On the Eve of the Fourth Anniversary of Your Adoption

My precious baby girl,

On this night four years ago I wrote you a letter.  I spoke about my love for you.  I spoke about my hopes for you.  I spoke about how hard we fought for you.  For your life.  For your health.  For stability and consistency. 

I want you to know, I've not stopped fighting for you.  I've not stopped loving you.  I've not let go of any of my hopes for you.  And I would not take back choosing you for a daughter.

You have endured so much in your short life.  I often look at you and wonder how it is that you have survived.  I often wonder why God thought I was good enough to handle the force that is you.  I often worry that my strength could never outweigh yours.  I worry that one day the pain will overtake you and that I will loose you.  I worry that you will hate me for not protecting you when I could have... for being blind to the hurts that I unknowingly allowed.  I worry that my moments of sheer frustration, those times when I just don't know what to do...how to help you... how to save you from your own head...will cause you to see me as an enemy.  I worry that the medications we give you to help quiet the chaos will harm you and that one day you will resent me for it.  I worry that I'm missing something... that my gut is failing me...that I'm not the person who was meant to be your mom after all... that someone, somewhere, somehow... made a mistake, and that that mistake was me.     
But I want you to know, I've never stopped fighting for you.  I've not stopped loving you.  I've not let go of any of my hopes for you.  And I would not take back choosing you for a daughter.

You have an amazing sense of humor.  Your smile is infectious. I've never seen someone want so badly to understand and feel love.  Oh how so many take that for granted... being able to feel love.  How I wish that hadn't been taken from you.  How I wish that on the day we adopted you that piece that was broken so early on had been fully restored.  I know it will be, in time.  How I wish on the day we adopted you that you never would have to know hurt again.  But life doesn't work that way.    

I want you to know, I've never stopped fighting for you.  I've not stopped loving you.  I've not let go of any of my hopes for you.  And I would not take back choosing you for a daughter.

I have no doubt you were made for great things.  I know that no power of hell, or scheme of man, could ever pluck you from God's hand.

And on this night, on the eve of the fourth anniversary of your adoption into our family, I want you to know this:
   
I will never stop fighting for you.  I will never stop loving you.  I will never let go of my hopes for you.  And I would never take back choosing you for a daughter.

I love you.

Miley, Robin, and My Thoughts

I had no intention of writing a blog about Miley Cyrus and the VMA’s.  There are plenty of opinions on Facebook, Twitter and various other social media sites. And honestly I usually don't put too much thought into pop culture. But I read a comment from Robin Thicke’s mom tonight that set me off.   So, I'm going to share some thoughts on Miley Cyrus and Robin Thicke.   

Miley:

I was 20 once.  I made lots of choices in my late teens that put me into some potentially dangerous situations.  There are things I did that I can’t take back, that I can’t change, that I can’t redo.  I don’t regret my journey – it prepared me to be the wife, mom, friend and woman I am today.  I needed to rebel.  I was just lucky enough to do it before Facebook, and not in the public spotlight.  I can’t fault Miley Cyrus for testing the waters, for pushing boundaries and seeing what she can get away with.  It’s part of growing up.  But I’m not a teenager anymore.  And I’m not 20.  I’m the mom of two impressionable young girls, and one impressionable young man who love Miley Cyrus.  Not the Miley I saw on the VMA stage, but the Miley who used to grace our tv and radio with her silly antics and spunky personality.  As a family we have had to accept that everything has changed and we can’t grow with her, that she became an adult and made a choice to leave her younger fan base behind.  And that’s ok.  I get it.  I really do.  I understand not wanting be seen as the little girl who sang of reaching for the stars and country love.  To be seen, and appreciated, as a woman.  Here’s the thing though… the departure was extreme.  Maybe the Miley we see now is the Miley that was always there, being pushed down by the Hannah brand.  But I don’t think it is.  What I see when I watch her on stage, or read her tweets, or look at her Instagram pictures is someone who is speeding head first into a brick wall.  And that worries me.  It worries me because I watched her grow up.  It worries me because I recognize the journey but I don’t see any exit’s on the horizon.  It worries me because I’m a mom and as quickly as her life changed… so too could that of my girls.  If I could tell Miley one thing, it would be to respect herself.  And regardless of what society tells us, self-respect doesn’t come from dressing in near nothing and grabbing our crotches.  Self-respect comes from loving ourselves enough to understand that our behavior affects others around us, that our minds are far more amazing than anything our bodies can do and that dignity is a powerful thing.  At the end of the day I know that my opinion is just that, and I have no right to request anything of Miley.  I know that she is her own person, and I would never want her to be perfect.  I understand that her journey is just that, hers.  I just hope that the end result of her journey brings discernment, growth, and wisdom.      

