Until someone is directly involved, there is a lot of adoption information that just isn't public knowledge. Combine that with the fact that every adoption is as unique as the people involved and we have a lot of misinformation, questions and concerns.
As it has been almost a year since we announced to friends and family that we were pursuing an adoption, the initial excitement has worn off and we are currently experiencing a second wind in questioning after a few months of silence. I just wanted to take this opportunity to answer a few of the "frequently asked questions" regarding our specific situation.
1. Where are you in the process/ any news/ why don't you have a baby yet?
We are waiting for a birth mother or birth family to choose our profile as the best match to raise the child they bring into the world. It's all up to the birth mother at this point until her parental rights are signed over. So, our only news is our home study will need to be renewed in a couple of months and we are being shown to an "adequate" number of birth mothers. We don't have a baby yet because no one has chosen us yet.
2. Why aren't you traveling or visiting family?
Surprisingly, we get comments or questions regarding our travel a lot.
I have two answers.
First, travel is expensive. We have had some people sacrifice for us for our adoption fund. To respect their donations and to exercise responsibility, we have cut out frivolous spending and stick to a strict budget. To add to this point, we are also still below where we need to be to pay for everything adoption related by a few thousand dollars, so we are still in save mode.
Second, we are with a national agency, which means if we are called out of state (most likely) to pick up our baby, we have to wait for the paperwork and red tape to clear before we can go home, which is two weeks or longer. While I would be on maternity leave, Jim would have to return to work. He does not want to leave his wife and newborn baby in a hotel room in an unknown town because he doesn't have enough vacation time.
3. Don't you want to try longer for biological children / did you jump in to adoption too quickly?
No. Maybe it doesn't seem like this, but we are the kind of people who consider all of our options before making a decision, put a lot of thought and prayer into it and when it is made it is final. If we are ever blessed with more children biologically, we would gladly accept them (yes, even if I get pregnant when we become parents through adoption), because I would rather have multiple kids of a close age than none at all.
4. Isn't it awful that you have to jump through hoops to become an adoptive parent?
No. It wasn't that bad. It's a lot to get done and other people can just get pregnant without anyone judging their parenting abilities but another family is about to entrust us with a precious human life. I would want to make sure I was a good person to do that to, too. The "system" has it's flaws, but adoption isn't an easy thing for anyone involved and I don't mind hoop jumping. To me, it's like diaper changing and bottle warming-- things I have to do for my baby that might not be "fun", but essential.
5. Have you looked at international adoption / foster adoption / this other agency?
Yes. See the answer to number 3. A lot of thought went into which type of adoption path we were going to go down. While an agency assisted infant adoption is one of the more expensive options, it was one we felt comfortable pursuing. Every path to and through adoption is different and this is the one we are on and we are united in our decision.
6. What people haven't asked.
If you have questions-- please ask. It shows that you care, which is always important to anyone going through something different or difficult. So please ask questions, we will always say so if it is too personal.
It's rare that people ask how we are feeling in the adoption process. Maybe I over share so no one needs to ask, but here is the answer, in case anyone was wondering. We're mostly okay. We have hard days. I wish I could say that I always have a peace beyond understanding but I don't. I have days that it hurts or something happens that makes me sad.
Yes, when baby comes home, I plan on having a "meet and eat", so you will get to meet our precious little one when the time comes.
Yes, I have a dog and house sitter for when we get "the call".
If you have any more questions, don't hesitate to ask!
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Rejection
The great thing about being a potential adoptive family with a national agency is the exposure we are given. Throughout the US, potential birth mothers can look at the profile of a quiet couple from Western Nebraska, which means that monthly we are being shown to a dozen or more women who have a hard choice to make but who could maybe choose us to be the parents of their unborn child.
The horrible thing about being a potential adoptive family with a national agency is the exposure we are given. Throughout the US, potential birth mothers can look at our profile, meaning a dozen or more women every month since we became active have chosen someone else.
We knew going in that adoption is tricky and requires patience, and we have prayed multiple times a day that the right situation come into our lives, the situation that will be best for our future son or daughter, even if it means we have to wait forever, even if it means we end up in a situation we weren't expecting. We knew that women considering adoptions are given a pile of profiles to sift through and there are a lot of factors that go into her decision.
But it doesn't matter how much we knew or how much we continue to learn. Rejection hurts.
