Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
His mother
The full moon stared at me through my bedroom window keeping me awake wondering if you were looking at it too. I wonder if you are cold tonight. I wonder if you are hungry. I wonder if you miss your baby sleeping upstairs. I wonder how the same moon can mean such different things to us. I wonder why your family couldn't love you, you seem loveable to me. I wonder a lot of things about you. I wish I could love you back to life the way I have your son. I wish I could have been there when for you more. I wish someone would have told you that you could be a wonderful mother. I wonder if your defeat is what kept you from getting the help you needed. I wonder if you know I do love you. I wonder if you know that when I look into your son's eyes I see you, or if you know that when he is difficult I try to handle him with the patience and love you'd want for him even if you couldn't do it yourself. I wish you did. I wish a lot of things.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Time is relative
I have been holding back in posting more about our gift baby. He needs lots of care and attention. Plus, I wanted to give myself and my family lots of time and space to make an authentic, spirit-led, decision about adoption, to stop knocking on the doors to Casey's heart, to step back, get out of the way, and give them room to open. You see, when you are thrown a curve ball it is easy to duck. When our expectations aren't met, when we think we are aligned with God's will and then we are surprised unexpectedly it is easy to say "no", this isn't how it was supposed to go. This isn't what God wants for me. This is when prayerful reflection is needed most.
We became foster-adoptive parents to adopt a girl between the ages of 10-14. We had a neat little plan to build our family without adding "parenting years" onto our marriage. Wow, typing that I realize how selfish that sounds. Trust me, we had great intentions. We also truly and honestly wanted an older child because they are so much less likely to be adopted. We wanted a girl because we don't have one. Casey wanted a daughter to walk down the aisle, and I wanted a daughter with whom I could journey motherhood. We wanted to be witness to the life of a daughter. We still hope for that. Our problem was in thinking that we had it all figured out.
Isn't that how it happens? Just when you think you have it all figured out, "the joke's on you". In late April 2013, when we said "yes" to fostering gift baby we thought he was passing through our lives. We all prepared not to take ownership of him. He wasn't ours. I have said "no" to plenty of foster placements for various reasons, but this time I just couldn't do it. I couldn't. I convinced myself, "I will love him well, and then he will move on." It happened slowly, the way dusk creeps in on children at play. There is a huge, yet subtle difference between loving and caring for a child, and loving and taking ownership of them as your own. It felt intrusive to take ownership of a child whose mother I hoped would heal for him. I wouldn't do that to either of them. I couldn't do that. But he pried my heart open and crawled inside. Over time I died to my plan, and accepted this as God's plan, at least for now. What a beautiful plan too! I get to love and be loved by a beautiful soul I wouldn't know had I said, "no" on the grounds that he was not a girl between the ages of 10-14.
As time wore on, both of our boys began to refer to him as their, "little brother". First, during introductions. Then, when they were playing with him. As the days slipped from one to another it was as if he had always been a part of our family, as if he were meant for us. His personality is a blend of the older two boys. He shares their love of music, their sense of humor, even some of their quirks from when they were babies! The similarities are uncanny. Eventually, holding him ceased to be a duty and became a privilege. He ceased to exist out side of myself, but became an extension of me. His coos would come to me like enchanted notes carried on a warm breeze from a distant violin. They began to make me revel with joy for his existence, and every morning and afternoon I waited with anticipation for him wake up.
Casey agreed to adopt him, in writing. He was still nervous about all those plans he hadn't yet let die. I wasn't. A new plan, more beautiful than any we could plan, had unfurled before me day by day. The time came to change gift baby's placement goal. Fostercare adoption isn't linear. It isn't easy. In one instant they are going to be yours forever, and the next the could be ripped from your arms. This caused us to deny the depth of our feelings for him, but it was something we naively thought we might avoid. When this possibility reared its ugly head at us things really changed. That's when we had to be really honest with ourselves. Until that point it had been easy for both of us to pretend that we could go back to "normal" if baby boy left us. Facing this reality caused us to realize that things were never going to be the same. The boys and I especially, would grieve a lost child if he were to go. The idea caused my heart to twist and palpitate in my chest.
We sat on seat edge for two weeks waiting to find out if he would be staying or going. During that time, I tried to distance my heart from his and couldn't. Instead he became even more a part of me. I was sleepless, praying in my bed, as shadows washed over me, for the strength to follow His plan. Questioning Him, "why would you do this to us? I don't understand why." Then the day came when I found out what was really happening (can't wait to tell you all some day). The social worker gave me a speech on timing, the time line, and the legalities currently being adhered too. As the social worker explained to me what was going on, and what her goals for him were I realized I could have slept well if I had a little more faith. Not because she was telling me what I had longed to hear, "he is absolutely yours." No. I realized, who am I to question "the Plan"? His timing is perfect, it isn't my timing. I don't get what I want when I want it. I get what I need when I need it. We needed to have that epiphany right now. We needed a reality check. We needed to come together. I needed to understand that I am not in control. That I need to let go and trust God to do his thing. That is HUGE for me! I grew from knowledge to understanding through experience. It is a dangerous thing indeed to mistake knowledge for understanding, and humbling to realize that is exactly what you have done.