On to Robin:

It really shouldn’t have come as any surprise that a guy who produced such a raunchy song and created a music video fully clothed while surrounded by nude women allowed himself to be groped and twerked by a scantily clad young woman on stage.  What is surprising is the amount of flak Miley Cyrus has received versus him.  His mom was reported as being upset that Miley rubbed her bottom on her son, that it was not appropriate.  At no point in time did she reprimand her son.  This wasn’t a shock to Robin.  He knew exactly what was going to happen.  He knew that Miley would strip down and molest him.  And he was perfectly ok with it.  And apparently society was ok with him letting it happen.  Even his mom and wife were ok with him letting it happen.  But it’s Miley that is a whore.  Seriously?  He’s an almost 40 year old man. He’s married and a father.  His behavior was incredibly disrespectful to both his wife and child.  This is one of those times that our culture again feeds the misogynistic beast.  Robin Thicke is teaching young men that it’s ok to use women, that they are nothing more than accessories to the male ego.  And he’s teaching young women that they are only desirable if they are naked or dancing around him.   And our culture is eating it up.  We talk about feminism, and women finally being powerful and strong, and respected, and then we send songs like Blurred Lines (which admittedly has a catchy tune) up to the top of the charts, and then chastise the female part of an inappropriate duo.  It’s not ok.  But Robin will tell society that “you know you want it”, and society will sit and lap it up.     

I’m frustrated.  Neither the antics of Miley nor the behavior of Robin is anything new.  The reactions are no different than they were years ago when Madonna sang about being a virgin, Janet Jackson “lost” her top or DMX rapped about rape.  In a culture where free speech and artistic expression are honored (and it’s important that they are), what line can be drawn?  At what point does accountability come in?  Why do we have different rules for artists, athletes and politicians?  At what point do we have the right to demand that men are held to the same standards that women are?  Does anyone even want the status-qua to change… or is it just easier to let it go and move on with life as is?  

I Didn't Give My Son Autism

Someone sent me a blog yesterday.  It was from a website where women who consider themselves thinkers write about their personal journey with Autism.  I want to start by saying I have absolutely no problem with people of like minds getting together to share their struggles.  And anyone who knows me will tell you I am incredibly opened minded and I am willing (and usually do) look at all topics from varying points of view.  But this blog, and this website, frustrated me.

First off, I will take to task any parenting group that asserts that if you do not agree with them on all counts, that you are somehow a Negative Nellie who is unwilling (you could also switch unwilling out for uneducated or unenlightened) to see the truth.  I will take to task any parenting group that states in their "Rules" that if you don't agree with them that you need to leave and take your "negative juju" elsewhere.  And I will most certainly take to task any parenting group that pushes their beliefs in such a way that causes someone who is struggling to be made to feel unwarranted guilt, or that they somehow failed their child.     

Let me be clear.  You are welcome to have your beliefs, just as I have mine.  But do not use those beliefs as weapons.  Do not use shame, guilt, or fear.  Do not play on emotions.  And do not attack the core of who a mother is and her role in the life and molding of her child.

I want to say this too.  I am a thinker.  I am educated.  I am well rounded.  I have walked around the block many many times.  I have been to hell and back.  That doesn't make me an expert.  It just means I've lived.

I'm not going to link back to the blog, because I don't want to give it any more attention.  But I will give a synopsis of what the author posted.  This mom has a child with Autism.  And it is her belief that her choices during pregnancy and in the early stages of child rearing, gave her child Autism.  She references getting ultrasounds.  She references drinking soda while pregnant.  She references having a c-section.  She references giving her child Tylenol.  And yes, she references vaccines.  She asserts that all of these things (and a few others) created an invariable s**tstorm called Autism.

Here is what I think.  Could she have given her son Autism?  Sure.  If she carries the gene.

Now I will share this.

 My first child:
I took anti-nausea medication and drank alcohol during the first two weeks of my pregnancy because I was on a cruise ship and had no idea I was pregnant.  While pregnant I ate a quart of sherbert every night in a hot tub of water.  I ate tuna, because at that point it was still an ok food.  I was given a shot to speed up the development of my son's lungs so he could survive if born early.  I had pitocin.  I had an epidural.  I actually had a double epidural because the first one fell out.  My son was fed a bottle while in the hospital.  He was jaundice, and I let them put him in an incubator under lights, even after we had already been allowed to take him home.  I stopped breastfeeding after a few months.  He was allowed to cry it out after about 5 months of age.  My son got all of his vaccines, and when we found out a few years later that one of them didn't take, he got a broader spectrum version.  He got the flu shot, every year.  He was given flouride.  I even gave him processed foods.  He is Autistic.  But not because of the choices I made.  All of the choices I made for him were made in good faith, and with an understanding that I was doing the best for my son given the information and knowledge I had at the time.