In mid-August a little girl was born somewhere in Nebraska and she went home with another family. Through a series of events we found out we were one of just a couple of choices her biological mother had narrowed it down to. She chose them. She didn't choose us. That little girl is in a family that will love her dearly, and I hope she grows up to become a lovely woman with a beautiful life. But on her due date, I realized I could've been her mother that day if things had gone differently.
Rejection comes in all shapes and sizes but it all feels about the same. I found out recently that I wasn't as important to some people as they were to me and it hurt in the same place. It felt the same when the publishing companies told me they weren't interested in my music.
We go way back, rejection and I. It happens when you wear bright red overalls to school because you think they are cool... but they aren't.
But I don't like to feel like a victim and blame the world when I'm rejected, because I find no one really cares how much you point the finger outward. Trying to find a place for the blame isn't making the problem itself go away.
Rejection hurts because it hits my pride. I thought we were a cute, fun loving couple that any woman considering adoption would fall in love with. I was convinced I was important to someone when I wasn't. I thought my music was good enough to publish so I sent it in.
But we aren't, I wasn't, it wasn't. And when one thing feels like it isn't good enough, it spreads like a disease, until suddenly I don't feel good enough. How easy it is to fall into a self-made pit when you feel less than good enough.
Fact is, I am not always going to be good enough. But, I have a deep and unmoving worth. I am a person whose life has value. The good Sunday School student answer is that I was created in God's image and therefore have worth. That I am not good enough but by grace through faith I get to be His anyway. But it goes beyond that, too. The rejections I face today aren't my whole story. Our profile has to be rejected just enough times for the right situation to fall into place. I have to be rejected by people important to me to notice who doesn't, to remember not to do it to others.
Rejection hurts but pain almost always goes away with time.
And in the meantime, I have three dogs. Which is the definition of complete and total acceptance and devotion at all times. Even as I write this, with all three snoring at my feet.
The horrible thing about being a potential adoptive family with a national agency is the exposure we are given. Throughout the US, potential birth mothers can look at our profile, meaning a dozen or more women every month since we became active have chosen someone else.
We knew going in that adoption is tricky and requires patience, and we have prayed multiple times a day that the right situation come into our lives, the situation that will be best for our future son or daughter, even if it means we have to wait forever, even if it means we end up in a situation we weren't expecting. We knew that women considering adoptions are given a pile of profiles to sift through and there are a lot of factors that go into her decision.
But it doesn't matter how much we knew or how much we continue to learn. Rejection hurts.
In mid-August a little girl was born somewhere in Nebraska and she went home with another family. Through a series of events we found out we were one of just a couple of choices her biological mother had narrowed it down to. She chose them. She didn't choose us. That little girl is in a family that will love her dearly, and I hope she grows up to become a lovely woman with a beautiful life. But on her due date, I realized I could've been her mother that day if things had gone differently.
Rejection comes in all shapes and sizes but it all feels about the same. I found out recently that I wasn't as important to some people as they were to me and it hurt in the same place. It felt the same when the publishing companies told me they weren't interested in my music.
We go way back, rejection and I. It happens when you wear bright red overalls to school because you think they are cool... but they aren't.
But I don't like to feel like a victim and blame the world when I'm rejected, because I find no one really cares how much you point the finger outward. Trying to find a place for the blame isn't making the problem itself go away.
Rejection hurts because it hits my pride. I thought we were a cute, fun loving couple that any woman considering adoption would fall in love with. I was convinced I was important to someone when I wasn't. I thought my music was good enough to publish so I sent it in.
But we aren't, I wasn't, it wasn't. And when one thing feels like it isn't good enough, it spreads like a disease, until suddenly I don't feel good enough. How easy it is to fall into a self-made pit when you feel less than good enough.
Fact is, I am not always going to be good enough. But, I have a deep and unmoving worth. I am a person whose life has value. The good Sunday School student answer is that I was created in God's image and therefore have worth. That I am not good enough but by grace through faith I get to be His anyway. But it goes beyond that, too. The rejections I face today aren't my whole story. Our profile has to be rejected just enough times for the right situation to fall into place. I have to be rejected by people important to me to notice who doesn't, to remember not to do it to others.
Rejection hurts but pain almost always goes away with time.
