Jun17

belated Father’s Day post

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This post is random- general musings about my dad, which I wanted to edit into something cohesive and marvelous, but it didn’t happen. Instead, I am posting as is, because:

a. I am trying to work on consistency.

b. I am trying to work on avoiding writing and posting due to perfectionism.

c. I told myself I cannot read the book I am into right now until posting, as a form of punishment. (Crystal Erickson, this is kind of like the time I told you if I didn’t have all my paperwork in by a certain deadline I would have to write a check to the American Beef Association.)

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My earliest memory is sitting on my grandfather’s lap while my father opened a can of sardines or some other small fish bathing in a tin can of oil. I believe I was around two and in my mind I can see my father’s hand turning the key. As he did more and more of the sardine smell was released- it’s hard for me to describe however I am certain smelling it again I would recognize, “that’s sardines.” He fed me one of the fish, which gives me the heebie-jeebies. As an adult, nothing short of the threat of death could make me eat a sardine, but apparently my toddler self had no qualms about it. I believe we ate it with club crackers. Does anyone else think it’s strange to feed a two year old sardines?

My dads nickname for me was Schnickelfritz. I thought it meant something in German, until I lived there and asked one of the locals. They looked at me like I was crazy. It was awkward, because I was convinced- clearly this German citizen and native speaker didn’t know what they were talking about. I discovered a few years later, that Schnickelfritz is in fact a term used exclusively by German-American immigrants, and is a term of endearment used for a mischievous child. So yeah, sorry person in Germany I accused of not knowing your native tongue, you were right.

I am grateful to have grown up in a home with a father who generally adored his children. He would do pretty much anything for me, and loves me no matter how badly I screw things up. I am sure there were moments of dismay, especially throughout my late teens and early twenties, but he always loved me, and still does.

At times, I thought he wasn’t proud of me, or that I wasn’t good enough. Looking back, I can see I was just projecting my own insecurities onto him. I’m glad I understand this now, because daddy-issues can require extensive therapy- and at this point I’m using my sessions to vent about frustrations with the human race in general.

Jun14

the essay that wanted to be a poem, even a mediocre one.

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For the second summer in a row my town of Colorado Springs is burning. This year again, over 300 homes have been lost to wildfire. As of right now 38,000 people are displaced due to evacuations. While I live nowhere within the path of the fire, it has still impacted my life. I tried to write my usual essay style post about it today, but couldn’t- it really wanted to be a poem, which is weird, because I haven’t played much with poetry.

My family and I are very much safe. Please send your kind thoughts, love and prayers to those in my community who have lost or could lose everything, as well as the family and loved ones of two individuals who lost their lives trying to escape.

If you would like to learn more, and see the accounts of what’s going on, I would recommend following the twitter hash tag #BlackForestFire. But please, do not tweet using that hash tag unless you have relevant information to share.

If you would like to help the victims of the fire I have several recommendations:

Purchase a t-shirt from Wildfire Tees, 100% of the proceeds benefit an emergency relief fund here in Colorado Springs.

The Pikes Peak American Red Cross is requesting financial donations: http://www.redcross.org (click “DONATE”); 1-800-RED-CROSS; or text “redcross” to 90999 to make a $10 donation, which will be added to your next phone bill.

For a whole slew of more information visit this link.

it begins small-
a spark,
some heat.
hopefully it’s naturally occurring, lightning-
no one can hate lightning.

a lackadaisical black cloud appears on the horizon-
floating willy-nilly, childlike
toward the sky.
just someone burning their trash
you optimistically muse.

but it grows.
you turn to your phone
slide to unlock-
fear fills your twitter feed.
the worst possible outcome-
a windy day with four percent humidity.
ideal conditions

the first wave of panic you will experience
over the next several days
begins.
a roller coaster
up
up
up

you feign nonchalance around your children-
remain calm.
they have already lost so much
everything
must
stay
normal.

down
down
plummet down

waking you tell yourself
that smell is just a campfire-
anything happy.
not homes burning.

hearing nearby sirens
you no longer pity the individual
you imagine trapped in a car.
instead
is my neighborhood on fire?
which way is the wind blowing?

by the third day
exhaustion.
pre-evacuation
voluntary evacuation
mandatory evacuation
rescued baby deer
buildings lost
buildings saved
your boss talking about secondary trauma
friends living out of last-minute-grabbed laundry baskets
prayers
emotional breakdowns

numb

Jun12

Cutting the cord

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Yesterday morning I shared coffee with a dear friend whose daughter had just married. For the first time in 21 years she would not be living with her and while we sipped it was sinking in- she must now release. All that was left to do was trust that the lessons she had planted over 21 years would bear good fruit. While none of my children are married, I could empathize- most moms can.