My second child:
I got pregnant 4 months postpartum. She was high risk, and I had many many ultrasounds.  I even had level 3 ultrasounds.  I ate a ton of MSG laden Chinese food, mainly crab rangoons, almost every day.  I drank cookie and cream milkshakes like they were water.  I took hot baths.  I endured a lot of stress, including moving North.  I'm fairly certain she got the shot to speed up lung development as well.  She was born in the hospital.  She ended up in the hospital a few months after birth, and I let them treat her with steroids and oxygen.  When she was only a few months old, she fell out of my arms and down the stairs.  I breastfed her for only about 6 months.  And then she had formula.  She had all of her vaccines, and the flu shot.  She cried it out, although she was older than my son and the method was different.  She didn't get as much face time as my son did.  She liked to watch tv, and I let her.  She was given fluoride, and ate processed foods.  She's not Autistic.  She is gifted, and very well rounded.  All of the choices I made for her were made in good faith, and with an understanding that I was doing the best for my daughter given the information and knowledge I had at the time.

My third child:
I didn't birth her.  She didn't grace me with her presence until she was already 6 weeks old.  Her birth mom made a lot of actual poor choices, ones that involve heroine and large amounts of alcohol.  She lacked prenatal care, and she didn't pay attention to anything that was put into her body.  After my daughter was born she was neglected, and moved from one home to another until she landed with us.  She was malnourished, withdrawn, a shell.  Once with me she was cared for much like my first two children, albeit with more input from her biological parents and the state.  Their choices for her included sleeping alone (we didn't, we co-slept with each of our children), formula, and processed foods.  She had all of her vaccinations, and her flu shots.  She took field trips to prison.  She was in the hospital several times, she even had a cat-scan and a sedated MRI.  She is not Autistic.  She has struggles as they relate to being born drug addicted, and experiencing trauma.  All of the choices I made for her were made in good faith, and with an understanding that I was doing the best for my daughter given the information and knowledge I had at the time.

What is my point in all of this?

Your choice to drink soda, to have necessary medical interventions, the way in which you gave birth, the decision to immunize... none of that caused your child to be Autistic.

Your child is Autistic because your child is Autistic.  Stop searching for reasons.  Stop blaming.

Just like my 2nd child has blond hair because her father does, and my 3rd child has blue eyes because her birth mother does.     

If you want to get angry, if you want to fight a battle, if you want to change the world, start with the moms who really do make choices that hurt and harm their children.  Work with teen moms, under serviced moms, drug addicted moms, moms in domestic violence, and moms who don't have a basic understanding of parenting and the needs of a child.

Stop attacking yourselves.

And please, stop asserting that your child can he "healed" from Autism.

The best thing you can do for your child, and for yourself, is to get to a place of acceptance.

Get to a place of loving yourself, so you can love your child.

Get to a place of understanding what the diagnosis of Autism means for your child.

And what it doesn't mean.

The moment you accept that your child is who they are, simply because they are who they are, is the moment YOU can be released from the task of fixing, and shift to the task of loving and supporting.

To a place where you are able to get them the resources and interventions they need to succeed.

Why does my son have Autism?  Because he does.

And I'm ok with that, because I am ok with who he is. 

The Perfect Mom

My heart is breaking for you. 

Yes you, the woman reading this who is convinced she screwed up in some way that will forever and irrevocably change the course of her child's life.  The mom who lost it today, who said the one thing she swore she would never say to her child, the mom who threatened, the mom who screamed so loud the dog barked.  To you, the mom whose child threw a tantrum in the store, the mom whose kid stole a pack of gum, the mom who got a note from the school that their child hit someone, to the mom who who got a call from the police.  To you, the mom who walked away from a crying child, the mom who didn't intervene fast enough, the mom who was just handed a pregnancy test, to you, the mom who was just handed a drug test.  To you, the mom who hid in the bathroom for 5 minutes peace, to the mom who just drank soda while pregnant, to you the mom whose child broke an arm on the trampoline, to the mom who didn't change a diaper fast enough.  To you, the mom sitting outside while her child throws a tantrum, and to you the mom who just gave in because you are just too tired, to you, the mom who didn't bring baked goods to the teachers.  To you, the mom who has done everything right, yet life still happened.  My heart breaks for you.

I want to say something that I want you to let take a minute to let sink in. 

You are not alone. 
There is no perfect mom.
You are not alone.

Say it.

I am not alone.
I am not alone.
I am not alone.

Now do me a favor.  Cut yourself some slack, and in the process cut your fellow moms some slack.  I've noticed something so interesting in the "mom culture".  We beat up on our own so much more than any other outside group possibly could.  We sit and judge.  We compare ourselves to everyone around us.  We set ourselves up for defeat.  We are so eager to outdo one another, to prove to anyone that will take notice that we are doing something right (and that they are doing something wrong).  We keep our fears, our battles, our struggles silent for fear that others will consider us not good enough.  The guilt blanket we place on ourselves and each other is so heavy that we are drowning.

I want to let you in on a not so secret secret.  And let it resonate with you.

I am not a perfect parent.
I am far from perfect.
I am a good enough parent.
My kids will make mistakes.
I want my kids to make mistakes.
I will love them through their mistakes.
It will be ok, because I allowed them to see my mistakes.
I apologize to my kids, because I am not perfect.
My kids are not perfect.
I don't want to be perfect.
I don't want my kids to be perfect.
I want to be human.
I want my kids to be human.
I am not a perfect parent.
I am far from perfect.
I am a good enough parent.
And that is ok.