We love him. He is ours (for sure right now, but I hope forever). We love him. I literally feel as if he has been birthed through me these last few weeks. Hearing his voice cause me to swell to bursting with joy. Witnessing him experience life makes me feel so lucky, so blessed. It is a privilege, I am proud of him, and proud to be thought of as his mother. I can't explain how this bond builds just yet. It as strong as my bond with the other boys. He will always be a part of us, and us a part of him. No matter what. I am thankful. I am so incredibly thankful. The last few months have humbled me beyond measure, and taught me that in my darkest moments I have the most to be thankful for. I have experienced that in darkness God truly is working the most in me and for me. I had knowledge of that truth before this, but I did not understand. I have experienced that God really is good all the time. I have experienced God. Again. This time more beautifully and fully than I could imagine. I am but a speck, and yet he carefully tends my every need. He often does this in spite of my moaning and lack of gratitude.
It has also taught me that I need to listen more carefully to that still small voice inside of me when it shares the good as well as the bad. How many times do we look in on possibilities, as if we are standing in the doorway to a room filled with joyful strangers, horrified to step in, but desperately longing to? That little voice that says, "you can do this. This would be good for you." often gets ignored while we listen to all the reasons we can't or shouldn't. How long have we spend languishing in doorways? Don't listen to that negative voice (unless you are planning to take a barrel of Niagara Falls, then listen to it) telling you why you can't. Take the step, and trust in God's timing.
We became foster-adoptive parents to adopt a girl between the ages of 10-14. We had a neat little plan to build our family without adding "parenting years" onto our marriage. Wow, typing that I realize how selfish that sounds. Trust me, we had great intentions. We also truly and honestly wanted an older child because they are so much less likely to be adopted. We wanted a girl because we don't have one. Casey wanted a daughter to walk down the aisle, and I wanted a daughter with whom I could journey motherhood. We wanted to be witness to the life of a daughter. We still hope for that. Our problem was in thinking that we had it all figured out.
Isn't that how it happens? Just when you think you have it all figured out, "the joke's on you". In late April 2013, when we said "yes" to fostering gift baby we thought he was passing through our lives. We all prepared not to take ownership of him. He wasn't ours. I have said "no" to plenty of foster placements for various reasons, but this time I just couldn't do it. I couldn't. I convinced myself, "I will love him well, and then he will move on." It happened slowly, the way dusk creeps in on children at play. There is a huge, yet subtle difference between loving and caring for a child, and loving and taking ownership of them as your own. It felt intrusive to take ownership of a child whose mother I hoped would heal for him. I wouldn't do that to either of them. I couldn't do that. But he pried my heart open and crawled inside. Over time I died to my plan, and accepted this as God's plan, at least for now. What a beautiful plan too! I get to love and be loved by a beautiful soul I wouldn't know had I said, "no" on the grounds that he was not a girl between the ages of 10-14.
As time wore on, both of our boys began to refer to him as their, "little brother". First, during introductions. Then, when they were playing with him. As the days slipped from one to another it was as if he had always been a part of our family, as if he were meant for us. His personality is a blend of the older two boys. He shares their love of music, their sense of humor, even some of their quirks from when they were babies! The similarities are uncanny. Eventually, holding him ceased to be a duty and became a privilege. He ceased to exist out side of myself, but became an extension of me. His coos would come to me like enchanted notes carried on a warm breeze from a distant violin. They began to make me revel with joy for his existence, and every morning and afternoon I waited with anticipation for him wake up.
Casey agreed to adopt him, in writing. He was still nervous about all those plans he hadn't yet let die. I wasn't. A new plan, more beautiful than any we could plan, had unfurled before me day by day. The time came to change gift baby's placement goal. Fostercare adoption isn't linear. It isn't easy. In one instant they are going to be yours forever, and the next the could be ripped from your arms. This caused us to deny the depth of our feelings for him, but it was something we naively thought we might avoid. When this possibility reared its ugly head at us things really changed. That's when we had to be really honest with ourselves. Until that point it had been easy for both of us to pretend that we could go back to "normal" if baby boy left us. Facing this reality caused us to realize that things were never going to be the same. The boys and I especially, would grieve a lost child if he were to go. The idea caused my heart to twist and palpitate in my chest.