And in the meantime, I have three dogs. Which is the definition of complete and total acceptance and devotion at all times. Even as I write this, with all three snoring at my feet.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
The Perfect Day
The prairie has it's own beauty-- open spaces, wide rivers, tall grass, meticulously organized fields, the sand in the dirt creating interesting formations in the low rolling hills.
But I'm a woods girl at heart. I love the clicks and gurgles of the small creeks that run through the nooks and crannies of the hills, the wind whistling through the tree tops, the crunch the needles and cones of the pines made beneath my feet. The smell of hot sap in the summer and clear, spruce scented winters. I love not knowing what is around the corner until I get there on a small tunneled path surrounded by trees.
Which is why Jim and I promised each other that we would make trips to the forest often, be it the Hills of South Dakota or the mountains of Colorado. This year, with the exception of my sister-in-laws wedding, I wasn't able to spend any time in the woods. Jim's vacation days went to cycling adventures so I stayed home.
My husband recognized a problem and sent out to fix it. He knew that circumstances around our future adoption plans and life in general had me feeling impatient, rejected, lonely and stressed, he did what he knew would heal my heart. Friday night, as I was falling asleep, we talked about where the nearest forest would be and how we could get there. Saturday morning, after a 10 mile run for me and Men's Bible Study for him, we were off to Halsey, NE. Jim took me to the woods!
The minute we pulled in at the recreation area, I rolled down my window and breathed in the smell of home that every forest has (plus smoke from Oregon, which oddly reminded me of home as well, since we experienced a fire in the Hills a few years ago). We went to Scott Lookout Tower first, where David was brave enough to climb to the top. Jim and I took turns climbing the stairs, as the little dogs were too afraid of heights to join us.
We then started down the trail that would lead to the ranger station 3 miles away. We went a ways down the trail before it became obvious that it had too many sand burs for the dogs to enjoy the trip and we turned around.
We walked around the picnic area, crossing the river at the entrance of the forest on a beautiful bridge.
When we got back to North Platte, we stopped at Cold Stone and Qdoba before coming home to watch a movie.
It wasn't a full vacation and we spent more time driving than we did outside of the car, but it was a wonderful day.
I remembered how much I love the woods. I got to do some of my favorite things in exploring new territory, hiking and climbing towers (I don't know why I love climbing up towers, I just do).
Most importantly, however, I was reminded that neither the woods or the prairie are my home. That God provided a temporary home for me on this earth--Jim is that home. Until the day He gives us children, Jim is my family. I was reminded that I was so important to my husband that he would drive 5 hours on a Saturday just so I could spend a little while with some trees. I was reminded that a simple day with my little family of my guy and three dogs can be the perfect day. I was reminded again just how fortunate I am to be married to one of the greatest guys in the world.
Thanks for the great day, sweet heart.
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
The Comments Section
I have never found something so consuming, frustrating and tactless as the comments section. It is my estimation that I spend approximately an hour a week reading the comments section on various things-- from youtube videos to blog posts to Facebook debate pages. As someone who is resolutely against participating in most forms of debate, I am often surprised by me interest in what others have to say on any given topic. Yet there I sit, reading, often times getting upset, almost always leaving in a worse mood than I started with. And today, I got so angry I contributed to the madness in one comment.
The comments section is where grammar, kindness and thought out responses go to die.
It's truly unfortunate that people allow the anonymity of a computer screen bolster their courage to say whatever is on their mind, whether it is worthy of the time it takes to type it or not. Opinion, it seems, is far more important than knowledge in internet-land. With the access to millions of opinions, some sounding quite legitimate, it is easy to find someone who agrees with any given idea, fueling this audacity of online commenting
When I discovered the world of online forums, I was excited. As someone naturally shy and constantly thinking about how my words might come across, I looked forward to a place where I didn't have to respond in the moment. Where I could carefully formulate my opinion, word it carefully, and post it when I was prepared to share it. It wasn't long until I left the two forums I had joined because I learned that for some reason, this wasn't a common thought about online conversation.
Most often, it's swiped, incorrect words replacing important ones so what may have been a convincing statement comes across as jibberish (I'm guilty of the swipe faux pas, but I do my best to keep those between my husband and I, so when I accidentally say "ovaries" instead of "oboe reeds", it's something we can giggle about later). The angrier someone becomes, I have found, the less likely they are to use the word they want, spell things correctly, or avoid unnecessary curse words. Some responses, to even the most mundane of videos or articles, are illegible by the time they are posted.
