Category: adoption

We can be heroes…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

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I’m not sure if you’ve seen the trailer for the film Queen of Katwe, but it is one that I am super excited about. I love a great true story about amazing people who overcome large difficulties to do something inspirationally extraordinary. I was talking with a friend, a few weeks ago, about a different film that fit that mold, when she said movies like that simply weren’t her cup of tea.

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Wait, what??? I was shocked. As she and I sat, on the phone, and unpacked that newly discovered gap between us, I soon realized that this is not just a love of heart-tugging movies, for me. My personal life is chock full of people who have overcome, in amazing ways. While thinking about this, I struggled to find one person to write about. Just one? How could I choose? Who would I choose? I can honestly say that were I to sit down with a pen & notebook, and write it out, there would be no less than one hundred people who fit this and have gone on to do extraordinary things.

When it came down to it, I have to choose my kids. Each one of my three kid’s early lives broke and bruised them immeasurably. Our society knows of thousands of kid-turned adults with similar origin stories. Our prisons, street corners and addicted communities are full of those bruised and broken early on. It is so easy to be in that place and feel like you should have had better, kicking your heals back, settling down and accepting that. It takes a special sort of person to move out of there and strive for something more. After multiple abandonments and abuses, these three kids each found their own way out. They learned to work hard, find value and (the hardest part of all) honestly face their wounds. There is so much bravery and courage in the journeys they’ve walked, and will continue to. My life hasn’t been easy. Let’s be honest, no one’s has. Even with all I have walked, when I think of how hard these three people have had to fight and work to become who they are today, I am awed. There is such a sense of loyalty, compassion and generosity in each of them, which is lost on the majority of society. I do not know three better human beings, and when my life fell apart last fall these kids were my biggest advocates.

In their own ways, at different life stages, I have seen my kids open their hearts to help people when they truly had nothing to give. My youngest spends half the year planning and plotting for Christmas because giving gifts is her favorite thing. The majority of her part time job paycheck goes to buying gifts and small, thoughtful things. My older daughter has turned her life upside down, multiple times, because someone had a need. My son loves so purely, so vulnerably, and though it has led him to be hurt time and time again, he still puts all he’s got into loving the people in his life. These three incredible people would be heroes in my eyes, even if I did not know them. Lucky for me, I do, and (also lucky for me) I get to call them MY heroes…

If you, like me, love stories like this, I really encourage you to go see Queen of Katwe, which opens this Friday, September 30th.

I’m ok, you’re ok…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

photo-1438979315413-de5df30042a1There is a virus, or exhaustion, (or perhaps a virus by exhaustion) making its way through our house, this week. We’ve each got a touch of it, somehow. These are the sort of things which don’t seem to fit into the to-do lists and planners, thus leading to frustration. Yesterday, (which I’ll get more to in a bit) found me waking with a massive headache, 2 hours AFTER I wanted to wake. Sleep had been rocky up until about 3 hours before I actually got up, so that was pretty awesome. I had half an hour to dress and head to a class I am taking, led in video sessions, by Shauna Niequist. Also factor in the emotional and defiant teen, who has been a bit of a struggle this week, and it made for not the best half hour. I showed up, to the class, barely dressed, without make up and crowned with crazy, curly hair. Who knew it would be a class filled with gorgeous, fit, SAHM’s, all so put together I double checked to see if I had walked into a magazine spread shoot.

I made it through the class and breakout session somewhat managed. Yay me. On my way home I had to stop by the supermarket for a cake. See, yesterday was our Family Anniversary with Gen. For those of you not familiar with adoption stuff, it would mark the day (13 years ago) that Gen came into our family. We do something special to mark the occasion every year, usually on the weekend. Even so, Gen and I had decided we would have a little cake or something to mark the day of. So, off I went to buy a tiny cake. And crusty bread, to go with dinner. And bananas, because the other day they were all not the best looking. And Ice Cream, to go with the cake of course. And $70 later, my quick trip for a cake added to my frustration.