We sat on seat edge for two weeks waiting to find out if he would be staying or going. During that time, I tried to distance my heart from his and couldn't. Instead he became even more a part of me. I was sleepless, praying in my bed, as shadows washed over me, for the strength to follow His plan. Questioning Him, "why would you do this to us? I don't understand why." Then the day came when I found out what was really happening (can't wait to tell you all some day). The social worker gave me a speech on timing, the time line, and the legalities currently being adhered too. As the social worker explained to me what was going on, and what her goals for him were I realized I could have slept well if I had a little more faith. Not because she was telling me what I had longed to hear, "he is absolutely yours." No. I realized, who am I to question "the Plan"? His timing is perfect, it isn't my timing. I don't get what I want when I want it. I get what I need when I need it. We needed to have that epiphany right now. We needed a reality check. We needed to come together. I needed to understand that I am not in control. That I need to let go and trust God to do his thing. That is HUGE for me! I grew from knowledge to understanding through experience. It is a dangerous thing indeed to mistake knowledge for understanding, and humbling to realize that is exactly what you have done.
We love him. He is ours (for sure right now, but I hope forever). We love him. I literally feel as if he has been birthed through me these last few weeks. Hearing his voice cause me to swell to bursting with joy. Witnessing him experience life makes me feel so lucky, so blessed. It is a privilege, I am proud of him, and proud to be thought of as his mother. I can't explain how this bond builds just yet. It as strong as my bond with the other boys. He will always be a part of us, and us a part of him. No matter what. I am thankful. I am so incredibly thankful. The last few months have humbled me beyond measure, and taught me that in my darkest moments I have the most to be thankful for. I have experienced that in darkness God truly is working the most in me and for me. I had knowledge of that truth before this, but I did not understand. I have experienced that God really is good all the time. I have experienced God. Again. This time more beautifully and fully than I could imagine. I am but a speck, and yet he carefully tends my every need. He often does this in spite of my moaning and lack of gratitude.
It has also taught me that I need to listen more carefully to that still small voice inside of me when it shares the good as well as the bad. How many times do we look in on possibilities, as if we are standing in the doorway to a room filled with joyful strangers, horrified to step in, but desperately longing to? That little voice that says, "you can do this. This would be good for you." often gets ignored while we listen to all the reasons we can't or shouldn't. How long have we spend languishing in doorways? Don't listen to that negative voice (unless you are planning to take a barrel of Niagara Falls, then listen to it) telling you why you can't. Take the step, and trust in God's timing.
Monday, October 22, 2012
DEFINE choice
I sat on the edge of an examining table waiting for the results of blood work for a mystery illness. My body was rebelling. I hadn't been sick, yet I kept getting slower. My mile repeats 3 months ago were all between 5:05 and 5:20. Now, my mile in competition was barely a 5:10. Why when my training had been consistent, and manageable, was I getting worse?! The soft knock on the door stops the beating of my heart for a split second and forces a slight cough from my throat. The doctor enters. His face is white. Whatever is wrong with me it must be terminal. I can't look at him because when I do my skin prickles as the panic tries to find a way out. "Miss Cooper...." "you're pregnant". I laugh. He stares quizzically.
"What about the father?" I point to my left ring finger.
"He'll be excited." The Doctor exhales. Finally. The doctor finds relief, but I don't. I am on a half-ride athletic scholarship and I can't afford to continue my education without it. Not to mention that before this pregnancy my training had me on track to put out some really spectacular performances. This pregnancy could mess up everything; my education, my athletic and professional careers. Everything.
As some of my readers know I did contemplate aborting him. Instead, I told my future husband, and his enthusiasm helped to carry me through my fears about parenthood. I was terrified to tell my coach. He had the power to pull my scholarship for this. I was team captain, and our fastest distance runner. Most Division 1 coaches would pull my scholarship. This is where my story begins. My story is one about true choice.
I forced my husband to come along for our "reveal". He was afraid there would be a conflict. My coach and I had had a few of those in the past. Instead, there was a simple acceptance that this would require a "red shirt". In college sports that means that you sit out a season, but you'll get that season back the next year. My coach was very supportive of my situation. He let me keep my scholarship. He didn't force me to chose between motherhood and an education, or between motherhood and respect, or between motherhood and an ATHLETIC career. He allowed me to have it all. I'm not the only female athlete for whom he did this.
Our team was populated with several girls who had chosen to keep their unwanted TEENAGE pregnancies. You heard me, TEENAGE. I had several teammates who had their babies while still in high school, yet were able to be top athletes in their states, thanks to supportive parents and communities. He offered them scholarships while most other Division 1 Coaches scoffed at them. One of my teammates ran a 2:12 800m as a senior in high school less than a year after giving birth to her daughter. While IU laughed at her and told her that her daughter would never be welcomed at any team events, our coach allowed the kids to come to our practices. Daycare is not always available to young mothers that are full-time students. THAT IS CHOICE isn't it? Guess what, he was Catholic also. He was living his values. He never once proclaimed his place on the Pro-Choice/Pro-Life issue. He lived it. He was obviously pro-life. He didn't need to go out and hold up posters, because he was taking real action. Besides posters alienate and miscommunicate, but his actions were a clear embrace of what it meant to truly chose life. He truly support women's rights. When my teammate (the one I mentioned earlier) chose to leave the team for her daughter, it was truly HER choice because she was more than welcome to stay.
