State of Obvious

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 ...

 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. ...

Dear me, I'd like to say a few words about what this day means.  This day of birth wherein I (you?) entered the world some thirty seven years ago, asleep.  Yes, asleep.  And still trying to catch up where I left off when so rudely interrupted by a smack on the behind. I'd like to say there is some magic formula or perfect sentence that sums up what it means to advance another year older and wiser, but if anything I've learned that most days (including birthdays) go on basically like the ones before.  Sure, there are the frilly types of days mixed in: celebrations, births, surprises, and the like.  But, really it all mixes together into memory-soup and it's hard to separate the strands. The year of thirty-six was spent largely learning to become a teacher.  Interestingly enough, I learned that I already pretty much am one (a teacher) and that there is a lot more fuss and bother than actual teaching on some days.  (Freshman - need I say more? (Okay...

Dear Charlotte, Carly was baptized on Saturday.  After some stress and movie trouble and programs printed wrong twice in a row, it went off without a hitch.  Carly wore a lovely white dress which you made and she positively glowed.  I've never been hugged so tight by the starfish child as when she came to me out of the font. When I took you to the airport, a most odious task I always dread because it means you are leaving, you thanked me for letting you participate in Carly's baptism and life in general.  It caught me off guard, I'm sure you noticed.  Because, I can't image it any other way.  If anything, I wish I had you more.  More tickling and laughing and comforting and loving.  Because you give all that you have so freely.  Because you make way and make time and make efforts beyond what's minimally required by ties of "family".  Because I cannot remember a time in my life where I have not admired you.  Although perhaps you ...

Tonight we had to cut your hair.  Three (plus) years of growth all gone with a few snips of the scissors.  You see, you decided to cut a pony tail by yourself, aiming for just the rubber band, but slicing a whole lot more away. It was traumatic, more for me than for you.  Although you were sad for a little while and very worried about the teasing that might follow. It's funny how I'm all wrapped up in you.  When I was little I had crazy curly hair too.  (I still do but that's not really important to the story.)  My mom wouldn't let me grow it out.  It was too messy, too thin, too tangled and mostly just too much.  But, oh how I wanted long, luxurious flowing hair.  (I still do, but that's not important either.)  So here you are, my very own little girl, with hair that grows so slowly and bunches up so tightly it never looks very long.  It can look big, or crazy, or fluffy, but never long.  At least not yet.  I made u...

It was your birthday yesterday.  I forgot. Not entirely, I mean I remembered yesterday that it was your birthday but I didn't do anything about it.  No calls, or letters, or presents in paper.  I'm sorry about that. By way of apology, here is my list of top ten things you've taught me.  1.  Never do for myself what others should have the opportunity to do.  Service is a two-way street, even when the other person involved is my child and they really don't want to get up and get me a drink. 2.  There's good music, and there's every other kind of music.  You can easily identify the good music for me if I'm having a hard time figuring it out.  You're probably listening to the good music, because you certainly wouldn't be listening to the bad music. 3.  The Arizona Wildcats are the best team on Earth. 4.  Chocolate is the perfect food for every meal.  Pumpkin pie is a suitable substitute. 5.  There is no chang...

This Mom thing is hard.  Coming up on 14 years of doing it, it hasn't really gotten any easier.  I'm still totally lost. I'm not really sure why I get mad so dang easily.  Or why it irritates me that you have the same habits I had when I was 13.  It probably seems like a very long time ago that I was 13, a lifetime, and it was. My heart feels very tender lately, it seems to have this surging sort of quality.  It worries all day long about what you're doing, how you're thinking, what decisions you're making.  It troubles over the tools I've given you - or the lack accordingly.  I am constantly afraid that I am not enough to keep you safe.  I'm much too lazy and easy-road-taking.  I can only hope to make up for that by loving you beyond the boundaries of common sense. When you were small, you used to come and tuck into my body, tight against my chest, and I could smell your hair.  It was feather soft and silky fine, golden nut brow...

