Skip to main content

Fiery Furnaces and such


The last couple of posts are just down right de press ing. I know. I'm sorry.

But you should know, I feel slightly better this evening.

First I hiked with Josh and Carly (uphill both ways with no shoes, mind) to the hill way at the back of our yard. There was lots of cactus so I was forever telling the kids to watch out. For cactus. Watch out! I think sometimes Carly was put on this earth purely to teach me to open my eyes. We gathered stones and dry wood. No one got poked. The wheelbarrow tipped over 2 times when Josh tossed in rocks with too much impatience enthusiasm.

Then we sat out by the (completed thanks to Eric) fire pit and listened to the wood crackle and disassemble into ash. Everyone should have a fire pit, it's theraputic. We toasted too many marshmallows, I can feel one sticking to my rib as I type. The wind was sweeping dusk across the sky, ushering trouble away like a broom making quick work of the dirt. We told Carly to watch out. For fire. Watch out! We yelled a couple of times, which irritated me. But then, we settled in. And darkness fell.

The kids were ushered in for showers. They left a lot of dirt on my bathroom floor. And I haven't cleaned it up yet, no sir. Take that troubles! They came out smelling of Axe and strawberries, respectively.

I sat in the family room and ran a brush through Carly's wild mane. The curls never uncurl, just bounce right back into springy shape. And so shall I. I sang to distract Carly from the unpleasant brush that had to pull out the tangles. Primary songs. And Old McDonald because she was being so good that I let her have one rowdy song. One rowdy song that made everyone laugh, especially at Eric's squirrel/dolphin impression. Josh rolled on the floor, as is his wont, and Carly came away with 4 perfectly imperfect pom-poms.

Then to bed with the wee ones and a movie for the not-wee ones. (17 Again, if you wanted to know. We liked it.)

Now the house is quiet. Just a ticking of the clock and the sighing of breath. The ending of a day and the beginning of another.

Starting fresh.

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Carly,

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life.

People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a sturdy …

On being away from home and turning sixteen: a letter to my son

Dear Josh,

I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart.

It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it can be really hard not to like you…

Dear Carly (on your 9th birthday),

I can't remember what it is like to turn nine years old.  From watching you turn nine, it must have been difficult because it seems like everything is either really, really greator really, really bad.  Some days I think I might get whiplash from the mood swings (and you're not a teenager yet!).   But overall, I think nine must also be really wonderful.  You seem to be full of joy, even moments after being full of woe.  It's as if the joy just pushes the other stuff out.  It practically oozes from your pores.  More than that, on the days you choose to be happy, the whole world sings with you.  People are infected by it, drawn in to your sweet smile and shining eyes.  Attracted like bugs to a light.  You shine, dear little diva, so brightly sometimes it's blinding.

We just spent three weeks together in California, and I must have complained too much about your behavior because your dad believes we are oil and water right now.  I'd prefer to see us as oil and vinegar …