I think women deserve a choice, and right now they don't really have one. Your job or baby isn't a choice, it's an ultimatum. Our society makes it nearly impossible to chose to keep life when that life is unplanned, believe me I know. Our society treats unplanned pregnancy like a terminal illness, and abortion as its cure. In order to truly provide choice we must support women enough that they aren't forced to chose between a pregnancy and job, a child and a career, a baby and an education, or motherhood and respect. We must truly give them a choice by ceasing to treat unplanned pregnancy as a terminal illness. I know that some people view each pregnancy as being very unique situation. I disagree I think that fundamentally each choice that must be made is the same, it is usually an ultimatum and not a choice. Do I chose the life of this child or do I chose the values of this society? I think there needs to be a serious re-evaluation of our definition of "choice". I am for true choice, which at this moment doesn't exist except in small pockets where people like my coach make a true choice possible. I think that pro-lifers need to put down their posters and live their value. It is the responsibility of Pro-Lifer's to take the ultimatum out of the equation so that women CAN chose life. Let's start supporting women, and respecting motherhood FOR REAL.
"What about the father?" I point to my left ring finger.
"He'll be excited." The Doctor exhales. Finally. The doctor finds relief, but I don't. I am on a half-ride athletic scholarship and I can't afford to continue my education without it. Not to mention that before this pregnancy my training had me on track to put out some really spectacular performances. This pregnancy could mess up everything; my education, my athletic and professional careers. Everything.
As some of my readers know I did contemplate aborting him. Instead, I told my future husband, and his enthusiasm helped to carry me through my fears about parenthood. I was terrified to tell my coach. He had the power to pull my scholarship for this. I was team captain, and our fastest distance runner. Most Division 1 coaches would pull my scholarship. This is where my story begins. My story is one about true choice.
I forced my husband to come along for our "reveal". He was afraid there would be a conflict. My coach and I had had a few of those in the past. Instead, there was a simple acceptance that this would require a "red shirt". In college sports that means that you sit out a season, but you'll get that season back the next year. My coach was very supportive of my situation. He let me keep my scholarship. He didn't force me to chose between motherhood and an education, or between motherhood and respect, or between motherhood and an ATHLETIC career. He allowed me to have it all. I'm not the only female athlete for whom he did this.
 |
| Right after track practice! I'm too tired to shower! |
Our team was populated with several girls who had chosen to keep their unwanted TEENAGE pregnancies. You heard me, TEENAGE. I had several teammates who had their babies while still in high school, yet were able to be top athletes in their states, thanks to supportive parents and communities. He offered them scholarships while most other Division 1 Coaches scoffed at them. One of my teammates ran a 2:12 800m as a senior in high school less than a year after giving birth to her daughter. While IU laughed at her and told her that her daughter would never be welcomed at any team events, our coach allowed the kids to come to our practices. Daycare is not always available to young mothers that are full-time students. THAT IS CHOICE isn't it? Guess what, he was Catholic also. He was living his values. He never once proclaimed his place on the Pro-Choice/Pro-Life issue. He lived it. He was obviously pro-life. He didn't need to go out and hold up posters, because he was taking real action. Besides posters alienate and miscommunicate, but his actions were a clear embrace of what it meant to truly chose life. He truly support women's rights. When my teammate (the one I mentioned earlier) chose to leave the team for her daughter, it was truly HER choice because she was more than welcome to stay.
I think women deserve a choice, and right now they don't really have one. Your job or baby isn't a choice, it's an ultimatum. Our society makes it nearly impossible to chose to keep life when that life is unplanned, believe me I know. Our society treats unplanned pregnancy like a terminal illness, and abortion as its cure. In order to truly provide choice we must support women enough that they aren't forced to chose between a pregnancy and job, a child and a career, a baby and an education, or motherhood and respect. We must truly give them a choice by ceasing to treat unplanned pregnancy as a terminal illness. I know that some people view each pregnancy as being very unique situation. I disagree I think that fundamentally each choice that must be made is the same, it is usually an ultimatum and not a choice. Do I chose the life of this child or do I chose the values of this society? I think there needs to be a serious re-evaluation of our definition of "choice". I am for true choice, which at this moment doesn't exist except in small pockets where people like my coach make a true choice possible. I think that pro-lifers need to put down their posters and live their value. It is the responsibility of Pro-Lifer's to take the ultimatum out of the equation so that women CAN chose life. Let's start supporting women, and respecting motherhood FOR REAL.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Mother Arguments... with myself.
