What Is Ideal?

I am real. 
I exist.
Air in my lungs, inhale exhale
I am real.
Thousands of voices scream
Ideal
Cold hands reach out and to take hold
Pulling me this way
Dragging me that way
Ideal
I am not ideal.
I am real.
Perfection is not my aim
The voices scream louder
Their message penetrates
I am not ideal.
Wait
I am confused
I am lost
I struggle
I am not ideal.
Can I be ideal
When all I am is real?

I’m sorry, I mean no disrespect, but I don’t want to drink your Kool-Aid.

Is truth a.) subjective, b.) objective, c.) relative, or d.) absolute?  Is there only one right answer? Or multiple answers?  Is it even possible for a human to know the truth about all things?  And how can a human be an authority on truth?  Fact and reality, sure, you can be an "authority" on that, I suppose.  But if your truth comes from something other than fact or reality, I'm not sure I'm buying it. I don’t see how that can be TRUTH.

I guess false is the opposite of truth.  If the concept of being true is made up of fact and reality, then being false must mean that it’s NOT made up of fact or reality.   Let me count the numerous times I've heard the proclaimed experts exhort on what TRUTH is.  Or maybe not TRUTH itself, yet speak to ideas or concepts being true.  Yet, when I consider what they are saying, they are incorrect.  What they claim to be TRUTH, I find to be opinion or speculation or mere assumptions. 

It’s possible for me to believe that the earth is flat; even though I know science has pretty effectively proved (no small part to Columbus) that the earth is round and it is widely accepted that the earth is in fact round.  I've never been to outer space to view the planet, I've never actually seen it from that perspective—but I’m comfortable saying its round. BUT it is possible for me to wake up one day with such conviction that I am just absolutely sure that the earth is flat.   Yesterday, and all the days before, I would tell you the earth is round.  But today, I believe it to be flat.  Yeah, I know, weird, but it could happen.  It really gets even more bizarre when I go out and start trying to convince others that the TRUTH is—“hey, you know that planet of ours you always thought was round?  Well, turns out, it’s flat.”  Blink. Blink. Blink. “What makes you think that?”  Blink. Blink. “I just feel it so it’s true.”

At that point, is my truth considered subjective?  In a way, I guess it is.  I mean, if I just woke up one morning and all the sudden believed the earth is flat—nobody told me that, I didn't hear it anywhere else, it’s just based on my feelings or belief that the it’s flat—my truth is, I guess, subjective. 

This belief that the earth is flat is not objective; it’s based on zero, zilch, nada facts whatsoever.  It’s not relative as it’s certainly not related to anything else and I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say this believe is not absolute.  I guess my point—it’s probably really muffled right now—is one born of utter frustration. In my lifetime, I have met some real gems of human beings.    I've had the pleasure of listening to people say some really bizarre and unbelievable statements (and heard some pretty nasty and hateful things) all under the guise of TRUTH.  They promote their TRUTH as objective and absolute—filled with fact and accuracy to the max. However, their TRUTH seems as absurd as me trying to convince anyone that the earth is flat.

I do believe absolute truths exist. I’m not exactly ready to delve, but I do believe it can exist.  But just as I believe some truths stand on their own, unrelated to anything else and true in and of themselves, I also believe that some TRUTH is subjective and relative.  Some expert exhorters spread lies.  They take their own personal beliefs as to what is true and share it as if it is absolute.  That makes my stomach turn.

I don’t think I’m alone in those feelings. If you want to share the TRUTH with me, share the facts.  Share the reality.  Share the absolute.  If you want to share your opinion or your belief with me, please do so.  I’m open!  But for God’s sake stop shoving your opinion down my throat and insisting that IT IS THE TRUTH. 

I’m sorry, I mean no disrespect, but I don’t want to drink your Kool-Aid. 

And So Swirls the Toilet Like Days of Our Lives

It’s always a shock to the system when one parent is left to handle the household alone for a couple of days when you're accustomed to splitting up the duties.  Often, we think we are dividing and conquering the tasks of running a household of five, but truly—our children divide and conquer us.