There is something else I want to share with you too.

Things will happen that you can't control.  There will be a lot of things you can't predict, that you can't plan for, that you can't stop from happening.  Some of these things will be bad, and some others may see as bad but you will see as an amazing blessing.  Those things are all part of the journey your child is on.  And while there are moms out there who really do make choices that hurt and harm, the reality is that most of us aren't those moms.  Not even you.     

Grace.  Allow it to be extended to you today.

Take a deep breath.  Go find a quiet spot. And eat a cookie.

And when you are ready, go back into the chaos and smile, knowing you aren't alone.   

   

  


 
    

Loving You, Loving Her

There is rarely a day goes by that I don't think about my youngest daughters birth mother.  How could I not?  She is forever woven into the fabric of our family through the child she gave birth to.  I can take credit for the nurture, but the nature is not mine to claim.  Through the years I have had a lot of people tell me how I should feel about the birth mom, what weight I should give her role in the life we live.  My response is simple.  I should love her.  Despite her choices.  Despite the pain she caused.  Despite the hurt.  I should love her.  Because by loving her, I am able to fully love her child as my own.

As Mother's Day approaches, it carries with it bittersweet feelings.  I feel blessed by the three amazing gifts I have been given and I am thankful that God felt me good enough to mother them.  But, I also feel sadness over a relationship lost... that in order for me to receive the fullness of this life...pain had to occur.  A mother had to lose her child, and a child had to lose a mother.

I read stories of birth mothers who gave their children the gift of another life.  How selfless the act was.  How willing they were to carry a baby to term, knowing they could not keep the child.  Knowing that someone else would be made complete, even though they themselves would be giving up the right to be.  And then there is the birth mother in our story.  She fought to keep her child, even though all of her choices reflected an inability to do that, and even though it was destroying the one she claimed to love.  She forced a judge's hand to make the decision for her.  Her actions were anything but selfless.

Two different situations, two different mindsets, one common theme: Loss.  To not recognize that loss, to not acknowledge that in the process of creating new families, grief occurred, would be selfish.  I am a mother to a child who was born from another woman's womb.  It does not diminish my place in that child's life.  It does not mean I am not that child's mother.  It does not have anything to do with me.  It just is, what it is. 

Saturday is a day that has been set apart as a day for birth mothers to be acknowledged.  To recognize the role that they have.  To honor those that gave the gift of life.  I used to despise the thought of honoring my daughter's birth mom.  I have every reason to hate her.  But in order to love my child, the child she carried and birthed, I must love her.  So, Saturday I will think of her.  And I will silently thank her for loving her child as well as she could.  Because without her, I wouldn't have my youngest.  Without her, my family wouldn't be complete. 

God Don't Make No Mistakes

It's so easy to live in a bubble.  To love in a box.  To do the safe thing all the time and not step out of that safe place where life seemingly goes as the world tells us it should.  But are we ever really safe?  Do things ever go as easily as the world makes us think it does for everyone except us?  So many of us spend so much time trying to fit a mold that was never intended to be ours.  To do everything we can to make everyone else happy, to try and control all of the variables so that we can achieve that pinnacle of success as everyone else defines it.  How silly we are .  How incredibly selfish it is to hide who we are and the value we have as we are.  Do you really think that who you are, what you have to offer, your worth... that any of it is insignificant?  If you do, I want to tell you that you are wrong.  You are important.  You have worth.  You mean something.

I've spent a lot of years trying to determine what parts of who I am I should show a person at any given time.  I've agonized over how I believe someone may have perceived something I did, or said.  I've allowed others to shame me into thinking that my thoughts, my words, my heart, and my actions are not good enough, are not pure enough, are not righteous enough.  Through the years I've granted permission for the fears of others to dictate the footprints of my life.  I've edited myself not because my own beliefs called for it, but because my desire to have others think me "good" enough called for it.  I've also been at the other extreme, where I buck the system completely, giving everything and everyone around me a big ole middle finger, claiming the entire time that I don't give a crap when in reality I desperately wanted to be accepted and loved. At the end of the day that is all any of us want - to be appreciated for who we are. 

It's funny these games we play.  The roles we take on.  The characters we assume.  We may trick the people around us, but we never really fool ourselves.  It becomes an internal struggle.  We search for contentment and can't find it.  We develop coping skills that follow us into the real world but leave us still wanting.  We get angry, depressed and anxious.  We paint smiles on when it's needed but never really understand what it means to be happy.

So we all have a choice.  We can live like sheep, unable to differentiate our self from others.  Or we can be bold and be unique, even at the risk of giving up the things that make us feel safe.  I look at my kids and I know without a doubt I want them to be confident in who they are.  I want them to understand that there is nothing that they could ever do to lose my love.  That by being authentic they are honoring the unique mold that was broken at their birth.  I look in the mirror and I see someone who is worthy, who is important, who has value.  I just have to remember that the person I see in the mirror, is me.   