Because I like to torture myself I am taking my little introverted self (who is also quite grumpy this morning) to the school so I can meet with other moms and build the set for Will's upcoming play. Wish me luck. I am terrified. I will put on my best "funny girl" face, and probably do a wonderful job of fooling everyone into thinking I'm "oh so funny and outgoing". Then I will spend the remainder of the day recovering, via nap, TV veg-out sessions, and oh, perhaps a run. Why do I do this to myself? I do it for my kids... (LOL please).
Oh yes, I wouldn't want them to be the kids of, "that woman, the one that won't talk to anyone" or "you know that grumpy lady with the chest tattoo". I would much rather they were the kids of, "that really funny chick". Since I'm capable of being quite charming and funny, that's the "me" I wear to these things... most of the time. Today I have to wear her since at Will's Valentine's poetry reading I was in charge of taking the class pictures, and I awkwardly stood with the sun to my back as the other parents ALL stood facing the sun. So there we were in a photography stand off, me vs. them. HOW awkward! I totally made up for it BY NOT TALKING TO ANYONE and leaving early. No, today I HAVE to ooze charm; even if it costs me the rest of my day... and then I hear logic and it sounds a lot like my husbands voice, "Annie, people don't care about you. They care about them. So long as you don't offend anyone they'll forget all about you." Hmmmm... I THINK I'd like that actually.
So let me get this right, if I can keep my darn foot out of my mouth, which is pretty hard for me, I don't have to be charming? "NO YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE CHARMING, you just have to NOT piss people off". Really? "yes, You weren't exactly charming to me when we first met and I fell in love with you" By the way, this conversation never happened. It's happening in my head, pulled from bits and pieces of 13 years worth of real conversations. He's right. The first thing I ever said to him boils down to, "you're ugly". Which was a lie. He had just gotten on my nerves with a cheesy come-on line. He is so weird. Bad example honey, you aren't normal. Most people would've hated me forever for that.
Okay, so now I feel sufficiently pepped up. Thanks to a conversation, with the husband, in my head. I will go to this thing and not be silent, and not be offensive. OH DAMNIT I'M DOOMED! I'm going to have to default to the oozing charm... *sigh*. But what will that teach my kids? To be popular is more important than being true to who you are? They won't be there, that's right. Do I opt or silence or steal the show? AAAAHHHHHHH.... I've become too adept at masking my introversion. It benefits me how? *sigh*
"Mom, can you come get me? I'm frozen" and that's my cue to stop blogging. There's a 5ft tween that needs to be rescued from his bed, and I still have to put on my cape (which looks a lot like an apron, but backwards and around my neck instead of my waist) before I head up there.
I just wanted my readers to see that all this being a Mom stuff can drive me insane... before my kids even get up in the morning. I hope you got a good laugh out of my inner debate...
Oh yes, I wouldn't want them to be the kids of, "that woman, the one that won't talk to anyone" or "you know that grumpy lady with the chest tattoo". I would much rather they were the kids of, "that really funny chick". Since I'm capable of being quite charming and funny, that's the "me" I wear to these things... most of the time. Today I have to wear her since at Will's Valentine's poetry reading I was in charge of taking the class pictures, and I awkwardly stood with the sun to my back as the other parents ALL stood facing the sun. So there we were in a photography stand off, me vs. them. HOW awkward! I totally made up for it BY NOT TALKING TO ANYONE and leaving early. No, today I HAVE to ooze charm; even if it costs me the rest of my day... and then I hear logic and it sounds a lot like my husbands voice, "Annie, people don't care about you. They care about them. So long as you don't offend anyone they'll forget all about you." Hmmmm... I THINK I'd like that actually.
 |
| What I'd like to be |
So let me get this right, if I can keep my darn foot out of my mouth, which is pretty hard for me, I don't have to be charming? "NO YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE CHARMING, you just have to NOT piss people off". Really? "yes, You weren't exactly charming to me when we first met and I fell in love with you" By the way, this conversation never happened. It's happening in my head, pulled from bits and pieces of 13 years worth of real conversations. He's right. The first thing I ever said to him boils down to, "you're ugly". Which was a lie. He had just gotten on my nerves with a cheesy come-on line. He is so weird. Bad example honey, you aren't normal. Most people would've hated me forever for that.
 |
| Self-Portrait... really. I drew this of myself. |
"Mom, can you come get me? I'm frozen" and that's my cue to stop blogging. There's a 5ft tween that needs to be rescued from his bed, and I still have to put on my cape (which looks a lot like an apron, but backwards and around my neck instead of my waist) before I head up there.