Upon getting home, the awesome dynamics of the day, the hormones, the defiance and my headache all meshed together quite lovely, leading me to abandon everything on my agenda and crawl into bed. (Now, the night before I had another class, with my husband. And I was making a delicious dinner for him and his coworker before hand. And that all went downhill rather quickly causing me to melt down into fits of sobs and why me’s… It was incredibly attractive, I’m sure. Yesterday honestly felt more like a continuation of Tuesday and the same sorts of things.) I made a new recipe last night, which the family loved but I just couldn’t stand the taste. When the cake, later, also sat on my palette flavorless I had to admit I’m headed towards needing to take sick leave, only- PLOT TWIST- no sick leave here! So, I kept trucking. I cleaned the kitchen while the family vegged. I woke up early to take care of other sickies, make tea and distribute meds. Nothing major, except that after three days of what feels like minimal rest, I’m feeling achy and done.

This morning I sit in bed, cup of tea (Wonder Woman cup, no less) with my laptop, two classes of homework and my planner all spread out before me. Laundry will not be put away today. I will only get dressed, in yoga pants, when it is time to go take Gen to work and pick up last-minute ingredients for homemade chicken noodle soup. Here’s the thing though, guilt is weighing on me worse than any 3-4 day headache, back pain or muscle ache. Why haven’t I done this or that, which has been shuffled on my to-do list daily. Why is this basket of unfolded laundry sitting here? What is wrong with me, I never had unfolded laundry! Why can’t I simply take care of these things, there isn’t that much! Why have I managed to watch a collective two hours of The Mindy Project on Hulu?  I have friends who work real, actual paycheck jobs and take care of the house and parent the kids and make it work. What is my issue this week?  Truth? There will always be someone who seems to have their stuff together, someone who manages to juggle it all flawless without a strand of hair out-of-place. I think that up until everything fell apart last fall, I seemed to be that person to a few. It’s not that they were wrong, and it isn’t that I was wrong. It is simply that we can’t compare because we all have different shoes, with different tread and walk on different surfaces of life. Who cares if this girl seems to have it all together, and who cares if that girl clearly doesn’t. Let’s not compare and not compete. Let’s acknowledge that in our genuine authenticness we are women and we are beautiful. What makes us beautiful is not our perfect hair, or flawless skin or our airbrushed appearance makeup application. Each of those things can be nice, but none of them equal beauty. When we are stressed, or tired, or alone- there is no amount of product or shopping which will make us look stunning. We wear this in our posture, in our face and in our reactions toward others. Womanhood is beauty. Period. Womanhood is also meant to be sisterhood, which means we are a community of women knit together to help one another, share burdens and love and make it work because one woman’s success truly is another’s.

I am tired. My head hurts. I don’t feel well at all. My back is killing me and I just feel worn out. There is nothing wrong with me, as woman/wife/mother/writer authentically stating this. We think there is, because it has been heavily implied that we need to appear as though our crap is together 24/7. If we don’t, (and even when we do) we run the great big risk of internet trolls trashing on our photos/posts/tweets. Let the haters hate, it very well may be the only skill they have. This applies to the ones hiding on the internet as well as the snooty women we cross paths with out in the world. I am a woman, with this one shot at life, I think I’ve decided to do it authentically. Behind on laundry, to-do list ignored, fifty loads of dishes per day and my house looking lived in while I plant myself in bed for an hour to watch Catfish– this is authentically me, from time to time. And that is ok…

Sea glass…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

photo-1433162653888-a571db5ccccfI have something that has been weighing heavy in my thoughts, which I fully intended to write about this morning. After the unfolding of this weekend though, I find myself unable to go there quite yet… It isn’t that it was a bad weekend. It was a full weekend. A busy weekend. A surprising weekend.

My beautiful seventeen year old began her weekend single, with not only no prospects, but learning to accept herself in that place. Said seventeen year old ended her weekend snuggling on my couch with her boyfriend, whom she met 2 days before in totally cute and bookish/classic movie sort of way. I will not share the story here as it is not mine to share. The part I want to talk about is related, but more so mine.