You are Loved

 Pull up a chair, and grab a blanket, this is going to be a long one.

I was going to wait till later this evening to write this blog, but I think the time is right now.  For what it's worth I wasn't going to talk about this at all in a public way, because contrary to perception I don't share everything that happens in my life, or the life of my kids.  But then I started thinking, what if by sharing this very difficult subject, I could help another person.  Like the mom I saw today who did everything she could to keep her child from seeing her cry when he told her repeatedly that if she loved him, she wouldn't make him stay at the hospital.  In that moment, all I could offer her was a simple affirming comment, "It is hard." and a look that indicated I understood her pain.

Do you know what it feels like to give up total control of your child? To trust that the people you are leaving him or her with will love them at least a fraction of the way you do?  To trust that your child won't be irreparably damaged by a choice that you don't want to make?  To walk away from your child, and have them screaming and crying for you not to leave, but you have to keep on walking to the other side of a locked door?  To see your child suffering behind a wall of mental illness and past hurts and a destroyed sense of self worth and not be able to do anything to fix it?  My guess would be a majority of you have absolutely no idea what that feels like.  And I can promise you, having to leave your child in daycare or at the church nursery or with the babysitter is not the same as leaving your child in a mental health hospital, or even the same as your child being removed from your custody by Children and Youth.  In this situation I don't have the ability to change my behavior in order for the situation to be corrected, I don't have the option of not going to a program or work in order to help my child through this.  Saving my daughters life is my only option.

There are those who know the detailed history.  For those who don't, what's important to understand is that my daughter is a product of the Foster Care System.  And she was hurt, badly - both by those who were related to her, and the county that was charged with protecting her.  As her Foster Parents we fought hard to do everything in our power to help her.  It was because of my relentlessness that traumatic visits stopped at 2 1/2 years.  And it was because of my diligence that she got any treatment at all while she was a ward of the state.  I don't say this because I want kudos or praise.  I say this because it's important to understand that even though she was in our custody for 3 years, we didn't have rights to protect her.  All we could do was watch her crumble before our eyes and beg for help for her while politics took precedence.  Rights were finally terminated and we adopted her in September of 09.  We then had the right to seek out any and all appropriate treatments for her.  And we did.  The hurdles were and are still there though.  A lot happens in the first 3 years of life that builds into who you are.  We can't get those years back, they were stolen from her.  When it comes to mental health, and mental health treatment with children, the field is riddled with lack of funding, lack of education and controversy.  To find someone who knows what they are doing, and has experience with kids like my youngest, is harder then finding a needle in a haystack.  We are two years into adoption and we have yet to find someone who knows, without a doubt, how to help this child.  And the list of consulted experts is long and comprehensive.

Currently, my almost 6 year old daughter is in a mental health hospital.  It's not like you see in the movies.  Yes, it's loud at times, and there are kids with issues that are more explosive then my daughter's, but for the most part, it's a comfortable place.  And the staff clearly care about the children.  This isn't our first time at the rodeo either.  It would take two hands to count the number of inpatient stays this poor kid has had in the last year and a half.  I don't know how long she will be there this time.  Her shortest stay was 2 weeks, and her longest was 4 weeks.  But it doesn't matter how many times she has gone in, or how long each stay has been, because each time has been painful.  Each time has been emotionally draining for all of us.  And each time we have been left wondering if anyone or anything can help her.

I can't adequately describe to you how, as a mom, or dad, it feels to make the choices we have had to make.  It's heartbreaking.  But more times then most of us would like, you have to bypass your heart and make decisions with your head.  Sometimes making the right decision for your child means making hard decisions, decisions that hurt.  Decisions that you never thought you'd have to make.  But diagnoses of mental health do that.  We are supposed to not discuss them, keep them quiet, keep them within the family.  We aren't supposed to talk about how many medications our child is on, or how their issues impact us.  Mental health issues suck.  If not adequately treated they destroy the person, and take out the family with them.  But I need those of you in the thick of it to know this: I understand.  I get it.  I'm not afraid to discuss it.  And I'm hurting too.

We are given these kids, through birth or adoption, and we are told that we are responsible for their life.  That it's our job to give them the skills they need to survive in the real world.  For parents with kids who follow societies game plan, that works.  For those who stray to one extreme or the other, the reality is that we have to give them the skills to get through the next five minutes before we can even begin to fathom getting them into adulthood.

Again, I'm not looking for extra support or encouragement.  I've been blessed with a support system that has shown me amazing grace and love when I have needed it the most.  And I've been surprised by acts of love by people I never expected.  I am also very aware that the ONLY thing I can trust is that God knew my daughter before she was a blip on the radar.  It is through Christ alone that I am able to continue on day to day with the hope that my fears are opposite of His plan for her life.  My point in sharing is that someone out there is finding themselves fighting to save the life of someone they love, someone who is trapped behind mental illness and a past they can't seem to escape.  And I need that person to know that they aren't alone.  