You are sleeping.  You drifted off while you sat in the recliner with your Dad.  Your face turned to the side, your eyes slipped shut and then you were dreaming.  Just like that. It's magical to watch you change.  You're getting taller, and more person-like.  You talk with your hands.  You've got a personal sense of style (I'm not saying it's good, but you've got it.)  You have opinions and you're not afraid, at all, to share them.  You excel at making messes, not so much at cleaning them up (unless you're really motivated). You're reading.  And writing.  The reading comes a little slower, spurts and starts, but it's coming.  You like to make fancy looping letters and numbers.  You can color inside the lines when you care to try.  And you draw these incredible pictures of people with long, long, long hair and googly eyes.  They are wonderfully strange.  And quite sweet. Some days I look at you and can't thi...

A list, which is probably the product of my temporary state of single parenthood: To do (for me and you): Get the house cleaned.  The tornado-ness is driving me mad. Eat something totally unhealthy and delicious. Also, indulge in Sonic shakes. Play outside. Keep the TV turned off.  The silence is my best weapon against the aforementioned madness. Read scriptures every night.  Or most nights, possibly some nights - whichever comes first. Get the homework done early so we can stop thinking about it. Keep the sink free from dirty dishes.  A clean kitchen is so much happier. Feed the dogs.  And water.  Poor puppies. Play together. Read together.  I love to hear the sound of falling night time stories. Jump around. Dance. Laugh. Call Daddy.  Write a love note. Hug and kiss. Live every moment. Love hard. Sleep soft. Dream.  Never stop. See you there. Love, Mom

It's easy to say "Have faith" "It'll work out" "You'll get through this" "Things will get better". It's much harder to put these into practice.  To step back and examine the every day and find beauty.  To put one foot in front of the other even when your legs don't feel like moving.  It's hard to fall down and get back up.  The bruises hurt even after you're back up.  The fear and strain lingers like ice on a winter morning, hard and cold and cruel.  But you have power.  Power to change your direction, power to take control, power to overcome.  A well of potential brimming over, a brilliant bird in flight.  You've got it all inside you, just waiting. I remember when you were small, when you walked so slowly up the walk to preschool that I chided you.  I was in a hurry and you weren't.  You've never been in a hurry.  Deliberate, unfettered, drifting.  I've realized over the past few days that...

Or: What I'd like to say but can't really say (although I can't figure out just why I am not supposed to) I remember now why we chose to homeschool last year.  It was a frustrating experience, one we doubted pretty much the whole way through, but at least we knew what was going on.  We knew what our son was facing, where he was struggling, what he was missing.  We could tailor the week to his needs (and ours).  We could tightly control our expectations because - after all - we set the bar he was required to meet. Eighth grade for my dear boy - well, it's been hard this last week or so.  Progress reports came out.  If you sit and think you'll realize that those two statements aren't random, they're very related. I've seen my boy cry these last two nights, glittering tears that cling to impossibly long lashes.  He is crushed, you see.  Crushed by the pressure of keeping up, crushed by falling behind.  He is barely treading water in some cla...

A letter to myself. Dear Self, See, you did it!  See, it wasn't so bad.  You made it through the first semester, you even did quite well (so the signs all say).  See, it went by fast.  The moments rolled by like colored balloons, into the sky and away.  It was challenging.  And frustrating.  And exhilarating.  I know you're still a bit confused and anxious, but one step at a time.  The path in your life has always been made clear when you wait for it.  Just wait for it. Now a month, a month to be just Mom .  To see how your children have changed over these past blurred weeks.  See them , open your eyes.  Disconnect and relax.  The hard work was for them, now the time is for them.  Don't waste it .  Can't you see your life is wonderful?  I know you can. Love, Me

Dear Eric, I just wanted to say thank you.  Thank you for going to work every single day.  Thank you for trying your hardest and not resting on your many laurels.  Thank you for not accepting 'good enough', but pushing for 'best' instead.  Thank you for teaching Josh.  For sitting next to him in your office, often listening to endless chit chat while you are trying to work.  Thank you for guiding him and pushing him and helping him succeed.  Thank you for recognizing that he needs to be stretched to his limits.  Thank you for scheduling, grading, and reviewing his many MANY papers.  It is a hard job to homeschool a kid, no less while you are trying to work full time in the same room. Thank you for believing in me.  For letting me sleep in on my days off from school.  For making dinner so often.  For doing the wretched dishes.  For taking our children OUT before I EXPLODE some days.  Thank you for getting Carly ...