Friday was kind of a huge day for that part of me which connects my brain and my heart. I’m sure you know the part in which I speak of… Gen and I, (in case you’re new here, I’ll take a second to point out that Gen is, in fact, said seventeen year old.) went to see the Hillsong movie on Friday afternoon. (on the chance that you are not new here, I know that this part in my chain of events will be of no surprise to you.) (sidenote: it’s incredible and you really should go see it.) There were a few things mentioned in the film which really stuck in my brain. The longer those things stayed planted in my thoughts, the more they grew and the more I simply felt WOWED by life, by divine intervention, by…

One of these thoughts was a reassurance that things are not up to us and we can’t control them. To degrees we can, sure. But there are so many things that we can’t, bigger things… Sometimes really beautiful things, like the unexpected pregnancies during the difficult and tumultuous times. Though this is not a place which I have lived in, I have seen this very thing play out in the lives of my sister, my older daughter and many, many friends. It is the sea of big scary unknowns whose waves crash into something amazingly beautiful and life affirming. These out-of-our-hands miracles which we may not have wanted, expected or believed we needed are the bits of life which reflect the brightest.

A darker reality of this same idea comes in the form of child abuse. Child abuse of any nature is unacceptable and never justifiable. Anyone who has been present in our world knows, however, that it is an epidemic reality. Child abuse victims, as they grow, become one of two people. Have you ever really noticed this? Having worked in the industry of broken children (which is, sadly, an industry here in America) for the better part of a decade and a half, I saw it unfold and cycle over and over again. Option one is the bitter, self-centered eternal victim who will always wear the blue-colored glasses aiding them to see themselves as the one wronged eternally. By friends, family, lovers, cable men, creditors, land lords, employers, their own children, etc. We all know these people, the ones with the lifetime of themes of being wronged somehow. The ones who talk on and on about it. Psychologically speaking, this is a pretty interesting way to live. Though we often get frustrated with these sorts, and due to that, they may wind up alone- they are not entirely wrong. Often they either keep themselves so down that they attract users and manipulators. In the times when they haven’t, however, I personally believe they are simply stuck in a rut. Whenever their childhood wounds happened, no one likely advocated for them. Isn’t that all they are doing those 10/20/30 years later- advocating for themselves, in their own minds anyway? The second option, however, comes less naturally. It is the option of bettering yourself, and going on to impact the world for the better, in some way, because your childhood wounds made you stronger. The two options truly are choices… And though the first part is beyond our control (and I do not believe EVER destined to happen) we can decide how we handle it, and who we choose to become.

Both my husband and I were at that crossroads, in our youth. We had to decide which route to take and upon our early days of meeting and getting to know one another, we both spoke the words aloud about how we wanted to provide a home to kids who needed it because that had been done for us. Over the 23 years which have followed, we have been foster parents, been a shelter home, housed teenage runaways, and become the parents of three of the most awesome, not-from-our-womb kids we could have imagined. Our home has also been the temporary home of quite a few young adults who became a part of our little rag-tag family. There is no way we ever could have orchestrated any of that, but we would not change a thing. The absolute ugly of our young lives was turned into the most amazing things in our grown ones. The stormy waves crash, again and again, making something beautiful. It is like the origin of sea glass, or the unearthing of shipwrecked treasures…

Sometimes we simply go to work a little lonely, on a friday night and then wrap up the weekend holding hands with a cute boy on the couch whose path yours likely crossed with many, many times before…

Originally…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

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The separation between Chw and I found me really transparent as I journeyed through that season. It is a time, in my life, that I will always be scarred by and forever altered. It’s ironic because we have been divorced before, but that time period was a cake walk compared to the heart-carnage of those seven months. Even now, there are days when I awake and am confronted with every single one of my worst nightmares become reality. On those days it takes everything in my power to get out of bed and function. I truly am but a shell of someone else…

A few days ago Gen and I were talking about love & marriage… She is fascinated by the fact that I knew I would marry her dad the second I met him, and then, decades later my older daughter met her now-husband and had the same certainty. Trying to explain to a dramatically romantic 17-year-old that this wasn’t something we dreamed up and willed to happen, is difficult. In both cases, mine and my daughter, I’m pretty sure weren’t fixating on anything, but instead just filled with a knowledge that this person was the one we’d marry.