When I came home from work yesterday, my middle child, my darling Jamie was bouncing off the walls.  He was giddy and silly.  My three children and I, plus Phoebe the guinea pig, sat on my bed chatting.  Jamie was insanely silly.  (I won’t even go into the stories he was sharing, I’ll just say I was floored.  When Jeff returns home, he’ll have to handle that business.)  But Jamie broke out into a laughing fit.  Reminding me of myself as I had those constantly as a child.  Something gets you laughing so hard that you cannot stop.  He laughed for about 10 minutes straight and then all the sudden he started crying.  Bizarre, I tell you.  I dismissed the other two children, and Phoebe the guinea pig, and tried to get Jamie to tell me what was on his mind.  It boiled down to him missing his father.  We talked, crisis averted.  I thought.

I begin making dinner, as I quickly realize these kids need bed as soon as possible.  I get everything started and get the kids looking for a movie we can watch during dinner.  We typically eat at the dinner table, but I thought it would be something special.  And it was.  We all laughed as we ate and watched a hilarious Psych episode (Last Night Gus, HI-LAR-I-OUS!)  Abby actually ate the pork chop AND the stuffing.  Miracles do happen! “Mommy, this is so yummy!”  Who kidnapped my picky-eating child and replaced her with this lovely creature?  After dinner, we played a little bit, and I started the task of cleaning up—WHICH I ABHORE. While doing the dishes, a report comes from downstairs that Jamie has clogged one of our toilets.  I rolled my eyes and refused to go down there.  I’ll deal with that later.  “Okay, Jamie, let’s use less TP.  And let’s finish the homework.”  As I’m standing in the kitchen finishing up the dishes, I hear Jamie crying—AGAIN.  He can’t do his homework.  Abby is playing with her dolls and Sam is watching football.  “Jamie, what is going on?”  I ask.  “I don’t know,” he whimpers.    “Alright, let’s get this done,” I said, and I sat down beside him, helping him through the homework.  We also talked a little more and I found out he’s having some friend troubles.  We talked it out and I gave some decent advice. I think.

I managed to convince Abby to go to bed.  She was all ready to jump in the bed when she looked at me with this huge, awkward smile “I miss daddy,” she says, and I see what’s getting ready to happen.  “I know baby, but he’s having fun with Uncle Del and he’ll be home soon.”  I hug her, trying to console her BEFORE it starts.  But to no avail, she begins balling her eyes out.  There we sit, in the floor of her room, she’s all out ugly crying and I’m wondering how in the world I’m going to get these kids in bed.  Just as quickly as the tears started, they stopped.  She climbed into the bed.  We chatted about her day and she told me how much she loved me.  I, feeling so exhausted and bleary eyed, just sat there and let her play with my hair.  She began smiling and we talked about loving each other to the moon and back.  She laughed when I said I loved her more and said “what does that mean?”  “It means you have no idea just how much I love you!”  We hugged, kissed, Eskimo kissed and I told her I’d be back to check on her after I got Jamie in the bed. One down, two to go.

Now, it’s time to go downstairs.  Sam is picking on Jamie about the toilet.  Oh the toilet, shoot.  I go in the bathroom and stand there not knowing what to do.  Part of me wants to save it for Jeff when he returns, but part of me wants to prove that I can handle this on my own.  I step out of the bathroom and say to the boys “I really don’t know what to do.”  Sam says “Call mi Padre, he always knows what to do.” I thought to myself:  yes, this is true, Jeff always know what to do.  So, I decided I’d handle the toilet.  I flushed it.  STUPID.  It began over-flowing and I began jumping around in the water, screaming and laughing, as did Sam, my supporter.  Jamie jumped on his bed, out of the way.  I quickly braved the elements and turned the water valve off.  Idiot, you should have plunged FIRST, trying to avoid the inevitable just cost you big time.

As a surgeon calls out to the scrub nurse, I began giving orders.  

Jamie, towels.

Bleach.

Sam, plunger.

Gloves.

I’m going in…

Not only did I unclog the toilet, I scrubbed the floor with bleach and began disinfecting the towels.  Of course, I gave orders NOT to use that bathroom while dad is gone.  I tucked Jamie in the bed.  “It was a rough afternoon, but we all have them.  I love you so much and am so proud to be your mom!” We hugged, kissed and said our good nights.  I hugged Sam, the supporter, and said “We make a good team. Thanks for everything!”  We exchanged love you’ s and good night. Two down.