When the responses are a bit more thought out and therefore understandable, they are sometimes so filled with hate that they are hard to read. Without the filter of everyday, face to face conversation, people tend to say things that can be really hurtful, whether they are directed at a particular person or not.
The comments section has done a good job of telling me that everything I am is something someone else is adamantly against and they are more than willing to share their disdain online. Everything from my faith, my pets, my hobbies, my diet, and even our decision to adopt an infant have been topics attacked. It may not be directed at me personally, but some of these cruel comments hit on something very personal for me or someone close to me.
Today, I responded to a comment on a debate page. A woman believed that those adopting an infant "suck" because they are just "waiting around for the perfect baby" instead of adopting from foster care. It was such an ignorant comment, to assume that anyone who desires a child should just hope right into foster parenting, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. All of us in the adoption world have very specific reasons for going the route we do, and we have very important reasons for ours, none of which are the "perfect baby", or "one that looks like we do" (another assumption of the poster in question). She said some hurtful things about adoptive parents of infants and it got under my skin too quickly and too deeply. I won't give it any more attention here, because her thoughts were lacking in information and I think she may have meant well in the end. But she attacked not only something important to me, but she also attacked some of the best people in my life with her comments and I couldn't stand it. I broke a Kristin's Cardinal Rule and replied in the heat of the moment-- luckily, I did a few rephrases before posting and I feel I came across clearly and without sounding like a nut case.
You see, as much as I hate generalizations and as much as I want to believe this isn't true, we live in a world where face to face contact is less and less important and freedom of speech now means you are encouraged to be painfully opinionated without any reasoning behind those opinions. We live in a world where "u r such an iafiot, i can sharz my opinion on dis" is an acceptable rebuttal (actual quote, mind you). We live in a world where we are supposedly accepting of so many things now but can't hold our tongues on any given topic.
I suppose it's always been this way, people destroying other people with their words. It was a problem even in Biblical times, though sometimes I feel like verses were written exactly for online conversation.
Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent. Proverbs 17:28
A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back. Proverbs 29:11
Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; James 1:19
The wise of heart will receive commandments, but a babbling fool will come to ruin. Proverbs 10:8
Whoever guards his mouth preserves his life; he who opens wide his lips comes to ruin. Proverbs 13:3
Walk in wisdom toward outsiders, making the best use of the time. Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person.
Colossians 4:5-6
and last one of the day
Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear. Ephesians 4:29
People can be cruel. It doesn't mean we have to be, too. Like the old song goes "Oh, be careful little mouth, what you say".
The comments section is where grammar, kindness and thought out responses go to die.
It's truly unfortunate that people allow the anonymity of a computer screen bolster their courage to say whatever is on their mind, whether it is worthy of the time it takes to type it or not. Opinion, it seems, is far more important than knowledge in internet-land. With the access to millions of opinions, some sounding quite legitimate, it is easy to find someone who agrees with any given idea, fueling this audacity of online commenting
When I discovered the world of online forums, I was excited. As someone naturally shy and constantly thinking about how my words might come across, I looked forward to a place where I didn't have to respond in the moment. Where I could carefully formulate my opinion, word it carefully, and post it when I was prepared to share it. It wasn't long until I left the two forums I had joined because I learned that for some reason, this wasn't a common thought about online conversation.
Most often, it's swiped, incorrect words replacing important ones so what may have been a convincing statement comes across as jibberish (I'm guilty of the swipe faux pas, but I do my best to keep those between my husband and I, so when I accidentally say "ovaries" instead of "oboe reeds", it's something we can giggle about later). The angrier someone becomes, I have found, the less likely they are to use the word they want, spell things correctly, or avoid unnecessary curse words. Some responses, to even the most mundane of videos or articles, are illegible by the time they are posted.
When the responses are a bit more thought out and therefore understandable, they are sometimes so filled with hate that they are hard to read. Without the filter of everyday, face to face conversation, people tend to say things that can be really hurtful, whether they are directed at a particular person or not.
The comments section has done a good job of telling me that everything I am is something someone else is adamantly against and they are more than willing to share their disdain online. Everything from my faith, my pets, my hobbies, my diet, and even our decision to adopt an infant have been topics attacked. It may not be directed at me personally, but some of these cruel comments hit on something very personal for me or someone close to me.
