubby Guy and I are forever trying to teach them how to be successful. BUT... It seems all that good wisdom stuff goes in one ear and out the other.
When I was 10 and 14 I remember feeling like I knew everything. I also know that I got in trouble for decisions I made that made no sense to my parents. With all these many years of perspective I'm able to see that more times than they would like to hear about I was right and they were wrong. I did plenty of stuff that made my parents scratch their heads and I turned out great. Even knowing that, I have a hard time extending grace to my own children when they stand by their decisions.
My inner control freak has a terrible time with the notion that things I tell my children go seemingly ignored. I consider myself a pretty patient individual. This parenting stuff, however, is brutal. I want to be able to tell right now that they are gonna turn out ok. I want to know right now that they'll be able to hold a job. I want to know that they will have some integrity and strength of character. I want to know that they will live according to the Bible. And.... I can't know any of those things right now. And they show few signs of any of that coming to fruition.
In the meantime, we continue to scroll messages through their stubborn little ears. Hopefully, some of the messages are imprinting on their memory banks. Also, I'm trying to learn to dial back freakazoid uber mom who preaches first and asks questions second. I'm trying to remember that they are people too. They have brains of their own and they should be allowed enough rope to work with. And sometimes... I'm very chincy with the rope.
On Topical Solutions
Pinterest is SO BORING!!! Merciful heavens..... I really have no use for it. However, I've determined that I could lose myself for a wholly unnatural amount of time in the Blogiverse. I find the ramblings of others endlessly entertaining.
I'm troubled, though. I often scratch my head in wonderment about what spurs people to talk about some of the stuff I've read on various blogs. I guess I just don't consider myself witty enough to share with any success about the mundane stuff that I do from day to day.
So... I'm doin' an experiment. Give me a topic. I'll write something about it.
I'm troubled, though. I often scratch my head in wonderment about what spurs people to talk about some of the stuff I've read on various blogs. I guess I just don't consider myself witty enough to share with any success about the mundane stuff that I do from day to day.
So... I'm doin' an experiment. Give me a topic. I'll write something about it.
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