In all honesty, it’s that very fact which made both my divorce and this separation hard to swallow. It’s an interesting story, to my daughter (and to me too) so I thought I’d share it with you…

When I was barely fifteen, I had a pretty traumatic break-up. It wasn’t that this boy was the love of my life as much as the fact that a relationship so intimate should not have occurred in the first place. I was young, I was damaged and this only served to wound me more. It was after the recovery began that I sat down and made a list. I simply prayed that God would show me the best features for my husband, because at that point I was beyond terrified of loving anyone else, for fear of the hurt…

My list included a lot of things that I found attractive or appealing. It also had a few things that I couldn’t quite explain, regarding their existence on my list. Time passed and I began dating someone whom inhabited very few of the things on my list, but I cared so deeply for him that I didn’t care. Looking back with this sort of adult reflection I realize this person was actually my first love. The first heartbreak had hurt, but it wasn’t about love as much as lust, codependency and an unhealthy need for someone to want me. This other relationship was love. It was that quintessential coming of age sort of experience that formed a vital part of me. The heartbreak eight months later was searing but bearable because I’d grown up some. I understood more. Also, my heart was being ripped to shreds in other ways so that goodbye took a back burner to life.

It was roughly two and a half months after that bus-station goodbye kiss that I found myself flooded with the knowledge that I was going to go to college in a few short weeks, where I would meet my husband. I was seventeen. Believe me when I say that, at my now 40 years of age (and the mother of a 17-year-old) this whole truth makes me a little nauseous. Also, the fact that I was not secretive about this sudden assurance and that every adult in my life responded with “that’s great!” really blows my mind…

During freshman orientation I scanned the new arrivals and sank upon the realization that my husband was not in the room. I just knew the second I saw him, that I would know. I already knew the majority of the upper class-men and knew he was none of them, so I volunteered to work the retreat weekend instead of camping with my school. What was the point of going if my husband wasn’t going to be there and I could earn a few bucks back in town.

I KNOW… I shake my head, as a parent, whenever this topic comes up.

So, Tuesday (post labor day camping as a college) I’m sitting with a friend in a chapel assembly. The speaker encouraged us to “mingle” with people around us, and that’s when this guy sitting directly in front of me turns around and smiles, says hi, compliments my necklace, says hi to my friend (as if they know each other!) and then goes back to his front facing seat. It all happened so fast that it took me a few seconds to comprehend the odd certainty rushing through me. That boy was my husband. I quickly ask my friend and she shares that they got to know each other AT THE RETREAT… I mean, what the heck?

After chapel I tap him on the shoulder, introduce myself and ask him why he missed orientation. He answers about being a late arrival and then tells me his name.

Let me take this moment to share a few fun facts leading up to this introduction…

  • his foreign exchange student BFF had played baseball at the group home I lived in, AND I had talked to him.
  • his girl BFF is someone I had met at camp and saw at all of the youth events where our youth groups both attended. We were cordial, but mostly I was pretty enamored by her because she was beautiful and friendly and I was a sheltered group home kid who didn’t see a lot of either. In fact at one event, at her church, I remember telling my own BFF “I bet her and I are roommates one day!”
  • his ex-girlfriend was a couple of years ahead of me at the same college. her roommate, freshman year, was my very good friend. When I would sleep over, the ex-gf would go home and I would sleep in her bed, where the wall was plastered with pictures of her “ex that she still loved.” My husband…
  • And this is Gen’s favorite detail: that spring we went to the same concert, and were in the SAME section.

Ok. So I get his name and immediately ask if he knows my recent ex, because they share the same last name. He didn’t, but it turns out that the majority of his paternal family (whom he had only recently met) lived in the same area my ex was from.

It was an instant friendship. (fun fact: His roommate ended up dating my roommate and they also married and are some of our dearest friends.) We palled around and did everything together. It wasn’t long into our friendship before I told him we were going to get married. This is where I have to point out a few things:

  • I wasn’t attracted to him. I don’t know why, he is attractive. I wasn’t attracted to anyone.
  • he was unlike anyone I had ever dated or been interested in.
  • he could be really annoying.
  • our sense of humors fell short of meeting in the middle, most of the time.
  • we only had one thing in common, life/future vision wise: we both wanted to be a stable home and love for kids who needed that.
  • he loved hip hop dancing and rap music, the two things I detested.
  • he hated to read. (though not on my list, I had spent so much time reading with my ex that I believed my marriage would involve books significantly.)
  • he did not enjoy debates, or deep discussions at all- something that I thrived on.
  • He didn’t really have a family. I didn’t either and so I really ached for one.
  • my long forgotten list was found 7 days after we met, and as time proved- he embodied every single attribute.