Today, I responded to a comment on a debate page. A woman believed that those adopting an infant "suck" because they are just "waiting around for the perfect baby" instead of adopting from foster care. It was such an ignorant comment, to assume that anyone who desires a child should just hope right into foster parenting, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. All of us in the adoption world have very specific reasons for going the route we do, and we have very important reasons for ours, none of which are the "perfect baby", or "one that looks like we do" (another assumption of the poster in question). She said some hurtful things about adoptive parents of infants and it got under my skin too quickly and too deeply. I won't give it any more attention here, because her thoughts were lacking in information and I think she may have meant well in the end. But she attacked not only something important to me, but she also attacked some of the best people in my life with her comments and I couldn't stand it. I broke a Kristin's Cardinal Rule and replied in the heat of the moment-- luckily, I did a few rephrases before posting and I feel I came across clearly and without sounding like a nut case.
You see, as much as I hate generalizations and as much as I want to believe this isn't true, we live in a world where face to face contact is less and less important and freedom of speech now means you are encouraged to be painfully opinionated without any reasoning behind those opinions. We live in a world where "u r such an iafiot, i can sharz my opinion on dis" is an acceptable rebuttal (actual quote, mind you). We live in a world where we are supposedly accepting of so many things now but can't hold our tongues on any given topic.
I suppose it's always been this way, people destroying other people with their words. It was a problem even in Biblical times, though sometimes I feel like verses were written exactly for online conversation.
Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent. Proverbs 17:28
A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back. Proverbs 29:11
Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; James 1:19
The wise of heart will receive commandments, but a babbling fool will come to ruin. Proverbs 10:8
Whoever guards his mouth preserves his life; he who opens wide his lips comes to ruin. Proverbs 13:3
Walk in wisdom toward outsiders, making the best use of the time. Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person.
Colossians 4:5-6
and last one of the day
Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear. Ephesians 4:29
People can be cruel. It doesn't mean we have to be, too. Like the old song goes "Oh, be careful little mouth, what you say".
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
The Perks Of Being A Good Girl
Whether or not it was because of my own personal decisions, the fact that I was a social recluse or that my family lived on a 6 acre llama farm 10 miles from town, I was (and am) a good girl.
Sometimes, perhaps, it was fear of punishment. Often it was respect for authority. Most often it was because being "good" was simply easier and less stressful than being "bad".
In any case, I rarely got into much trouble. My worst shenanigan was a "party" my friends had at one grandmother's house when an attempted game of sardines resulted in breaking a bed frame that surprisingly couldn't support the weight of 11 teenagers. My worst indiscretion was literally 15 minutes long, when I stole kitty collars from K*Mart and broke down in the parking lot, confessing everything to my mother and returning them to the manager, telling him I planned on grounding myself for a week for the theft.
I have been told that my lack of excitement due to my goody-goody-ness is something I will regret one day. That somehow being a good kid has ruined my chances of having truly "lived"-- that somehow by following the rules I have ruined any chances of having any fun ever.
I'm here to tell you-- that's a big fat lie. Growing up a good girl definitely had it's perks and I think it's time to celebrate the rule followers and the "innocents". I'm not going to judge anyone else's experiences thus far in life, but I'd like to share with you some of the things that have come from being a borderline brown noser.
1. Good girls marry good boys. And good boys make excellent husbands. Sure, a bad boy with a soft side seems like a good idea, but my nerdy, graphic calculator toting boyfriend of high school not only turned into a loving, caring, awesome husband, but a super smart electrical engineer. If there is one thing young ladies take from this post it's this-- go for the good guys.
On the topic of marriage, having married as a virgin to a virgin (part of the good girl thing, I guess) I can tell you how awesome it is to come into marriage with a clean slate and without any guilt. It might not seem romantic, but let me tell you, I don't for a second regret this and neither does my awesome, good guy husband.
2. Authority likes me. Parent teacher conferences were always the best. I got a free cookie and sat around while other adults told my parents what a joy I was to have in class. Every time I visited a friends house I was treated like the best kid in the world because offering to help with dishes was basically asking for sainthood.
Authority also trusts me. So much so that when as drum major I bought a 6 foot sub for the band on homecoming and needed to cut it into smaller pieces, the ladies in the lunch room not only gave me a huge knife, but just let me walk out of the cafeteria with it. On the short walk from there to the band room I passed the secretary and the DARE police officer and no one even batted an eye at the senior girl walking down the hall with the knife the size of her forearm.
