Disclaimer: If you're looking for funny, or personal stuff puts you off, move along.
Where to start? Our son Hunter's birthday is in a couple of weeks. Four years ago I was sitting around waiting, for the bravest girl I know to call me and tell me she was in labor. Open adoption was the most profound, life changing thing that has ever happened to me. The whole experience is a blog in and of itself.
Since Hunter turned one I have been wrestling with the decision to adopt again. I say I, because for those of you who don't know my husband, he doesn't wrestle. He accepts and adapts. So, I thought maybe another domestic infant adoption because ours was so incredible. Then Hunter turned 2 while I filled out the application and I decided I better make sure he was going to make it to three. Then I decided maybe not an infant. We looked into international adoption, did the paperwork and realized that we could wait years for our child to come home, so we withdrew.Back to domestic infant adoption, only now there was a wait list to even start the application. I thought, perfect maybe I'll know what I want by then.
I've never prayed so hard for God's will, God's direction, God's purpose before. I've prayed and prayed and have only gotten one consistent answer. "TRUST ME".
Finding that profound and decidedly unhelpful, l I began to poll EVERYONE I've ever known. I sought parenting insight, spiritual advice, sibling experiences, read books. We even sought professional counseling. I am not exaggerating when I say I could write a post graduate thesis on this topic. The only thing that is clear to me from all that searching is everyone has an opinion and no one can make this choice for me.I even tried not deciding. Good in theory but do we turn in the application? Go through with the home study? Is getting a physical and background checks, deciding or not?
Today was our first home study visit. I have been very honest with our social worker about my waffling. She really only asked one question. Why do you want to adopt again? The thing is, I know what I am supposed to say. I know what the "right" answer is. However, if I'm honest with myself, I really don't have an answer.
What do I want? I want to feel like a "real" mom. I want to feel like I am legitimate. I want to be enough. I think that is what every mom wants. For me, no number of children is going to heal that wound. Only God can.
"TRUST ME"
So, regardless of where this ends, I want healing for the hole that infertility left behind. Thank you to everyone who has loved me through the yes/no/yes/no roller coaster. I am humbled by your acceptance.
Funny swimming part 2 will resume after a short break...
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
It wasn't funny at the time...Part 1
For those who don't know, I posses very little innate athletic ability. I can run, only because it requires little to no actual skill, just endurance. Anyone who has stood, in a polyester-wool blend band uniform, next to college cheerleaders, knows all about enduring. I have fallen off a ski lift getting on, knocked myself out hitting a fence on the bunny hill, fallen into a stream with a back pack on and been unable to get up, (think turtle) just to highlight a few. However, there is no sport more terrifying, and humiliating to me, than swimming.
I am hydrophobic. I say that without exaggeration. I was born with this affliction. I took a bath until I was 15 to avoid getting water in my face. I wore a life jacket in our raft on our pond. Never mind that I was able to stand up, one can drown in a bucket you know. I successfully avoided all things water related, which was fairly easy since I live in a land locked, mountain state. Then the unthinkable happened. The school board decided everyone must take a year of swimming to pass high school. If I had known about homeschooling I would have staged a sit-in until my parents relented, but no such luck. It was horrific. Truly. Deep in her her heart, every nerdy girl secretly hopes that the most popular senior guy will break with tradition and fall for her. That never happens. And it certainly wasn't going to happen to me after aforementioned popular boy had to leap into the pool to rescue me. It might have been recoverable if he hadn't been fully clothed. After that I had to stay in the shallow end.
So when I turned 30 I decided enough was enough. I was going to learn to swim and it would be hell and high water combined. I signed up for an adult, beginning swim class at the rec. center. I was terrified. I have to admit the probability for humiliation terrified me more than the actual water. The first day we spent the whole time putting our faces in the water. Perfect! Just my speed. Of course at this rate, I was going to be able to swim by the time I turned 40. So, I asked for homework and drug my poor fish-like husband to the pool to help me. By week three the teacher told me to swim the width of the pool. After a month I could swim the length. The day I did it, the class cheered like I was Michael Phelps. I was the best in my class. Not hard to do when only one other person had progressed past blowing bubbles. And one woman finally got in the pool the last day of class.
It's possible I got a little over confident. I desperately wanted to do a triathlon. So, I signed up for private lessons. When I told my instructor I had been swimming a month and gone the WHOLE length of the pool, she was skeptical at best. Into the pool we went. I didn't know it was possible for someone to swim and bark orders at the same time. But for 30 minutes every week she swam next to me and barked and doubted and I swam. Mostly, because I was afraid of her. It turns out she was going to school to be a cop and had 5 brothers.
I swam and swam and swam. I made peace with the pool. That should have been enough. But being me I had to do a "real" triathlon in open water. Stay tuned for part 2
I am hydrophobic. I say that without exaggeration. I was born with this affliction. I took a bath until I was 15 to avoid getting water in my face. I wore a life jacket in our raft on our pond. Never mind that I was able to stand up, one can drown in a bucket you know. I successfully avoided all things water related, which was fairly easy since I live in a land locked, mountain state. Then the unthinkable happened. The school board decided everyone must take a year of swimming to pass high school. If I had known about homeschooling I would have staged a sit-in until my parents relented, but no such luck. It was horrific. Truly. Deep in her her heart, every nerdy girl secretly hopes that the most popular senior guy will break with tradition and fall for her. That never happens. And it certainly wasn't going to happen to me after aforementioned popular boy had to leap into the pool to rescue me. It might have been recoverable if he hadn't been fully clothed. After that I had to stay in the shallow end.