Up the stairs I went, completely ignoring the HUGANTIC pile of clean laundry needing to be folded on the couch.  That must wait until tomorrow.  Oh, I forgot to do devotions with Sam, shoot. He needs sleep, tomorrow. I checked on Abby, she's out. I proceeded back to the kitchen for the umpteenth time to finish the dishes and begin packing lunches.  It’s 9pm and I’m figuring I might be done in time to watch a little non-sensical something or other on the TV.  Sam comes upstairs, startling me; he needed to use the bathroom.  When he comes out, I ask him to sit with me for a minute—perfect, let’s do devotions.  We read through them and we chat a little.  It’s so good to have this time with him.  We prayed together and again laughed about the events of the evening.  He’s truly growing into a fine young man.  “Thank you so much for helping me tonight,” I say, as I give him a high five.  He laughs and says he hopes I never have to do that again.  And something about how he can’t wait for dad to get home.  Hugs, kisses, good night again. Three down, me to go.

I go back to the kitchen to pack lunches.  Laying everything I out, I write notes for each of my children, instructing them for the morning and telling them I love them and hope they have a great day. I leave the cereal and bowl out for Jamie, cereal WITH marshmallows in a baggie for Abby and a note to Sam to eat yogurt for breakfast, don’t skip it!  Done.  Am I done?  Yes, I must be done.  I left some lights on throughout the house, in case Abby (or I) wake in the night.  I’m too tired to brush my teeth, gross—I KNOW, but I need sleep more.  So I crawl into the bed and I set the alarm. Ah, sleepy time. Down she goes.

Of course, I couldn’t fall asleep.  I watched some TV.  I finally fell asleep only to wake to Abby at 1:30AM.  Her leg hurt and she missed daddy.  Oh, yes, of course.  I fetched the Tylenol and I told her daddy would be home before she knew it.  She tossed and turned—so restless. We both fell asleep and we both woke at 3:45AM when the dog Margo was apparently having a doggy nightmare.  “What is that sound?” says Abby in her sleepy voice.  “I think its Margo.  I’ll check.”  It was Margo and she was fine.  I climbed back it the bed completely exhausted and so wanting sleep.  But I couldn’t sleep.  My alarm sounded at 5AM. Yay.

It has been a long time since I’ve been left on the home front to handle the affairs alone—Jeff is rarely gone overnight or for multiple days, unlike our early years when he traveled a great deal for weekend events, leaving the family behind.  Those days, I attempted to be a “stay at home” mom.   It was tough and I hated it.  Kudos to those of you parents who are of the “stay at home” persuasion.  It is not an ability I was gifted with.  I struggled for years with the fact that everyone in the world told me I should be at home with my children.  I gave up that struggle as I am fully aware having been both a stay at home parent and a working parent, I’m far better as a human being when I work.  We each must recognize our strengths and weaknesses.  So, good for you if it’s a gift God has blessed you with.  You stay at home parents, you fight battles daily that you are committed to and called to fight.  Good for you for following your calling and using your gifts. 

But I, the working mom, am not so bad.  I feel like the working mom, in general, gets little credit for what she offers her family and the world. Not only do I do tasks at home and with the children, I also work full-time (and go to school full-time).  But that’s how I’m wired—that’s who I was created to be.  More than anything, I’m so thankful for a spouse who truly helps me.  We work together, most days, to accomplish all that needs to happen within any given day. 

So yes, I think single parents are so totally awesome.  If I could give extra arms or plumbers for life, I sure would.  But seriously, if you ever need help—I may not be the best, but I’ll stand and scream and jump around with you while your toilet overflows.  Eventually I’ll pull myself together in attempts to help you, I promise.

Today I’m tired, but I’m so in love with my life that I cannot stand it.  Wonder Woman I am not, yesterday was truly a gift.  I had individual time with each of my kids AND we made some wicked memories!

Let’s do it again today-- sans the toilet fiasco.

it may be time to shut up and do something

I am thankful, but I'm not content.  I am hopeful, but I'm not confident.  I am proud to be an American, but I am not at ease.  This election season has agitated me, but I hope it’s a purposeful agitation. 

Your truth is not my truth.  Your opinion is not my opinion.  And guess what, that’s okay.  Stop telling me I can’t feel the way I do and stop insinuating that I’m an idiot because I may disagree with you.  The point is that there are far too few facts out there.  These opinions that guide people are built on half-truths, if any truth at all.  You cannot claim to have a complete understanding of a book when you only highlighted one sentence in chapter five and based your comprehension of the book on that one highlighted sentence.  You missed chapters one through four, and you left out chapters six through ten.  