3. People trust me. Don't worry, that statement wasn't followed by an evil cackle. People trust me because you can trust trustworthy people and I do my best to be just that. However, there were times when people told me secrets simply because I was the "quiet, good girl". One group of high school boys loved to tell me what they were planning to do to another guys locker, or how they were going to prank the girls basketball team, because for some reason, I looked like someone who wouldn't tell.
4. I remember all of my fun. I have personally never seen the draw to getting drunk. I have never understood the excitement of losing control of some of your mental capabilities. It sounds frightening to me, to be honest. But I can say that every time I have been at a social gathering and had a good time, I remember every second of it and never once had to puke afterwards (okay, that one time when I ate something bad, but you get the point). In all of my funny drunk stories, I am most definitely not the star, and I prefer it that way.
5. My parents never had ammunition and we always got along. Back to authority liking the good girl, by the time I was in high school my parents didn't ask me where I was going or when I would be back, because they knew it was clean fun and I'd be back at a decent hour. This is partially because they were laid back parents, but it was also because they knew I wouldn't do anything that would make them nervous. They rarely had something to punish me for and therefore didn't often get a chance to use an indiscretion to tell me I couldn't do or have something. Looking back, never having a rebellious stage, unless you count getting married at 19 when my parents didn't want me to, it was great being best friends with my mom through those awkward teenage years.
6. When I cuss, people listen. I don't believe in using inappropriate language. I know some people use it more frequently than I do, and that is perfectly fine for them, but I feel if I am representing the God of the universe, my husband, my job, my church, etc., I should always be on my best behavior, and I would rather honey come from my lips than vulgarity. So I don't cuss, at least very rarely. But when I do, jaws drop. Rooms fall silent. People pay attention. Things get real when the good girl lets one fly. There are two perks to this. One, people almost always listen to my side in an argument because if I get heated enough to cuss I must be very serious. Two, cussing could someday save my life. I once dropped a knife while doing dishes, cut my hand and uttered a less-than-proper word and Jim was by my side almost instantly, at non-human speed, assuming I was dying if I was saying such a word.
7. People assume I'm smart. Because teachers loved me, people assumed I was a great student. Sure, I stayed in the A and B range (except for Algebra 2, stupid math), but other students always thought I knew what I was talking about. While I am quick to admit my intellectual shortcomings, it is fun to know that by simply being a good girl some people might take what I say as fact, because I just "seem" smart.
8. The risks I make count. Sure, maybe I never went to a party that could have been broken up by the police. Maybe I've never been in a somewhat unsafe situation. Maybe I'm not the kind of risk taker that has great, funny stories to tell about the time she did something stupid.
But I do have the stories about the risks I've taken. Marrying young to my high school sweetheart. Asking directors to have their bands play my pieces. Befriending people that intimidate me. Going through the adoption process. These are risks worth taking.
I was most definitely not a perfect child and had my moments of being a hooligan without a doubt. I also have many friends who had much more interesting shenanigans than my cat collar story. This post is in no way meant to offend them or anyone else, so just read it for what it is and maybe laugh if something what funny, okay?
Sometimes, perhaps, it was fear of punishment. Often it was respect for authority. Most often it was because being "good" was simply easier and less stressful than being "bad".
In any case, I rarely got into much trouble. My worst shenanigan was a "party" my friends had at one grandmother's house when an attempted game of sardines resulted in breaking a bed frame that surprisingly couldn't support the weight of 11 teenagers. My worst indiscretion was literally 15 minutes long, when I stole kitty collars from K*Mart and broke down in the parking lot, confessing everything to my mother and returning them to the manager, telling him I planned on grounding myself for a week for the theft.
I have been told that my lack of excitement due to my goody-goody-ness is something I will regret one day. That somehow being a good kid has ruined my chances of having truly "lived"-- that somehow by following the rules I have ruined any chances of having any fun ever.
I'm here to tell you-- that's a big fat lie. Growing up a good girl definitely had it's perks and I think it's time to celebrate the rule followers and the "innocents". I'm not going to judge anyone else's experiences thus far in life, but I'd like to share with you some of the things that have come from being a borderline brown noser.
1. Good girls marry good boys. And good boys make excellent husbands. Sure, a bad boy with a soft side seems like a good idea, but my nerdy, graphic calculator toting boyfriend of high school not only turned into a loving, caring, awesome husband, but a super smart electrical engineer. If there is one thing young ladies take from this post it's this-- go for the good guys.