I just wanted my readers to see that all this being a Mom stuff can drive me insane... before my kids even get up in the morning. I hope you got a good laugh out of my inner debate...
Thursday, December 29, 2011
getting off the fence
Determining the world I wanted my sons to see was the easy part. I wanted them to live simply. To listen more than they speak. To be humble. I wanted them to question their own motives and desires, as well as those of the people they encounter. I wanted them to see the world as a place in which they are alien citizen who have the responsibility to do good to others and the planet itself. I wanted them to follow Christs example, because one thing EVERYONE can agree on is that he was an awesome dude, that did great things. However, manufacturing that vision to their minds eye, is another story entirely.
I have failed many times over at teaching them this, at being an example to them. I have said before on this site that it was difficult for me to know the line between providing for my sons, and making them slaves to the expectations of a materialistic society. Every parent wants to provide their child with the things that will save them from being the social outsider at their school. While I have still failed to master this concept, of all of my responsibilities as "PARENT" I have succeed most in this area. Sad, huh. I have succeed in teaching them vision, but not in teaching them how to live within it. I have built the blue print, but not a users guide.
The husband and I have done a great job of discouraging participation in clothing and toy fads. While we have bought our share of Bakugan, Hex bugs, and BeyBlades, clothing is a different matter. The boys wear polo t-shirts, and jeans to school. They prefer to dress this way. They say it makes them feel good about themselves, and keeps them from attracting unwanted associations as to their character and preferences (at least so far. Junior High will be a different story next year). So while we've done a great job of not buying labels, shopping at thrift stores, and teaching our children to not want material possessions, we have failed to teach them that unwanted associations and judgments are a part of life. I'm sure next year will give us plenty of opportunities with Cooper who will be entering 6th grade.
I think the thing I struggle with the most is dealing with persecution for my associations and values. I keep my beliefs, and values pretty close to me, and do not carry them with me outside of my own home, unless I'm going to church. What does this teach them? I don't care what your beliefs are, if you only value them and practice them at home, that teaches your kids that they are conditional. That what you truly value is blending in.
As the boys are getting older it is becoming more and more critical that I have no fear in advertising my beliefs, regardless of the consequences. It becomes critical that I LIVE my beliefs as a verb, and not keep them only in my heart. What I have been doing is no different than people who put a yellow, "Support our troops" magnet on their car and leave it at that. They do not actually support our troops. A magnet doesn't do it. Sacrifice, volunteering time, talents, or funds to that cause would be supporting their troops. I have had a sticker relationship with my values for far too long now. How are the boys supposed to live in opposition to what the world values, if I won't?
As the boys are getting older it is becoming more and more critical that I have no fear in advertising my beliefs, regardless of the consequences. It becomes critical that I LIVE my beliefs as a verb, and not keep them only in my heart. What I have been doing is no different than people who put a yellow, "Support our troops" magnet on their car and leave it at that. They do not actually support our troops. A magnet doesn't do it. Sacrifice, volunteering time, talents, or funds to that cause would be supporting their troops. I have had a sticker relationship with my values for far too long now. How are the boys supposed to live in opposition to what the world values, if I won't?
I had my children young. Perhaps that's not an excuse. I still need my excuses I suppose. While they were young I was struggling with who to be in the world myself. I couldn't manufacture a vision for someone else by any means. I couldn't own my beliefs. I wanted my belief in Christ to be just our secret. It was good enough, right? Christ knew I loved him in my heart. Now I see that this is no different than never showing my love to my husband and just assuming he knows how I feel. If I never hugged him, never honored his wishes, never performed acts of kindness for him, never owned up to being married, and acted single when I was with single people. Pretty sure that would devastate my Mr. and eventually lead to a divorce.
Loving Christ means that the world will persecute me. It means that I will be rejected. I have a serious fear of being rejected. I have not always done the greatest job of filling up my daily life with people that won't reject (rejecting and disagreeing are two incredibly different things to me I will explain in a later post) my beliefs, and because of that I haven't had the support I needed to weather rejection... a catch 22. A catch 22 trap I built around myself because of the circles I allowed us to travel. It's a choice. A choice that requires me to reject the social invitations of others. I hate rejecting people more than I hate to be rejected. I have struggled with the bible telling us, "Bring not every man into your house for many are the snares of the crafty one... If you do good, know for whom you are doing it, and your kindness will have it's effect. Give to the good man, refuse the sinner." (Sirach 11:29-30, and 12:1-7) and Jesus telling us to forgive 70x7, to love our neighbor, and "what you do to the least of men you do unto me". I find the good in everyone I meet so this seeming contradiction has really been hard for me. As my Mr. says I, "view the world through rose colored glasses, and find a bit of (myself) in absolutely everyone." For me rejecting someone else is a bit like rejecting a part of myself.