Though I didn’t, at first, understand why it was him, it didn’t take long for me to be so grateful it was. This girl who had been waiting for a family and completion eventually let the guard down and found it in him.

I don’t know why I knew, or how. I just know that there were dozens upon dozens of things, in those early days, that only confirmed it. And that vision we agreed on, that became our family. For twenty-three years we’ve been a home to many who needed one, but the best of these were our three kids.

(fun fact #2: His female BFF and I did end up living together for a short period of time. We never really became friends, though for a while I thought we had, but how I’d known that would happen I never quite knew.)

A thief called Comparison…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

photo-1459664018906-085c36f472afThe other day Gen and I had the privilege of visiting someone’s home. They are new acquaintances and we were there for a casual little get-together. At seventeen, and dealing with so many major life things, it made sense that Gen was pretty quiet and filled with anxiety. After heading home though, she opened up about how beautiful their home was, (it really was of HGTV caliber) and how she felt stupid that we lived in an apartment.

Let me stop right there… We live in an apartment. If you’ve been reading here for a while, you wouldn’t really have caught on to that. In June our house sold to a really lovely younger couple and we are renting an overpriced but nice apartment. We have a beautiful poolside home complete with a fitness center, in the heart of everything. I am not feeling the least bit sorry about the lack of lawn care, no home repairs and no gigantic commutes… Seventeen year olds do not always get it though.

For her high school years, up until we separated at Thanksgiving, I was always hearing how the majority of her friends parents were divorced and how proud she was that we weren’t. Looking back over the years with her, I do believe that’s the only thing we had ever done right in her eyes and that is beyond tarnished and torn now. She hasn’t gone to school with the same kids since Kindergarten. We don’t, at 40 years old, have a big and beautiful home. We are not debt free. We do not take lavish family cruises. I think a lot of these unrealistic comparisons to which she holds her daddy and I against are due to the area we live in. This area is money. A lot of it. These kids are often known to blow wads of cash on drugs in the high school highway and then drive party after school in their Mercedes. So when she asks me to take her clothes shopping because she’s visiting a new youth group and so she needs new clothes to impress them, I want to feel empathy over this very unfair reality which her peers live in. Mostly though, I fall short. I roll my eyes internally and remind her that we are knee-deep in legal fees and medical debt and that she still needs a work uniform that I have to magically come up with.

But it goes beyond her. When someone asks what neighborhood you are in, and you explain the location and name of your apartment complex- there is an odd silence. For a beat or two the other person wonders if they heard you right, and then what is wrong with you…

What is wrong with me is that my journey is different. Apartments exist to live in, and I am not any lesser of a person for doing just that. They are not simply for foreigners and newlyweds. Granted, it was a gigantic challenge getting my kitchen to be a functioning on in the shoebox it fits into… But I’ll survive. Life’s not about my kitchen anyway.

I don’t want my daughter to feel shame over where we live. I don’t want her to be afraid to meet people, make friends and bring them over. More than that though, I don’t want her to be a snob. I don’t want her to be disappointed because we don’t fit the agenda of where 40-year-old parents should be. Is there a manual somewhere that says we should have a beautiful McMansion and a $12,000 vacation over the Holidays? If there is, I never got a copy and it’s probably too late to live the cookie cutter life now anyway. I love to help people. I love to touch lives. I love people in my home, and laughter and conversation and sharing… I love these things. I don’t care where I’m living, I will always love these things. And so I’ll just sit by and let Gen sort that all out. I’m very happy for the people I know with beautiful homes and more “successes.” My successes look different because I am different, and someday I hope Genny realize she is on her own journey and unless you pay a fee and/or choose it to be- it’s not a competition.

(also, if you haven’t entered my awesome giveaway yet, PLEASE do!)