Dematerializing Christmas

It absolutely boggles my mind at the number of sale catalogs I have already received.  Each one of them insists that they have the best deal on everything I need.  This year more then others it feels like companies are making a grander attempt at trying to make me believe that if I don't get what they are selling, I am missing out.  Here is the kicker though - I, an admitted shopaholic, am disgusted.  The mass consumerism is too much.  There are over 400,000 children living in foster care in the US.  There are close to 700,000 homeless people in the US.  There are countries with no drinking water, and no access to medical care or food.  There are children being sold and bought as playthings for adults.  And companies wants to try to tell me I need a Santa doll that dances the hula?  Seriously?

My family isn't hard off.  My husbands job meets the needs of our family.  We have a roof over our head, electricity, food, water and clothes.  We don't want for much.  But each year we look through the ads and convince ourselves that we need more.  Not this year.  This year we have looked at each other and struggled to convince ourselves that need anything else.  At this point we've decided that we are going to get a new washer and dryer, not because we want them, but because our current ones are a step away from being nonfunctional and you can usually get a good deal on Black Friday.  But we recognize even that, is a luxury.

We've made some bold decisions this year, perhaps not bold to others, but bold for us because it goes against what we, and those around us, are used to.  We haven't made the decision because we are cheap, or because we can't afford to.  We've done it because we feel that the right thing to do is to not feed into the monster of excess, the one that keeps our kids, and us, feeling entitled .  We've decided to pare down big time on the gifts for the kids.  We are going to only be giving one gift to each of our extended family members with whom we regularly exchange gifts.  We will be increasing our donation to Samaritan's Purse, collecting non perishable items to donate to local food pantries, and visiting with individuals in nursing homes.  It's a change, we hope, in the right direction.

I want to make it clear that this blog isn't an attempt to make anyone feel guilty, or like they have to make the same choices.  I am no better then any person reading this.  We, as a family, are just trying to make some different choices, and, hopefully learn a bit more about ourselves in the process.      

   




 

Tastier then a Testamint

When I sit back and really think about the legacy I want to leave in this world, I automatically think of two things.  1) I want my kids to know I always tried to do my best and 2) I want everyone to know that nothing good I have ever done came from me.  The result of those thoughts tonight, prompted this blog entry.

I've gotten criticism/concern in the past about my participation in the Susan G Komen 3-Day.  Some of it is legitimate and relates directly to what I am going to share with you.  Some of it is just plain hurtful, like when it was said that my place was at home with my kids and not out participating in these types of events.  And some was toward the organization itself.  I am not going to take the time in this blog to discuss the second or third types of concern or criticism.  But I am going to share about the first, because what happened this year was nothing short of a miracle - and I need you to know that.

I've participated in four 3-Day events.  Two being in Philly, and two being in Tampa Bay.  In 2010 I walked in Philly and injured myself.  The route there is tough, with a lot of hills.  I trained hard that year and was completely disappointed when I had to pull myself off the route or risk being red carded and unable to walk into closing (for those who aren't aware, a red card=removal from the event for reasons of health).  I finished the 3 days with bursitis on my right hip and a sprained IT band.  I don't blame the event for this injury, I blame myself.  I didn't stop when I should have - pride got in the way.  I committed to having a new attitude in 2011, and tried to just accept my physical limitations.  I signed up to do Tampa Bay with the understanding that I wouldn't be able to train as I had in the past, and that I would have to be ok with not walking 60 miles.  It was a goal I had to give up.  

Shortly before this years walk I got a phone call that my Aunt, a 10 year survivor, was in the hospital with congestive heart failure and her prognosis wasn't good.  It scared me.  I didn't want to think about my life without her.  She told me that she shared with the Dr that she had to get better, because she HAD to get to the 3-Day and cheer on the walkers, and her niece.  And she did.  Three weeks before the walk I fell and injured my tailbone and spine.  An xray showed that I had osteoarthritis in both of my hips and my spine, as well as disk deterioration - the disease had progressed.  Two weeks before the walk I had a suspicious spot removed from my back, and one day before the walk I learned that this spot was precancerous.  When I arrived in Tampa Bay I had given up any hope that this year would be anything amazing - I admitted defeat. 

And then something happened. 

I walked 60 miles.

I am not sure about a lot of things, but I am 100% positive that God set before me everything I would need to complete this task.  The Medical Crew that knew exactly the treatment I needed at just the right time, the Safety Crew that said just the right thing when I needed to hear it, the cheerleaders who stayed to cheer us on even when we were last, the Pit, Sweep and Camp crews who encouraged and supported me, My family who poured out love on me, strangers who hugged me, survivors who inspired me, the church that had its service along the route, my team that never left me, and my daughter who motivated me to just keep going.  I didn't complete this walk in my own strength, I am far too damaged and broken.  I finished because God carried me the entire way and he used those around me to ensure that I finished the task set before me.      