But even bigger than that, we’ve missed much, much, much more than that.  While people were participating in partisan arguments, a child committed suicide. Children had to skip meals to save money for the family, another veteran couldn’t find a job (the unemployment rate for all Veterans continues to fall), children were sold into slavery, and millions of people carried on under the burden of an undiagnosed mental disorder and depression; all of this within the borders of the United States of America.

1 in 65,000 children ages 10 to 14 commit suicide each year[1].  In America, more than 1.3 million children will be homeless this year[2] and 17 million children live in households where they have to skip meals or eat less to make ends meet[3].  In 2011, there were 2,234 children waiting to be adopted in NC alone[4].  Young boys and girls in every city on the globe are forced to serve as sex slaves[5].

I am truly grasping for answers; I have set out to search not for the meaning of life, but for a life with meaning.   I believe that it our experiences along the journey of living teach us two crucial lessons: compassion and complacency thus leaving us with two major choices: mercy and self-righteousness.  While we are a conglomeration of each, one will lead.  Personally, I hope for compassion and mercy to lead my footsteps. 

Listening and watching during this heated election season caused me to try to identify things that are important to me.  Each of us have a platform, in a sense, a cause we support, an allegiance we grip, and a right we do not wish to give up.   These days, our opinions win out over the facts and we base our identity around what we want to be the truth, not what is the truth. (Of course, some could debate for hours regarding the definition of truth.)  Obama supporters degrade Republicans as a whole and Romney supports degrade Democrats as a whole.   Here’s the deal, it takes two to tango:  Democrats and Republicans, each side with their own truth, agenda, opinions and facts that make them look better than the “opposition”, this is the problem.   

No longer do we purposely and decidedly debate and discuss to seek the best solution for our country as a whole.  There is simply a divide that is heart breaking--- no longer the betterment of the whole; it’s the betterment of whatever “side” someone is on.  And please don’t tell me it’s not true, I’ve read the Facebook rants and posts and watched the media:  Cruel, demeaning, demoralizing and failing to offer a hint of respect for those who do not share the same opinions.  What's happening, in the meantime, when we aren't watching?

I recently watch Ethel: The Personal and Untold Story of Ethel Kennedy. It sparked an interest in Robert F. Kennedy.  I’ve always held an affinity to JFK, but I really don’t have a lot of knowledge on the Kennedy clan.  So I’ve done some digging.  I found a profound speech by RFK and his words truly inspire me.  

"…I think that we can work together - I don't think that we have to shoot at each other, to beat each other, to curse each other and criticize each other, I think that we can do better in this country...If we believe that we, as Americans, are bound together by a common concern for each other, then an urgent national priority is upon us.  We must begin to end the disgrace of this other America... Too much and for too long, we seemed to have surrendered personal excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things...We can do better here in the United States, we can do better.” -Robert F. Kennedy, March 18, 1968, University of Kansas[6]

Powerful stuff.

I want to believe in America again.  Disgrace comes when our focus is off.  And I’m not talking about faith or religion.  Ultimately, we are all human beings living this life together, regardless of your faith or the god you believe in.  I’m tired of fighting about who is right and wrong.  

Human beings were not created to be cruel to one other.  We were created to love one another.  We were created with unique personalities, thoughts and ideas, yet we were still created to love one another. 

I want to believe in the goodness of mankind again. 

I want to believe that when we stop relying on the media to tell us what is important and we start researching and finding the facts, we’ll truly begin to make informed decisions. 

Open your eyes and find something really important to fight for… what is the point of your fight? Will winning your argument feed a starving child, clothe the naked, provide shelter for a homeless family, give hope to the hopeless?    

If you answered no, it may be time to shut up and do something.