As I drove away, I remembered a few weeks back when Matthew and I sat under the stars with Audrey on a cool summer night, connecting- asking questions, offering ideas. At one point I was filled with a sense of urgency to impart all of my life lessons in an instant. You must love yourself first, and be glad in who you were made to be, you must celebrate it. Find a place of balance in your life- do fewer things really well (admittedly I am still working on this one). Focus your energy and time on people you enjoy, people who build you up. Men are not the answer to life’s problems despite the entertainment industries attempts to convince you otherwise. Therapy can be so helpful. And finally, One day when you’re in your thirties, you will begin to understand that your mother was right about many things (this one was the most self serving of all). Before I could speak, my Inner Voice tugged on my sleeve, pointing out that Audrey was going to have to walk out her life, learning things along the way, just as I did.

I felt… vulnerable. Vulnerable is the word.

So hurriedly, with a pushed voice I blurted, “I wish I could take everything from my 20 years of life experience I have over you and beam it somehow directly into your brain- that way you wouldn’t get hurt, or make bad choices. I want to so badly, because I love you so much. But I can’t, you’re going to have to learn as you go, just like everyone else.” She smiled.

This all brings to mind a portion of the Marge Piercy poem, “To Have Without Holding”, which is written about romantic love, but these verses ring true in parenting as well:

Learning to love differently is hard,
love with the hands wide open, love
with the doors banging on their hinges,
the cupboard unlocked, the wind
roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
that thwack like rubber bands
in an open palm.

It hurts to love wide open
stretching the muscles that feel
as if they are made of wet plaster,
then of blunt knives, then
of sharp knives.

As a mother there is an instinct within me to hold tight, to shelter- moments I feel like quarantining my children forever. However, I want children who are brave, fulfilled and carpe the heck out of the diem- a feat they cannot achieve encased in bubble wrap.

Audrey is going to be great, she is wise and takes time to listen, reflect and learn. My friend’s daughter is going to be great, her mother planted good seed the last 21 years. They both are going to get hurt, they both will make bad choices- that’s part of the deal. I also know, they both have mothers that love them deeply, and will be there when they do.

Jun10

Riding lessons

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If I had to choose one word to best describe my blog it would be… inconsistent. Comically, the one topic I have written most consistently on, is my lack of consistency. Each time I fall off the writing horse, I don’t immediately dust off my rear, hop back on and take off into the sunset. Rather, I sit in the dirt for several days (or months) pondering the cause of my routine falls with large amounts of self analysis. Thinking I have found the answer at last, I saddle up again, assured this time it will be different. Only it won’t, because sitting in the dirt contemplating horsemanship bears no resemblance to actual riding practice.

The thing is, I love to ride. Towards the final mile, as all the ideas, words and observations strewn about my head are neatly arranged on my iPad in some semblance of clarity, I feel at peace- victorious even. I imagine myself nearing the finish line of the Kentucky Derby to cheering crowds, on their feet, chanting my name. In spite of this, last time I fell off my horse, I wondered if perhaps I’m just not supposed to ride horses. After all, if I were, why do I keep falling off? And why, before every ride, do I stress about simply putting my foot in the saddle? I stand there, gazing blankly at this poor horse which really wants to be ridden, frozen. Will it be a good ride today? I wonder. Will the weather hold? Will the horse behave, and do exactly as I ask?

Of course none of these questions can be answered until I get on the damn horse and ride.

Just yesterday I gave Libby a lecture on how we don’t begin new skills perfectly but we have to practice each day. I assume she hated this speech, and I don’t blame her. Because if we’re honest, don’t we all have a desire to be prodigies at something? Or a few things? Wouldn’t it be great to not have to practice? To just pick up a pen and paper and stun the world? I think owe my daughter an apology for coming across as self-righteous.

In actuality, practice may or may not make you a superstar. There were girls on my middle school softball team who showed up to every practice and were still fairly terrible. Which leads me to think the real benefit of practice is what it does on the inside of you- how it changes you- not necessarily how skilled you become.