So when I turned 30 I decided enough was enough. I was going to learn to swim and it would be hell and high water combined. I signed up for an adult, beginning swim class at the rec. center. I was terrified. I have to admit the probability for humiliation terrified me more than the actual water. The first day we spent the whole time putting our faces in the water. Perfect! Just my speed. Of course at this rate, I was going to be able to swim by the time I turned 40. So, I asked for homework and drug my poor fish-like husband to the pool to help me. By week three the teacher told me to swim the width of the pool. After a month I could swim the length. The day I did it, the class cheered like I was Michael Phelps. I was the best in my class. Not hard to do when only one other person had progressed past blowing bubbles. And one woman finally got in the pool the last day of class.
It's possible I got a little over confident. I desperately wanted to do a triathlon. So, I signed up for private lessons. When I told my instructor I had been swimming a month and gone the WHOLE length of the pool, she was skeptical at best. Into the pool we went. I didn't know it was possible for someone to swim and bark orders at the same time. But for 30 minutes every week she swam next to me and barked and doubted and I swam. Mostly, because I was afraid of her. It turns out she was going to school to be a cop and had 5 brothers.
I swam and swam and swam. I made peace with the pool. That should have been enough. But being me I had to do a "real" triathlon in open water. Stay tuned for part 2
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
The beginning...
Well, after much encouragement from others I am starting my blog. My random thoughts as I go throughout my life as a Jesus follower, Wife, Mom, Daughter, Friend. Today gave me a lot of material as we went to the gym.
The gym, such a dynamic place to love, hate, be addicted to, spend too much money, indulge in socially acceptable vanity, or completely crush your self esteem. However this is NOT going to be a social commentary. The locker room alone would take DAYS. I would like to talk about towels. My gym provides them. I know this is no small feat, because I worked at a gym and the entirety of my 8 hour shift involved towels. My position had a glamorous name, front desk reception, but really I was the card checker/ towel girl. It consisted of picking up wet towels, washing towels, folding towels and stocking clean towels. Repeat.
So, I appreciate provided towels. I am, however, baffled by the towels. There is the size for starters. The size gives no indication of the intended use. Is it a large hand towel or a very small bath towel? Am I supposed to use just one in the name of conservation? What should I leave uncovered? They provide changing stalls but ironically they are nowhere near the showers. If one is modest does one take off one's clothes in the changing stall, cover as much as possible and dash to the showers? Or the alternative, change in the shower? Then what do I do with my stinky clothes, and am I supposed to put all my clean clothes on that little hook outside, because I'm pretty sure the My Barbie dream trailer had more space. So, I usually opt. for stripping as fast as I can, wrapping as much as possible in my napkin and dashing. The third option apparently is to parade around in one's birthday suit, but if I were that happy with my body, I would have no need for the gym. I suppose I could bring a robe, but then I'm going to be one of those people with the roll on bags to work out. Stay tuned for my questions about gym bags...
And finally, as if size weren't enough of an obstacle, what do they use to make cotton completely nonabsorbent? Because toweling off with a gym towel works about as well as dabbing dry with a kleenex. Have you ever tried to dry your hair with a kleenex? This brings up another whole series of modesty questions. Do I try to air dry? Where? The changing stall? The shower? What's the etiquette on using the hair dryer? Mostly, I give up and get dressed and hope it doesn't look like I've wet my pants. So, if you happen to run into me at the gym, and I look like a drowned rat, you now understand why.
The gym, such a dynamic place to love, hate, be addicted to, spend too much money, indulge in socially acceptable vanity, or completely crush your self esteem. However this is NOT going to be a social commentary. The locker room alone would take DAYS. I would like to talk about towels. My gym provides them. I know this is no small feat, because I worked at a gym and the entirety of my 8 hour shift involved towels. My position had a glamorous name, front desk reception, but really I was the card checker/ towel girl. It consisted of picking up wet towels, washing towels, folding towels and stocking clean towels. Repeat.
So, I appreciate provided towels. I am, however, baffled by the towels. There is the size for starters. The size gives no indication of the intended use. Is it a large hand towel or a very small bath towel? Am I supposed to use just one in the name of conservation? What should I leave uncovered? They provide changing stalls but ironically they are nowhere near the showers. If one is modest does one take off one's clothes in the changing stall, cover as much as possible and dash to the showers? Or the alternative, change in the shower? Then what do I do with my stinky clothes, and am I supposed to put all my clean clothes on that little hook outside, because I'm pretty sure the My Barbie dream trailer had more space. So, I usually opt. for stripping as fast as I can, wrapping as much as possible in my napkin and dashing. The third option apparently is to parade around in one's birthday suit, but if I were that happy with my body, I would have no need for the gym. I suppose I could bring a robe, but then I'm going to be one of those people with the roll on bags to work out. Stay tuned for my questions about gym bags...
And finally, as if size weren't enough of an obstacle, what do they use to make cotton completely nonabsorbent? Because toweling off with a gym towel works about as well as dabbing dry with a kleenex. Have you ever tried to dry your hair with a kleenex? This brings up another whole series of modesty questions. Do I try to air dry? Where? The changing stall? The shower? What's the etiquette on using the hair dryer? Mostly, I give up and get dressed and hope it doesn't look like I've wet my pants. So, if you happen to run into me at the gym, and I look like a drowned rat, you now understand why.
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