On the topic of marriage, having married as a virgin to a virgin (part of the good girl thing, I guess) I can tell you how awesome it is to come into marriage with a clean slate and without any guilt. It might not seem romantic, but let me tell you, I don't for a second regret this and neither does my awesome, good guy husband.
2. Authority likes me. Parent teacher conferences were always the best. I got a free cookie and sat around while other adults told my parents what a joy I was to have in class. Every time I visited a friends house I was treated like the best kid in the world because offering to help with dishes was basically asking for sainthood.
Authority also trusts me. So much so that when as drum major I bought a 6 foot sub for the band on homecoming and needed to cut it into smaller pieces, the ladies in the lunch room not only gave me a huge knife, but just let me walk out of the cafeteria with it. On the short walk from there to the band room I passed the secretary and the DARE police officer and no one even batted an eye at the senior girl walking down the hall with the knife the size of her forearm.
3. People trust me. Don't worry, that statement wasn't followed by an evil cackle. People trust me because you can trust trustworthy people and I do my best to be just that. However, there were times when people told me secrets simply because I was the "quiet, good girl". One group of high school boys loved to tell me what they were planning to do to another guys locker, or how they were going to prank the girls basketball team, because for some reason, I looked like someone who wouldn't tell.
4. I remember all of my fun. I have personally never seen the draw to getting drunk. I have never understood the excitement of losing control of some of your mental capabilities. It sounds frightening to me, to be honest. But I can say that every time I have been at a social gathering and had a good time, I remember every second of it and never once had to puke afterwards (okay, that one time when I ate something bad, but you get the point). In all of my funny drunk stories, I am most definitely not the star, and I prefer it that way.
5. My parents never had ammunition and we always got along. Back to authority liking the good girl, by the time I was in high school my parents didn't ask me where I was going or when I would be back, because they knew it was clean fun and I'd be back at a decent hour. This is partially because they were laid back parents, but it was also because they knew I wouldn't do anything that would make them nervous. They rarely had something to punish me for and therefore didn't often get a chance to use an indiscretion to tell me I couldn't do or have something. Looking back, never having a rebellious stage, unless you count getting married at 19 when my parents didn't want me to, it was great being best friends with my mom through those awkward teenage years.
6. When I cuss, people listen. I don't believe in using inappropriate language. I know some people use it more frequently than I do, and that is perfectly fine for them, but I feel if I am representing the God of the universe, my husband, my job, my church, etc., I should always be on my best behavior, and I would rather honey come from my lips than vulgarity. So I don't cuss, at least very rarely. But when I do, jaws drop. Rooms fall silent. People pay attention. Things get real when the good girl lets one fly. There are two perks to this. One, people almost always listen to my side in an argument because if I get heated enough to cuss I must be very serious. Two, cussing could someday save my life. I once dropped a knife while doing dishes, cut my hand and uttered a less-than-proper word and Jim was by my side almost instantly, at non-human speed, assuming I was dying if I was saying such a word.
7. People assume I'm smart. Because teachers loved me, people assumed I was a great student. Sure, I stayed in the A and B range (except for Algebra 2, stupid math), but other students always thought I knew what I was talking about. While I am quick to admit my intellectual shortcomings, it is fun to know that by simply being a good girl some people might take what I say as fact, because I just "seem" smart.
8. The risks I make count. Sure, maybe I never went to a party that could have been broken up by the police. Maybe I've never been in a somewhat unsafe situation. Maybe I'm not the kind of risk taker that has great, funny stories to tell about the time she did something stupid.
But I do have the stories about the risks I've taken. Marrying young to my high school sweetheart. Asking directors to have their bands play my pieces. Befriending people that intimidate me. Going through the adoption process. These are risks worth taking.
I was most definitely not a perfect child and had my moments of being a hooligan without a doubt. I also have many friends who had much more interesting shenanigans than my cat collar story. This post is in no way meant to offend them or anyone else, so just read it for what it is and maybe laugh if something what funny, okay?
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
A Matter Of Perspective
Later this summer, the members of my graduating class will be celebrating our ten year reunion. Planning started late, so when I hadn't seen an invitation I assumed that either it was forgotten or I was-- either a possibility. However, recently my Facebook feed was been filled with comments from names I haven't thought about in 9 1/2 years and an event has been established.