I shouldn't have made it more then 5 miles.  I should have ended up with debilitating pain.  I should have failed in my mission.  But I didn't.

And that... is a miracle.

Thank you to those who loved me, encouraged me, and supported me - and continue to.  It means so much more to me then you will ever know.  To the various crews and to those who walked with me, your passion and willingness to fight so hard for something is inspiring - never give up.    

To My Daughter

Tomorrow is an important day for our family.  It's the day a judge signed a paper that gave your daddy and me the legal right to be your parents.  It's the day we said goodbye to other people telling us what was good for you, the day we were finally able to start helping you heal.

You are such a neat kid.  You have spunk. You are strong willed.  You have an awesome sense of humor.  Your smile lights up a room.  You are a daredevil, you are willing to try almost anything. You get these looks on your face, and I know exactly what that brain of yours is up to.  I know every bit of you. You are my child.

It's been a long two years.  The road has been rocky.  There have been moments when I question everything, and moments that I couldn't imagine anyone else loving you as I do.  You have fought hard to not be loved.  You were taught from a very early age that you couldn't trust or depend on anyone.  You learned that people hurt.  You learned that love hurts.  Those wounds scab over and we have to take a scrub brush and remove everything right down to the bone, because if we didn't you would never be able to survive in the real world.  It's so hard for people to understand, even those who love you.  They don't quite get the depth of the pain you carry, and how the littlest thing can make you feel like your heart is being ripped out.  I need you to understand this though - we will never leave you.  We are forever.  You are ours, and we are yours.

The day we adopted you is the day our family became complete.  And one day, one day, you will be able to feel just how much you are loved.

Truths

I started this post at the beginning of the week.  I was going to relay a story to you about how my son was taught a lesson about poverty.  And how after he processed what I told him he apologized for being a jerk.  But then life happened and between the three kids there were all sorts of lessons that were just as meaningful.  I started thinking about all of the interactions.  Sometimes I wasn't the worlds best mom, and sometimes, they weren't the worlds best kids.  But none of us pretended to be anything other then who we were at that particular moment.  Our feelings, our reactions, our emotions - were real.  And I think, maybe, out of every little lesson, this might be the biggest lesson I want my kids to learn.  Authenticity.

We all wear masks.  We pretend to be people we aren't. We change our dress, our demeanor, our vocabulary, our feelings, our emotions, and sometimes even our beliefs depending on who we are around.  It's ok to admit that you do.  I think it's part of being human and the need to fit in, to not be uncomfortable, to not be the weak link, to not admit to being different.  I watch my kids struggle with it every day.  I can preach about being yourself all I want to them, but what they learn, from a very early age, is that being yourself isn't what other people want.  They change what they like to play with based on whose attention they want.  And it's really hard when I see one of my kids trying so hard to please and change to meet the expectations of someone else, only to be ignored or looked down on. .  It's heartbreaking, those moments when you realize that neither the person you are, or who others want you to be, are good enough for some people.  When all you want to do is feel like you belong, but everywhere you look it feels like you don't.

I am going to tell you some truths about me.  I'm going to lay it out there clear as day because I've realized that people read things about me, hear things about me, and even talk to me, but that doesn't mean they know me.  That doesn't mean everyone needs to know me.  Some of my closest friends don't know my deepest darkest secrets, and that's ok.  But if I want to be a true teacher to my children, then I need to be willing to throw off my own masks and be authentic.  And maybe by doing so, some of you that feel like you are alone, like no one understands where you are at or how tough it is, or like no one is like you, will realize that there may be someone else who gets it.  And if you feel brave enough, share in the comments some truths about you.  Throw off the masks.  Be yourself.  And realize that the person you are, the one you hide, is amazing and someone I'd like to get to know.

Some truths about me:

• I can't stand the sound of people eating.  I hate it.  It drives me up the wall. There are times I have contemplated hitting people.

• I struggle with negative thought patterns, for example, even if everyone tells me I am doing a great job, I am sure they are lying to me.
• I am afraid of failure.  Like really afraid.  Sometimes I will do something right up to the final step and then not finish because I don't want to fail.
• Every single time I discipline my kids I have to take about 5 minutes in my head to decide if I made good choices or not.
• If I am going on a trip, I have to start packing my suitcase weeks in advance, and then I check it several times.  And if I have tickets or important papers, I have a habit of checking to make sure they didn't grow legs and walk away.  As in, I look in my wallet at least 5 times on the way to the airport.
• I can't parallel park.  At all.  
• I don't like dark chocolate, or coconut.
• I have a huge base of knowledge, I know a lot about a lot.  I love learning.  But sometimes I don't admit to knowing something because I am afraid I will sound like a know it all.
• Every time I speak in public I sweat, and my insides shake.
• I sometimes daydream about not having kids, and I sometimes get jealous of my friends who don't have kids yet, or only have one.  And if I ever say that publicly I automatically feel compelled to add how much I love my children.
• I love Jesus.  And because I love Jesus, I love others where they are at.  I don't like it when people use Jesus as an excuse for not being friends with people.
• I am constantly writing books in my head.  I just never write them down.
• I live in pain daily.  I struggle with severe fatigue daily.  But I will never admit to someone how bad any particular day.
• I can't stand it when other people try to limit me based on what they think I can handle.
• When I make people laugh, I'm not always sure what it is that made them laugh.
• I will fight to my death to stop abuse wherever I see it.  
• Sometimes I go to the SPCA just to look.  If it were up to me, I'd have a house full of animals.
• My dream has always been to open a group home for mentally challenged individuals, or a safe haven for children and if I had enough money I'd buy the property off of Ferry and do just that.
• My greatest desire is to be loved, but my definition of love doesn't always coincide with the girly definitions of love.