I am not sure who, exactly, is responsible for selecting tags for shirts.  Whoever has this job is either a) malicious or b) a nudist. Case in point:  my undershirt has the most stiff, scratchy, annoying, skin flaying tag ever in creation.  And for some reason, unknown, this tag is situated in the side seam of the shirt right where my pants waistline sits.  Why, why, why?  Oh I forgot: malicious nudist. It is my formal request that from now on tags are: a) printed ON the cloth b) removeable without ripping a giant hole in the fabric or c) made of something soft and pleasant.  Silk maybe? Satin? Cotton? Sincerely, Me 

This afternoon I was lying in bed with your sister, listening to the soft swishing sound of her breath while she slept.  She was snuggled into the crook of my arm, her bare cheek against the squishy part of my shoulder, snug like a bird in a nest.  My thoughts flitted back to a time when you fit into this little nest.  I still remember your downy soft blonde (ish) hair, your plump cheeks, your perfect little lips and nose.  While I was lying there with her, thinking of you, I felt a little sad. Pretty soon, in less than two months in fact, you will be 12.  Twelve!  T W E L V E.  I am not sure how and when, exactly, that happened.  I blinked and suddenly you were half an inch from five feet tall and your hair was brown.  I imagine with dread a time when your wings will fully sprout and you'll jump from this nest.  The loneliness of your growing up is already tangible even though it is (hopefully) still far away. This tinge of sadnes...

Let's not lie to each other.  You know I love you .  What, with your all-you-can-eat garlicy, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth breadsticks ; your cheese topped salad goodness, your mouth-watering pastas (literally, my mouth is watering as I type this love letter to you) and soups - how can I not love you?  I haven't even mentioned desserts yet...lemon cream cake...... Where were we? Oh yes, you are everything a restaurant should be. Everything, that is, except cheap.  You're not cheap.  And that $5 off coupon you just emailed to me?  Well, that is just not getting it done.  I want to come visit you, I really do, but I need at least a free entree.  Better yet, $15 off and free drinks .  Then I might be able to come visit.  Until we meet again... xoxo , Me

You sure were annoying today. There is just so much happiness in you, trying to get out.  Your body can't contain it and you have to bounce around.  You have to sit on things (mostly me) , and jump on things (me again, Dad too) , and twirl, and dance, and laugh out loud.  You have to ask a zillion questions, and the answers are never complex enough to suit you.  You have to zip around and touch things, go where you've been told not to go, ask Daddy questions (because he is your favorite) when you don't like my answers.  I can't keep up with you, and on days like today I just don't even want to try.  I want you to SIT and LISTEN and BE STILL and CALM DOWN and STOP.  But those words seem meaningless to you. While I was sitting here at my desk, I noticed your baby album.  You looked through it earlier, it is your favorite book to look at.  You touch your pictured face, you ask who people are, you comment about how cute you were, you soak t...

not Heavenly Powers, but rather Government Powers, in case I need to be clear. You are exhausting me today. You have worn through my optimistic shell down to the pessimist that secretly lives inside. Apparently, this new healthcare reform is THE END OF THE FRIGGIN WORLD. If it doesn't hold up, we're all DOOMED. If it does hold up, we're all DOOMED.  I'm pretty much banking on we're all DOOMED, there doesn't seem to be any other options. Also, I'm not really sure how this happened but apparently my NM driver's license was suspended in 2000.  I didn't have a NM DL in 2000.  I didn't even live here.  And nobody told me it was suspended either, not until today when I tried to officially become a resident.  I'm pretty sure a majority of my brain cells just died.  But I'm not really surprised because we're all DOOMED anyhow. DOOMED. With affection , Me

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 forwar...

I'm not sure if you've heard, but pretty soon it will be Valentine's Day.  You know, the shameless excuse of a holiday wherein we exchange mostly edible or sparkly gifts?  While I was driving around in the car, an ad came on the radio for said holiday.  It was for Laser Hair Removal. I just want to warn you, up front, that if my made-up-holiday gift is for Laser Hair Removal or weight loss or any other service that points to how not sexy/hot/pretty/cute I am, you will most likely have a very cold-shoulder lonely Valentine's night. I'm pretty sure you knew that, but I wanted to cover my bases. Love, Me image here