Skip to main content

Thoughts in 3 parts

If I only had a brain.

Well, I'm working on that I suppose.   Some fifteen years ago I left school behind to be a married lady, then a mommy lady.  And I wouldn't trade those things, or change those things.  Marriage and children have been the hardest and most rewarding classes I have ever taken.  Many lessons are learned through pain (caused by my own pride, naivety, and selfishness usually), some were learned through love, some were just plain out learned.  Like, cover up the boy parts while you change diapers.  I learned that lesson quick.  A cuddle goes farther than a spank.  I learned that lesson slow.  You don't get lost, lazy moments back - I haven't learned that lesson yet, I keep failing the test.

Now that I'm back in the book-learnin' type school, I am learning new things.  How to budget time, how to meet expectations, how to speak up, how to work hard and fake my way through when I don't understand (I kind of already knew that, but I'm refining), how to ask for help, how to not settle for less than the grade I earned.  Good lessons all mixed up with the hog wash lessons that contradict the knowledge my soul has stored up over the last 33 years.  I love learning - though I don't exactly enjoy waking up early, not at all.  I'm exhausted some days, and grumpy some days, and my house is a mess most days.  But I've got this fantastic little cheering section all my own that smiles and hugs and forgives for my shortfalls.  And I'm not sure how people get through college without one, too.

If I only had a heart.

I clicked on a link that took me to another blog about another amazing person with another amazing story.  There are so many people out there that quietly go about their work, filling the world with peace and joy or amazing handicrafts.  Not every blog story out there is knock-off-your socks, but many are humbling, passionate experiences that shake your mind a little bit.  Today I was reading about a mother of 8 who also happens to foster.

There was a time, not long ago really, where we considered fostering too.  Carly's second mother was a wonderful foster mother that brought our wee babe from the hospital, suffered midnight feedings, took her to the doctor, and handed her over to us when the time came.  Carly was somewhere around the 20th child that had come through this woman (she told me once what number it was, but I can't remember).  For a while I had a strong desire to return the favor, as it were.  And possibly, in the meantime, add a little something to my feathered nest through fostering.  I began filling out paperwork.  I looked at parenting class schedules (gotta take those to foster, you see).

But I stopped.  The time wasn't right.  The fear in me took hold.

What if, what if a little someone came to me that I wanted to keep - but then I couldn't?  What if the hopeless stories were too much for me to handle.  What if, what if, what if.

If I only had the nerve.

To get up and grip the things I want with both hands.  I could have given fostering a try.

But I didn't.

I could be spending more time writing and less time watching (TV).

But I don't.  Even the thought of rejection is paralyzing.

I could be studying more, cleaning more, working more, singing more, laughing more, walking more, losing more (weight), sharing more, visiting more, keeping more (promises).

But I don't.


At the end of the day my hardest lesson to learn is patience.  Patience with myself and the world around me, patience with the passing of time and the seasons of life.  There are so many experiences out there I haven't had, so many mountains that I want to climb.  Often I lose perspective on the right now. 

Right now, I'm walking this yellow brick road.  It's not the road I expected or planned for and I can't see where it goes. 

Full speed ahead.

Comments

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 …

Fragmented re-introduction

I dreamed a dream once of what this would be like.  Of life.  Of patterns and songs and ticking off boxes to find my way. 

Trouble was, I keep looking at the wrong list.

This year's list:

- Turn 40 (check)
- Move again (check)
- Send the boy on a mission (check)
- Finish admin license
- Get lost (check)
- Get found (check)
- Lost again (check)

Wait, that went off track. 

Adulthood is a lot of getting off track.  And back on.  It's weird.

I thought at 40, I would have it all together.

But, I'm barely keeping it from falling apart. 

Weird.

So, this is me where I am now.

40, working, waiting.  My boy's on a mission in Boise.  My girl's 12 going on 20.  My husband hates his job most days, and loves it alternatively.  Same for me.  We live in a small town I don't like very much and dream of going somewhere else, but we don't know where that is. 

I want to be a writer, but I don't spend time writing.

I read something the other day that gave me hope: Guy Fieri…

It feels like...

Having an (almost) teenage daughter can be...quite an experience. 

"I hope you have a kid just like you," so the saying goes.  Usually, you only hear this if you're a rough kid.  I was a rough kid - in some ways.  I gave my mom a pretty hard time.  And, if she wished for a kid that was 'just like me' to come along as payback - the parent gods smiled on that wish.

Today (after a pretty tragical and frustrating encounter) Carly said: I just needed to get mad at somebody.  I don't know why.

Well, if that doesn't sum up teenage angst, I don't know what does.

It also kind of applies to adult angst.  Some days I just want to be mad at somebody and walk around stomping my feet.  Today I felt like that.  In between good things, though, so at least there's balance.

And balance is tricky this days, too.

It feels like the house is a wreck (it mostly isn't, but sort of is).

It feels like I'm swimming in work and can't catch up (this one is very tr…