---

[1] http://www.save.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=home.viewpage&page_id=705d5df4-055b-f1ec-3f66462866fcb4e6

[2] http://familypromiseorangecounty.org/what-is-family-promise/homeless-statistics.html

[3] http://familypromise.org/housesforchange/Houses_for_Change_Fact_Sheet.pdf

[4] http://www.acf.hhs.gov/sites/default/files/cb/waiting2011.pdf

[5] https://secure.notforsalecampaign.org/about/slavery/#rs_3

[6] http://www.jfklibrary.org/Research/Ready-Reference/RFK-Speeches/Remarks-of-Robert-F-Kennedy-at-the-University-of-Kansas-March-18-1968.aspx

identifiably and tragically changed

I've spent the last several days really doing some soul searching. Recent events drove this to a top priority level on the necessity scale. You know, when you sit and try to figure things out and you just can't wrap your brain around that thing? Certain situations have made me think so hard, probably over-thinking, but really trying to process what I'm taking in. It's almost as if the motor in my brain is overheating—I've fried everything just trying to figure this thing out. I've literally expelled all my energy, emotionally and mentally just trying to make sense of this thing.

I had a good long cry the other night. A trillion and one little thoughts ranging from "I'm a freak" to "what's for supper" to "I just don't get it" to "what did I do so wrong" to "why did A do this" and "why did B do that to "I could eat a donut right now". I know, right? Insane. There are times, I admit, when my brain just flails out of control. But these tears were accompanied with this feeling that I was sort of washing out some of the hurt; the rest will heal over time. It's been a while since I cried. (Which is kind of weird.) Sadly my emotions as of late come out via the anger channel. A sarcastic quip, or raised voice, or angry combative exchange of words. The emotion has to get out—I'd explode otherwise. But why yell at my kids when its not the kids I'm upset with.  Or why be angry when you're really just sad? So I cried. And I felt better.

Along with the tears came something which really helped more than anything. The truth. That moment when I was able to name the reason I felt the way I did. Tangled up with that, was also where I owned the responsibility for my thoughts, actions, and inaction. That equals some level of freedom for sure. Allowing myself to verbalize the truth or identifying the root of the issue also allows me to breathe. When that brief moment of clarity snapped for me, it helped this situation make a little more sense. I have to stop looking at why "so in so" does this or "so in so" does that. I have to look at me.

I can't hide the fact that events in life have led me to fashion this little "fortress of solitude" around my little heart. We all do it. It's safe. But for me, it's like I literally cut-off the lifeline to my heart. Nothing in and nothing out. Sometimes I feel like that little heart became cold, dead, and black. Is that normal? Well, I can't speak to what normal is exactly, but I do think it makes sense. I suppose after a person has been broken, you'd be crazy to think that they'd remain the same after being put back together. Look at Humpty Dumpty; all the kings' horses and all the kings' men could not put him together again.

 

My heart suffered a tragic accident. The recovery is taking for-ev-er. I've made great progress, but I've also run into many obstacles that set the recovery back a few steps. It's painful and incredibly frustrating. When will I be strong enough to forget? How can I define myself in other ways, without considering the accident? When will people realize that their cure to everything doesn't always make sense to me. What a completely frustrating and trying process. And what if I go through this refining process of sorts only to learn that I'm just part of the dross?

I have been identifiably and tragically changed. I'm not the same; I am the one that has changed. I'm not the same person I was three years ago, not the same person I was five years ago or even a year ago. If I recognize change in certain situations, it's because I have changed, not necessarily anyone else. And while the change is good in many instances, my change is also tragic by definition which speaks to the depth of those alterations. Healthy growth of the human heart and soul is desirable and recommended. With those healthy changes also come the not so healthy. But I'm sure it's safe to say that this is something all humans deal with. That whole "you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there ya have, the facts of life" thing.

So it's me that has changed and it's me that needs to make changes. It rests on me. Honestly, I'm just out of energy. Spinning my wheels in directions that I'm not meant to go in and on things that aren't a reality for me. I'm not done with this soul searching; there is still much to decipher. No, I don't believe that I'm a waste. I firmly believe that I am a work in progress and I have a lot of questions along the way. I'm not afraid to ask them and I'm not afraid to be honest. It helps me live this crazy life of mine and be who I was created to be!

It is nice to open my eyes in the morning and know that I'm not who I was yesterday, but I'm who I was created to be today. The junk from yesterday is gone, I let it go. That's the best I can do for now. Today is a new day.

When life hands you bananas…

...make a banana oatmeal almond smoothie, duh. 

I stumbled upon a recipe that I have been absolutely desperate to try. Finally was able to assemble the concoction this morning. Wowzer! This combo is absolutely yum-o-luscious. 