Now, what are some truths about you?

The Peri Empty Nester Wore Striped Pants

No one warned me.  No one told me that the day all of my kids found themselves at school all day, that I would lose my identity.  And to be honest, I'm not sure if someone did give me a heads up, that I would have believed them.  It's one of those things that you just have to experience, sorta like when people tell you about post baby sleep deprivation and you think you understand because you used to participate in all night benders.

For the last 10 years I have been mom.  Just mom.  Yes, Amanda was in there, and so were my roles as a mother, wife and friend, but mom is what defined me.  My schedule focused on the needs of the children and everything I did had to in some way accommodate them.  It became difficult to enjoy certain things because of the special needs of two of my children.  And, the invitations to participate in certain things stopped because of the special needs of two of my children. Every day of every week for the last 10 years was about doing the best I could to meet the needs of my children.  I don't say that to get sympathy, or to assert that my focus isn't still on my children and their needs.  And I certainly won't suggest that I spent every day of the last 10 years in the company of my children.  But I will reinforce that everything I did revolved around my ability to make sure that my kids were taken care of and that  any care not by me was safe and appropriate.

And before you think I've given up on making sure my kids are cared for, that's not what I mean at all. They still need me, probably more than ever.  And I still have to make sure they are safe.  The thing is that for seven and a half hours, five days a week, my kids are somewhere else.  So for seven and a half hours, five days a week, I am left to deal with just me.  And to tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure who I am.  I mean, I know what I like and don't like, and I know where my moral grounding is.  But, somewhere in the last 10 years, I lost Amanda.  You see, when your primary focus, (as it should be), becomes your kids, you tend to forget that there once was a you that didn't include tagalongs.

So, what do you do when you realize that you lost yourself?  I haven't quite figured it out yet. I'm starting off slowly. But I know that what I am feeling is normal, that this part of the journey, is all a part of growing.  And I know that it is but a precursor to the final flight of the kids when they will one day leave our home for good.  No one warned me.  But I probably wouldn't have listened if they had.  

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I don't want to leave any of you ill prepared.  So, I complied a list of things you can do in your first days of attempting to find yourself once all of your kids are in school full time.  Be gentle with yourself and remember it's a process.

• Go to a consignment store and try on the ugliest, most unflattering things you can find.  Compare it to what's in your closet.  If the things you tried on look better on you then the stuff in your closet, go shopping.  You don't have to dress for spills and spit up anymore.
• Make a list of all of the things you used to eat hidden from the kids.  You know what I am talking about.  The candy bar you ate in the bathroom.  The ice cream you hid behind your bent knees while the kids watched tv.  Go to the store, buy everything on your list, sit in the playroom and eat.  Make a production of it.
• Go to the bathroom and close the door.  Read a magazine.  Sit there for at least 5 minutes.  Now take that same magazine to the couch and sit and read for 20 minutes.
• Get sick.  Go lay in your bed and don't move.  Heal.
• Go to the mall.  Sit on a bench.  Watch all of the moms with their kids.  Notice how the child is not walking.  Notice how the mom is pulling the child.  Now get up and go visit every store alone.
• Watch a sad movie in the middle of the day.  Bawl your eyes out.  
• Take a shower.  Shave your legs.  Get dressed.  Put on makeup.  Do your hair.  And take as long as you want.
• Chances are you forgot what lunch is.  Make a lunch date with another mom who forgot who she is. 

And perhaps the most important thing you can do in your first days of attempting to find yourself:

• Ask your husband to come home at noon.  It's likely he remembers you, and he's the best source in helping you to remember too. 

Forgive

Forgiveness.


Let the weight of that word sit with you for a minute.


Forgiveness.


What kind of feelings does the word evoke?


Forgiveness.


I've been meditating on this word a lot lately.  It's at the center of so many things in my life.  For some people it rolls off the tongue easily,  for others its a bitter lump that hangs out in their throat and makes it hard to swallow.  It's easy to forgive simple things, like your kids when they do something.  Not so much when it's your children that have been hurt.  But regardless of how hard, or how bitter, or how angry I feel.  I know it's important.  And I know that it is the best gift I can give myself.

Bedtime

A Window