Having kids means you will encounter a spectrum of people, perhaps more closely than not. When you don't have kids you can control the circles in which you travel a bit more. You don't have to go to soccer games, wrestling matches, school functions. Since, I find the good in pretty much everyone I meet when a person invites my family to do something I say "yes" without even weighing the possibilities. I think I have finally, and hopefully not too late, figured this out. This part of my fabrication for the boys has been the hardest. As they have started making friends, and because of our time in the military, I have learned that this isn't a contradiction. It means to be very choosy with those people you call close friends. The majority of our time is spent among all people. We are to treat them lovingly, compassionately and with forgiveness. When you are at work and a co-worker (or mom at the playground) takes a caddy jab at your performance (parenting), when you get cut off in traffic, when someone at the store blocks the aisle; you do not react in anger, but in compassion. We are to be "light in the darkness", a smile among grumps even if we have EVERY right to be grumpy too. A super human feat called grace.
Your social time is your time. It is limited and precious. Most importantly you get to chose who to spend it with. It is during this time that you pick only those that support your belief. If we are truly going to have the strength to live out our beliefs, to be counter-cultural, this time needs to be shared only with those that will encourage us, support us, and allow us to feel mainstream even if only for a short time. So that we have the energy and peace to again go out into the world and walk up the down escalator with a smile on our face.
I have failed my sons, until now, in how to live this. If I continue to make the same mistakes they will not understand that peer pressure happens, it never stops happening, and that it their responsibility to weather it without caving in. That standing up for what you believe in isn't the same as rejecting others. Scientific research proves that doing good for others rejuvenates our bodies at the cellular level to repair damage done by stress of day to day life. After all, true inner happiness comes not from doing good for ourselves, but in being good to others. Their only example of how to live actively will come from home. I am responsible for constructing this reality, and it's user guide, for them through my actions, through my life.
Monday, July 21, 2008
agrarian arts
While my belly grew out of control, stretching so tight it felt it would rip with Willem inside it, I was forced on bed rest. Powerless. I thought Willem would own my body forever. In the delivery room I felt my SI joint spread apart to make room as all 9 lbs of him decended through my small frame. The pain was intense. I wore my regular clothes home and was decieved in thinking this meant my body was the same. It wasn't. It was in pieces, and composed unrecognizably. It was as if I weren't in me anymore, but inside someone else peering out of darkness into two strange peep holes. This new body wouldn't cooperate. It kept breaking down and needing fixed. Injections, threats of surgery, and several layoffs due to hips that didn't want to run. Whose useless body was this they stuck me with? I got fed up with the weakness of this strange container. Finally, I decided this new body needed a mother. It needed someone to care for it, raise it, teach it right and wrong, and ultimately to discipline it with care. So I took time to teach it how I wanted it to behave, to become what I needed it to be. That in itself took me 3 years. Three years of making running a stranger, to get to know this body. My frame allowed me visitation with running, but not full custody. Not until 15 months ago.
15 months ago. That's when I dedicated myself to peeling back the paper on my potential as a runner. 15 months ago I was flaccid and out of shape, the marks of childbirth still lay claim my physique (despite the fact that Willem was 3 at that time). It's only been in the last 3 months that have noticed the land scape of my body change. Lines began to cut their way up my thighs. Rows plowed across my belly as what fat was there melted away. Now the remaining relics of my pregnancy are the stretchmarks that climb up my lower abdomen like ivy on some stately brick wall. Those I want to keep as a trophy of motherhood. Where once I was round I am now shadowed with crevasses. Don't get me wrong. I am no Deena, or Shalane. By comparison I am girlish and undeveloped. My lines are still soft and gentle. However, they exsist and are proof of a planting and a rebirth.
15 months ago. That's when I dedicated myself to peeling back the paper on my potential as a runner. 15 months ago I was flaccid and out of shape, the marks of childbirth still lay claim my physique (despite the fact that Willem was 3 at that time). It's only been in the last 3 months that have noticed the land scape of my body change. Lines began to cut their way up my thighs. Rows plowed across my belly as what fat was there melted away. Now the remaining relics of my pregnancy are the stretchmarks that climb up my lower abdomen like ivy on some stately brick wall. Those I want to keep as a trophy of motherhood. Where once I was round I am now shadowed with crevasses. Don't get me wrong. I am no Deena, or Shalane. By comparison I am girlish and undeveloped. My lines are still soft and gentle. However, they exsist and are proof of a planting and a rebirth.
Friday, May 4, 2007
unhinged
quotes,
"Mommy no grown ups are at the playground. No one would see you playing with us so you could act like a kid. You know you have a kid inside you don't you."
"mine eyes are melting"
"It's wake up time. Make me some lunch"
"Cooper are you hearing voices again?"
"What's your super power?"
"Don't go in there! The One tooth monkey will get you!"