Now, I did review the recipe, but upon further review, I did not follow it correctly—imagine that! I realized that I was supposed to cook the oatmeal first. I didn't cook the oatmeal. Oops. The directions said to add the ice last, but I read "pour all ingredients in blender" and didn't finish the sentence. When cooking, always read the entire recipe FIRST. I literally poured all ingredients in and well, nearly killed the blender. Smoke started coming out of the back and I thought to myself "huh, maybe I should turn it off?" Ya think? I guess I almost blew the motor which filled my home with a disgusting odor. I kinda made a mess too, slinging this banana creation all over the kitchen. Oh boy. But I did spare my clothing even though I was not donning a cutesy apron.

Having the recipe and following the recipe and two different things for me. How true to life is that? Extremely. The recipe for disaster is one that I'm very good at. I'm a pro at the cataclysmic! The recipe for the joyous? Ah well, I struggle with that. You know what makes me happy? Eating is one of those things that make me happy. But the older I get, the more obvious it is that I need to rehabilitate my eating habits. There's nothing wrong with food making me happy. Food is fantastic; I've always loved it and I always will. It's more what I eat, not that I eat. I've had fun looking for creative, fun, colorful, and health-full recipes.

This is a fun recipe I found and it's too good not to share. I can attest to the fact that the finished product was yum-o and semi-healthy. 

Banana Oatmeal Smoothie Recipe

 

Ingredients: 

• 2   whole Chiquita Bananas (best with brown flecks on peel) 
• 2   cups Ice
• 1/3   cup Yogurt - preferably Greek yogurt flavored with honey
• 1/2   cup Cooked oatmeal
• 1/3   cup Almonds 

Pour all ingredients in blender pouring ice in last. Blend on high for 30 seconds or until smoothie thickens. 

Nutrition Information per Serving: Calories 380; Total Fat 15 g (Sat 2 g, Trans 0 g, Poly 4 g, Mono 8 g); Cholesterol 5 mg; Sodium 35 mg; Potassium 690 mg; Total Carbohydrates 53 g; Dietary Fiber 9 g; Total Sugars 19 g; Protein 12 g. Percent Daily Value: Vitamin A 2%; Vitamin B6 25%; Vitamin C 20%; Vitamin D 0%; Calcium 15%, Iron 15%. 

 

Found the full recipe at http://www.chiquitabananas.com.

A Week of Firsts

I ate cottage cheese for the first time in my life.
Sam had pneumonia for the first time in my life and his.
Jamie spilled ice-cream, water, and cream soda on the freshly cleaned carpets, all within a 30 minutes time span.
First time I've been 160 days past my 34^th birthday.
Abby screamed and cried more this week than EVER.
I participated in a spin class at the gym where I thought for sure I would breathe my last.
While watching a painter paint a column at said gym, I leaned against the wall to wait; guess he could have told me the wall was still wet.
Come Thursday afternoon, I will be the mother of a middle school boy.

 
So it's officially a week of firsts. A lot of strange things happen to me, anyone that knows me can attest to this. Of course, a lot of strange things happen to you too, but you may not want to tell anyone. I, for one, do not mind telling people of my crazy. There is so much significant about some of these firsts.
I'm a picky eater. My diet does not consist of healthy fare, it's typically as fatty and fried as you can get. I'm finally trying to broaden my horizons and try some new things. I like cheese. Therefore, I should like cottage cheese. I've never eaten before mainly because it looks gross. The consistency freaks me out, but I'm trying it again today.
I don't work-out in public. Well, until recently. It's embarrassing to me, but I suppose an early death leaving my children without their mother would be cruel, so I really need to do what I can to take care of myself. I can get over my embarrassment and do my part to be healthier.
When Sam was 10 days old, he was hospitalized with RSV. There began our journey with a frequently sick little boy. Hundreds of ear infections, bronchitis, cold after cold after cold, and now, pneumonia. It happens and he's getting better.
Jamie is my clumsy child. I really should not fuss at him when he has these episodes—he's just like me. I just get tired of cleaning up my messes AND his messes.
Abby is a diva. We've contributed to that, no doubt. It's my responsibility to rehabilitate her diva tendencies. I can't take the screaming when she doesn't get her way. I've swatted that girls legs so many times in the last couple of days. And in all her defiant glory, she screams some more. Time out works sometimes… she is a different animal from the boys. This is going to be a long process.
I feel particularly old today despite the fact that I know I am not. But with each passing second, minute, hour, day, week, month… I grow more weary. I can't seem to focus on what's happening around me. It's as if I'm driving in a car, on the highway of my life, and when you look out the passenger window, things fly bye so rapidly, you can barely see them sometimes. And once you pass it, it's gone. Just a fading sight in the rearview. Ugh.
So tonight I go out with my 11 year old, 5^th grade soon-to-be graduate and buy him a suit for graduation. Tonight, I will snuggle my 9 year old, accident prone comedian and listen to him crack a silly joke. I'll pick up my daughter and hold her light-as-a-freakin-feather little body and listen to her tell me "I'm her best mama". All is right with the world when I am in their worlds. It's hard to watch them gain their independence. I know that's my job as their mother, but I sure don't like teaching this to them.
*tear*tear*

