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Sunday, May 23, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
The why (sic) you do the things you do...
It's interesting - this blogging thing. It's this amazing nowhere that helps connect me with people everywhere. People I love. Even people I have never heard of. I have followers on my blog! I can't believe it. I don't know how they even found me. I have to say though, that I'm grateful for them. I don't know what my little life can do for their lives, but I hope that I uplift them some how.
My blog deoesn't always tell the whole story. I don't post all of the heartaches I deal with about my daughter because I want to protect her privacy. There's a little I can share though. She's not your average teenage bear. She's been through a lot of really tough stuff. We adopted her when she was nine, and her years prior to being ours were sickingly awful. The kind of stuff that brings women to tears and men to fisticuffs...and then to tears. Sufficent to say there was not a single kind of abuse she hasn't endured in those first precious nine years of her life. Her biological mother was Michael's sister. Her bio dad signed his rights away when she was a baby. He's not sure he's the dad, and I'm sure I don't blame him for questioning that notion. There's never been a right time to explore it further, but eventually, I hope there will be. No matter what direction that goes in, it will open up a can of very wiggly worms. I'm not a big fan of worms in general.
That being said, (by the way, I hate when people say "needless to say." If it were needless to say, then why say it?) her teenage years are like teenage girl multiplied to the nth factor. That may not even be a high enough multiplication factor. She struggles in so many areas. It's hard to watch her make her way through life. It's hard to watch how all that pent up anger manifests itself in my life and it's hard to watch the effect it has on the rest of our family. I have to believe that somehow this will work out. That in time with love, nurture, and the right team of therapists, she will find her way. I pray that's true. I pray it with my whole heart and every ounce of my being.
Why am I telling you this?
I guess I'm feeling guilty that I'm not superwoman. Somehow, I still believe that I'm supposed to keep my house perfect (ha! it's sooooooo far from it), homeschool my son (that's a bright spot truthfully), get dressed every day, spend quality time with my five month old and my twenty month old, make dinner, stay on budget, hold daily personal and family scripture study and prayer, climb every mountain, overcome every obstacle, and oh yeah, still be everything my daughter needs me to be.
Compromise comes out of necessity, but I feel guilty for everything I can't do. I can't keep my house as clean as I want it to be. Heck, some days I think I can't even keep it as clean as the Board of Health would want it to be (okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration). Then I look at the lives of eveyone around me, and they seem to have it together, so what's my problem? And, by the way, what am I doing comparing my worst to their best? C'mon - I know better than that! And yet I do. Because more than anything I want a clean house. And more than anything I am a sucker when my toddler cries because he wants me spending time with him and not loading dishes into the dishwasher.
My son is studying tornados right now. Sad how much I relate. Some days I am right there in the vortex being sucked ever downward. Some days, I picture myself hurtling myself over the top of the funnel, overcoming those ever-twisting winds. This is the only thing I know:
I live this tornado in every moment. And I know that it will pass. I know this is temporary. This knowledge is my sanity. I also know that I miss feeling organized. I mourn the lack of clothes hung up neatly in closets instead of piled on my chair getting wrinkled and cat hairy. And yet, I remember this:
"One hundred years from now, it will not matter what my bank account was, how big my house was, or what kind of car I drove. But the world may be a little better, because I was important in the life of a child." -Forest Witcraft
And that, my friends, is the "why" I do the things I do. Now if I can just get the house clean...
P.S. While I was typing this, allow me to share what my toddler was doing with the aforementioned unorganized laundry:
My blog deoesn't always tell the whole story. I don't post all of the heartaches I deal with about my daughter because I want to protect her privacy. There's a little I can share though. She's not your average teenage bear. She's been through a lot of really tough stuff. We adopted her when she was nine, and her years prior to being ours were sickingly awful. The kind of stuff that brings women to tears and men to fisticuffs...and then to tears. Sufficent to say there was not a single kind of abuse she hasn't endured in those first precious nine years of her life. Her biological mother was Michael's sister. Her bio dad signed his rights away when she was a baby. He's not sure he's the dad, and I'm sure I don't blame him for questioning that notion. There's never been a right time to explore it further, but eventually, I hope there will be. No matter what direction that goes in, it will open up a can of very wiggly worms. I'm not a big fan of worms in general.
That being said, (by the way, I hate when people say "needless to say." If it were needless to say, then why say it?) her teenage years are like teenage girl multiplied to the nth factor. That may not even be a high enough multiplication factor. She struggles in so many areas. It's hard to watch her make her way through life. It's hard to watch how all that pent up anger manifests itself in my life and it's hard to watch the effect it has on the rest of our family. I have to believe that somehow this will work out. That in time with love, nurture, and the right team of therapists, she will find her way. I pray that's true. I pray it with my whole heart and every ounce of my being.
Why am I telling you this?
I guess I'm feeling guilty that I'm not superwoman. Somehow, I still believe that I'm supposed to keep my house perfect (ha! it's sooooooo far from it), homeschool my son (that's a bright spot truthfully), get dressed every day, spend quality time with my five month old and my twenty month old, make dinner, stay on budget, hold daily personal and family scripture study and prayer, climb every mountain, overcome every obstacle, and oh yeah, still be everything my daughter needs me to be.
Compromise comes out of necessity, but I feel guilty for everything I can't do. I can't keep my house as clean as I want it to be. Heck, some days I think I can't even keep it as clean as the Board of Health would want it to be (okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration). Then I look at the lives of eveyone around me, and they seem to have it together, so what's my problem? And, by the way, what am I doing comparing my worst to their best? C'mon - I know better than that! And yet I do. Because more than anything I want a clean house. And more than anything I am a sucker when my toddler cries because he wants me spending time with him and not loading dishes into the dishwasher.