"mommy you look like a boy when you are running"
"I'm shaking my bottom at you!"
"Look at me I'm yours old granny!" (pants up to his nipples)
"jellycreamers!"
"holy chicago" "holy mayonnaise"
Of course there's spontaneous accapella renditions of "409" and "Day Oh"
"brother love"
"kuckoburra code"
"Sorry boys, I can't hear you. The music in mommyland is awfully loud!"
Once upon a supermarket fit
"Little boy you look upset. Do you want me to help you find your mommy?" You are my mommy. "I'm sorry but I've never seen you before today." YOUS ARES MY MOMMY! "Nope I'm sorry. My little boy never yells at me." (tiny laughter) Mommy it's me bwennan Wiw wam gwasway" You look a lot like my son. Oh how I miss him. He was eatten by a one tooth monkey you know!" Siwwy no I wasn't I'm wight heow. (In the dramatic fashion of a silent movie damsel) "Oh it couldn't be! Willem is that really you! Oh how I've missed you so!" (Big hug)
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Corney ramblings
Well no major meltdowns today. I felt as normal as one who is amputated from "normality" can. I didn't get to run which made me feel like shit. My calf still hurts but I know it will get better soon and I'll be back to ass kicking as normal.
The boys were cute today, for a while. They cancelled school at noon so I had them both all day. We watched movies together, did an art project involving planes and rockets, baked cookies, built a space station and a large Thomas rail line. They ate pigs-in-a-blanket and tomato soup for dinner. WE finished it off with two bedtime stories. Sounds like June Cleaver doesn't it? Don't be fooled. Mrs cleaver wished on the first star to be Ani Difranco, or Anais Nin, or Evita, or any Childless independent woman she could think of.
The boys couldn't have known that inside I was screaming to get the hell out of the house by myself. My ability to maintain a calm and patient outter shell while my interior wriggled restlessly to be independent was unnerving. Will kissed me spontaneously on the arm as I reached to open the oven to pull the cookies out. The string attached to that kiss pulled me back to earth.
The string attached to that kiss didn't remedy the fact that I've lost my independence. It meant something. I'm not sure what, but if I don't screw up to badly it'll be something good. I know that because when they were both asking me questions simultaneously, and instead of getting an answer, I asked for 5 minutes alone they both obliged without a complaint. Yes, I had Cooper when I was young. Yes, I wasn't ready. Yes, sometimes I still feel like I'm not ready. The boys show me how to truly love someone else if I'm willing to learn. As I follow their example I become ready.
No parent is perfect (except me! hahahahah), but parents who listen and learn are at least trying. I'm convinced there's a kiddie point system and that they give bonus points for trying even if you screw up. Attention, concern, interest, compassion, space when I need it, are all things that my kids give me. These are things they need me to return in favor. On days when I need these from myself they let me be selfish without holding it against me. I hope I can remember that when they are teenagers! For now Don't be fooled by the apron... it doesn't signify quite obedient servitude, I'm not wearing a thing underneath and I'm terrible at taking orders!
The boys were cute today, for a while. They cancelled school at noon so I had them both all day. We watched movies together, did an art project involving planes and rockets, baked cookies, built a space station and a large Thomas rail line. They ate pigs-in-a-blanket and tomato soup for dinner. WE finished it off with two bedtime stories. Sounds like June Cleaver doesn't it? Don't be fooled. Mrs cleaver wished on the first star to be Ani Difranco, or Anais Nin, or Evita, or any Childless independent woman she could think of.
The boys couldn't have known that inside I was screaming to get the hell out of the house by myself. My ability to maintain a calm and patient outter shell while my interior wriggled restlessly to be independent was unnerving. Will kissed me spontaneously on the arm as I reached to open the oven to pull the cookies out. The string attached to that kiss pulled me back to earth.
The string attached to that kiss didn't remedy the fact that I've lost my independence. It meant something. I'm not sure what, but if I don't screw up to badly it'll be something good. I know that because when they were both asking me questions simultaneously, and instead of getting an answer, I asked for 5 minutes alone they both obliged without a complaint. Yes, I had Cooper when I was young. Yes, I wasn't ready. Yes, sometimes I still feel like I'm not ready. The boys show me how to truly love someone else if I'm willing to learn. As I follow their example I become ready.
No parent is perfect (except me! hahahahah), but parents who listen and learn are at least trying. I'm convinced there's a kiddie point system and that they give bonus points for trying even if you screw up. Attention, concern, interest, compassion, space when I need it, are all things that my kids give me. These are things they need me to return in favor. On days when I need these from myself they let me be selfish without holding it against me. I hope I can remember that when they are teenagers! For now Don't be fooled by the apron... it doesn't signify quite obedient servitude, I'm not wearing a thing underneath and I'm terrible at taking orders!
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