My newest venture back on the horse was inspired by a book I am reading called “Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life” by Anne Lamott. She teaches writing, and shares with great humor her encouragement and lessons. Turns out, most Kentucky Derby winners have had a hard time getting on the horse.

Inspired to take myself less seriously, I’m just going to write more, maybe even a little each day, and let it be crappy writing I later mine for something good. Whoever chooses to stick with me is welcome. Whoever decides to put their money on a different horse, blessings as you go. I am trying to get into my head that it’s not about any race. In fact, I may just turn this horse around, jump it over the fence surrounding the track, trot off to a nearby field, and have a picnic under a tree.

Mar25

Things that have happened in the last ten days

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I am avoiding reading Anne Lamott’s “Bird by Bird” which is sitting on my bookshelf because I fear it will leave me deeply convicted about my lack of blogging regularity. But here is a nice list of everything that has gone down in the last ten days, in random order:

1. Libby continues to be an amazing child, and has been teaching herself French using the iPhone app Duolingo. This in turn has left me feeling vindicated about the vast amounts of technology we have purchased for our children. I am now utterly defensible. If someone accuses me of spoiling them, or contributing to a culture of socially mal-adapted miscreants, my retort will be, “Oh yeah? My daughters teaching herself freakin’ French. Booya!”

2. I went to Zumba with Audrey. Zumba is fun, it’s all about shakin’ what your mama gave you. All women should attend Zumba, it is an entirely body-positive experience.

3. I can never go to Zumba again, because the impact caused my sacroiliac problems to flare, which left me in bed, on Percocet. Surely, there must be some low impact ways I can shake my booty? I love Pilates, I love the elliptical trainer, but no booty shaking exists in these realms.

4. Bean decided to go vegan like Matthew and me. With adoption approaching, I assumed this was an attachment thing, but this girl is committed. She is on day 5 of a plant based diet. While wandering Whole Foods with me yesterday she observed, “I see meat in a totally different way now.” I love when my children make profound philosophical statements without even realizing it. Bean does this a lot.

5. Our cooking problems are finally solved. Audrey is cooking meals for the vegans, Matthew is cooking for the omnivores. This has been a great solution. Audrey is earning a small salary and turning out to be a fabulous cook, we are saving money on eating out and not having to purchase larger pants. Everyone wins.

6. Our house was referred to as a “comfy nest”. What mom doesn’t like hearing that?

Mar15

Audrey

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Today we toured a college with Audrey. And so, she is on my mind.

The word I use most in describing Audrey is wise. While some of her wisdom has come from having to grow up too fast, more of it is inherent. She listens to and considers the opinions of those who love her. She understands what’s important. I often tell Audrey that had I been as wise at eighteen, I could have spared myself quite a few heartaches and messes.

Audrey is a thinker and born leader. Matthew and I have developed a habit of emailing her news articles, then later discussing them with her. We call them “critical thinking articles” and she excels at it.

I could go on and on about all of Audrey’s amazing qualities, but I am afraid none of that could capture what I feel in my heart. I rejoice at the possibilities, the opportunities, the options for Audrey’s future. The promise.

A moment Audrey and I shared recently best sums up the state of my heart for her today after touring: We were shopping in Target, talking about random topics, a quiet silence broke our banter. Then, with a hushed tone Audrey said, “I wish I could have spent my childhood growing up with you and Dad.” I don’t know if she noticed my eyes tearing as I replied, “Me too, Audrey. Me too.”

Mar14

I wanna be in pictures….

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Did you think I had disappeared again? Well, I am still here. I gave up Facebook for lent, which has me focusing on Instagram, which I really love, but had never really used much before. You can follow me, and I promise that in the near future my feed will get much more interesting.

You see, when children are in foster care, I cannot put them on any type of public social media. So for now, I have to take pictures of food, feet or kids hiding in costumes. Once we adopted Audrey I began to put pictures of her. But in the near future, we will be adopting all the kids!!!!! I am not going to announce the date until it happens- some part of me is afraid of jinxing it somehow. But the minute it is done, I will Instagram it, and then blog about all the kids and formally introduce them to you.

It will kind of be like an adoption watch, or countdown. Maybe I should make my own hash tag? Something silly like #fryeadoptionwatch.