My son is studying tornados right now. Sad how much I relate. Some days I am right there in the vortex being sucked ever downward. Some days, I picture myself hurtling myself over the top of the funnel, overcoming those ever-twisting winds. This is the only thing I know:
I live this tornado in every moment. And I know that it will pass. I know this is temporary. This knowledge is my sanity. I also know that I miss feeling organized. I mourn the lack of clothes hung up neatly in closets instead of piled on my chair getting wrinkled and cat hairy. And yet, I remember this:
"One hundred years from now, it will not matter what my bank account was, how big my house was, or what kind of car I drove. But the world may be a little better, because I was important in the life of a child." -Forest Witcraft
And that, my friends, is the "why" I do the things I do. Now if I can just get the house clean...
P.S. While I was typing this, allow me to share what my toddler was doing with the aforementioned unorganized laundry:
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Nothing, what's snew with you?
So a guy walks up to another guy and asks him if he'd like some snew. "Snew," says the second guy, "what's snew?" "Nothing," replies the first guy, "what's 'new' with you?"
(INSERT GROAN HERE)
That my friends, is about what's (or what's not) happening here, hence the lack of blog posts. I'll give you the breakdown:
Michael - same job, same bat time, same bat station. We're grateful for the job.
Kristin - working at Weight Watchers, having some good days, some not as good days. At least I'm not gaining weight!
Frankie - preparing for her recital on May 22nd. Anybody want to be here for that? You're welcome to join us!
Adam - homeschooling, playing with friends. Overall, it's a good life. Betta still alive. The Betta's name is Perry. Perry the Betta.
Thomas - has a fever today, picking up new words all the time. The words that we know he now knows are: Ma, Da, Na-nee (Frankie), Baaaaa (Max), A-dee (Adam), Nana (our friend Riana), caca, sting cheeeee(string cheese), Goom followed by bah (goomba), boo,no, yah, book, shoe, here, bye, hi, there, pooh, Elmo and a growl sound that means Cookie Monster. He can also sign "more" and "please." We're working on sign language for "thank you." He has conversations with us on a regular basis, but only he (and possibly God) know what he's saying. Those conversations go something like this: "Maaaaaa (or Daaaaaaa)?" "Yes, Thomas?" "Bzhaa scree ajahjada blado bluh jah adebudo gaaaali" followed by him nodding his head. We occasionally catch something that might be "I love you," but it's hard to say for certain.
Max - growing so quickly. He can turn over, but has a hard time turning back over. He has a huge smile, and I swear that when he smiles at me he uses every muscle in his face. It's so sweet. He talks a lot too, but his language is even less discernible than Thomas' and I'm almost positive that God understands everything he says. I hold Max up in front of me, and he smiles and launches into his little Max conversation (lots of squeals, ahs, and ah oooos) and I respond with "Oh, really?" and "Tell me more." Talk. Answer. Rinse. Repeat. Okay, maybe not rinse.
So, maybe we did have a few "snew" things, but nothing mind boggling or earth shattering. That's really not so bad. Life's not easy for us (teenage daughters are um... interesting), but we take joy in the easy and simple things. And that folks, is all she wrote.
(Except for) Until next time...
(INSERT GROAN HERE)
That my friends, is about what's (or what's not) happening here, hence the lack of blog posts. I'll give you the breakdown:
Michael - same job, same bat time, same bat station. We're grateful for the job.
Kristin - working at Weight Watchers, having some good days, some not as good days. At least I'm not gaining weight!
Frankie - preparing for her recital on May 22nd. Anybody want to be here for that? You're welcome to join us!
Adam - homeschooling, playing with friends. Overall, it's a good life. Betta still alive. The Betta's name is Perry. Perry the Betta.
Thomas - has a fever today, picking up new words all the time. The words that we know he now knows are: Ma, Da, Na-nee (Frankie), Baaaaa (Max), A-dee (Adam), Nana (our friend Riana), caca, sting cheeeee(string cheese), Goom followed by bah (goomba), boo,no, yah, book, shoe, here, bye, hi, there, pooh, Elmo and a growl sound that means Cookie Monster. He can also sign "more" and "please." We're working on sign language for "thank you." He has conversations with us on a regular basis, but only he (and possibly God) know what he's saying. Those conversations go something like this: "Maaaaaa (or Daaaaaaa)?" "Yes, Thomas?" "Bzhaa scree ajahjada blado bluh jah adebudo gaaaali" followed by him nodding his head. We occasionally catch something that might be "I love you," but it's hard to say for certain.
Max - growing so quickly. He can turn over, but has a hard time turning back over. He has a huge smile, and I swear that when he smiles at me he uses every muscle in his face. It's so sweet. He talks a lot too, but his language is even less discernible than Thomas' and I'm almost positive that God understands everything he says. I hold Max up in front of me, and he smiles and launches into his little Max conversation (lots of squeals, ahs, and ah oooos) and I respond with "Oh, really?" and "Tell me more." Talk. Answer. Rinse. Repeat. Okay, maybe not rinse.
So, maybe we did have a few "snew" things, but nothing mind boggling or earth shattering. That's really not so bad. Life's not easy for us (teenage daughters are um... interesting), but we take joy in the easy and simple things. And that folks, is all she wrote.
(Except for) Until next time...
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