ps- the paint... it did come out of my pants and yes, it got it on my booty.  Naturally. Makes sense that I should draw more attention to my self by walking through the gym with paint on my can.  It was funny, so I can't be mad at the weirdo painter who failed to warn me.  

 

 

 

 

 

"Sometimes, some people just don't get it. It doesn't matter how hard you try to explain, or what you do. It doesn't matter how far you try to go to get them to understand. And if they had a gun in their hand they'd likely blow their own foot off and blame you for it despite how much you tried to prevent the calamity from happening. That's when it's just time to walk away and never look back."

The December Baby on October Baby

April 3rd marked the anniversary of my Adoption Day.  The day I came to my forever family.  Wow, that kinda sounds like a dog or cat.  Anyway, it's a special day for me.  To celebrate, Jeff took me to see October Baby, per my request.  I began crying in the opening scene and was still crying when the credits were rolling.  Healing, to say the least.  Finally, somebody gets it!

My Response to October Baby

“Thank you.” Hannah (adopted)

“For what?”  Hannah’s father

“For wanting me.”  Hannah

The last words of the film are still bouncing around in my brain.  That moment when you realize, yeah, that's pretty much it.

As an adopted child, no matter the circumstance surrounding my adoption, there is within me this desire to be wanted, to be loved.  It battles with the voices inside that tell me that I am unlovable, unwanted; something must be terribly wrong with me that my own flesh and blood would not want me.  If that’s the case, how could anyone ever want me.  That is the depth of the emotion for me.  

Even when surrounded by love, and amazing love at that, nothing is able to quiet the haunting voices telling me otherwise.  It is suffocating.  It makes me feel as if I am drowning and sometimes, I don’t even know why.  It’s almost as if intrinsically, that which connected me and that which disconnected me, cries out from deep within an enormous void inside.  It’s unexplainable and uncontrollable.

I’ve been asked hundreds of times how it feels to be adopted.  As a child, I would shrug and say “how does it feel to not be adopted?”   Well, for those of you who have asked and those who have wondered how an adopted person may "feel", as an adoptee myself, I can say October Baby will shed some light on all sides of that experience.  

In my situation, my birthmom was 15 years old when I was born.  I commend her for her choice and while there are pieces of that I can never fully understand, I absolutely support her decision.   Yes, selfishly, it can hurt when I allow it to. But I am without a doubt thankful for what she did.  I can't imagine what she must have felt at 15 years of age.  Ultimately, I feel that she loved me so much, she had to do what she did.   If she’d loved me any less, she would have made a different choice.

My parents needed me and wanted me.  They were able to care for me in a way that no one else could. Those events, no matter what they were surrounding my arrival two days after Christmas in 1977, began this crazy journey for me.  

My life is wonderful. My life is a beautiful gift; I am aware.  I am not a mistake. I am not unwanted. I am not unloved. I am not less. I am not alone. I am Melissa Gail Meador Wilson. I am adopted and that is pretty freakin' amazing!

Life is beautiful. And that is the height of the emotion for me.  

If you see the movie (which you need to) and if you know me (which you may wish you didn’t) you will see how I related to is so. It allowed  me to feel less alone and more understood.  Jeff said watching it was like watching me… 

The film is faith-based and it does talk about abortion.   I know what is right and wrong for me; it may be different for you.  I only ask for those of you who do not care for the statements made, try to see it through the eyes of an adopted child.  Religion and faith aside, life is beautiful. Period.

http://octoberbabymovie.net/