I hold nothing against anyone from my senior class. I had a few friends and I had a few people who picked on me, but for the most part I was ignored. What was done back then holds very little weight to who I am today.
I also hold no interest in knowing how these people turned out. If I did, a few moments of Facebook stalking would confirm the important stuff-- if they were still living at home, married, have kids, have jobs, live in a foreign country. But I don't often find myself looking through the profiles of people I haven't spoken with since the day I accepted my diploma. I wish them all well, but, I really just don't care. With the exception of a few friends who I barely speak with now, these people are from my distant past and keeping up with everyone would be exhausting.
With that in mind, I had already decided not to go the minute I received the notification. I also chose not to attend for a reason that I'm embarrassed to admit.
There was a small, but terrible, part of me that wanted to show up and show off. As arrogant as it may sound, I'm pretty happy with my life currently. I'm fit, I'm working an awesome job, volunteering with great organizations, making a difference and happily married for many years. It would be nice to show some of these people that the band geek runs now, that the shy girl is now on two community organization boards, that the boring one now has a really good, stable life.
I felt smug for about a minute and a half. My chest was all puffed up and I was thinking how awesome it would be show up in some cute outfit and have heads turn. "Is that... Kristin?" They would exclaim, jaws hitting the floor.
But then I had a reality check.
First, arrogance in any shape or form is just plain stupid, not attractive at all and not a part of my persona.
Second, success is a matter of perspective.
While I am completely comfortable and happy with my life, I thought for a second what someone from the outside, hearing only the major details, might think.
I am the girl who dropped out of college to marry her high school sweetheart. I work part time at a retail job and part time at home. I have no kids. I seem obsessed with my body because I work out and am into nutrition. I talk way too much about (and to) my dogs. I still only have a small handful of friends and call my mom almost every day.
Again, that's not how I see myself. They may be true, on the surface, but I love all of those things about myself. But I imagine walking in all tall and proud and having people raise their eyebrow at me. Instead of the "Is that... Kristin?" it would be "Oh... so that's all you've done with your life?"
So, I will not be attending our reunion, Class of 2005. Sorry. I hope you have a lovely time, I hope you reconnect in ways you want. I'll just stay here, go for a run, talk to my dogs, and go on a date with my husband instead. If you want to get to know the adult Kristin, feel free to reach out.
I hold nothing against anyone from my senior class. I had a few friends and I had a few people who picked on me, but for the most part I was ignored. What was done back then holds very little weight to who I am today.
I also hold no interest in knowing how these people turned out. If I did, a few moments of Facebook stalking would confirm the important stuff-- if they were still living at home, married, have kids, have jobs, live in a foreign country. But I don't often find myself looking through the profiles of people I haven't spoken with since the day I accepted my diploma. I wish them all well, but, I really just don't care. With the exception of a few friends who I barely speak with now, these people are from my distant past and keeping up with everyone would be exhausting.
With that in mind, I had already decided not to go the minute I received the notification. I also chose not to attend for a reason that I'm embarrassed to admit.
There was a small, but terrible, part of me that wanted to show up and show off. As arrogant as it may sound, I'm pretty happy with my life currently. I'm fit, I'm working an awesome job, volunteering with great organizations, making a difference and happily married for many years. It would be nice to show some of these people that the band geek runs now, that the shy girl is now on two community organization boards, that the boring one now has a really good, stable life.
I felt smug for about a minute and a half. My chest was all puffed up and I was thinking how awesome it would be show up in some cute outfit and have heads turn. "Is that... Kristin?" They would exclaim, jaws hitting the floor.
But then I had a reality check.
First, arrogance in any shape or form is just plain stupid, not attractive at all and not a part of my persona.
Second, success is a matter of perspective.
While I am completely comfortable and happy with my life, I thought for a second what someone from the outside, hearing only the major details, might think.
I am the girl who dropped out of college to marry her high school sweetheart. I work part time at a retail job and part time at home. I have no kids. I seem obsessed with my body because I work out and am into nutrition. I talk way too much about (and to) my dogs. I still only have a small handful of friends and call my mom almost every day.
Again, that's not how I see myself. They may be true, on the surface, but I love all of those things about myself. But I imagine walking in all tall and proud and having people raise their eyebrow at me. Instead of the "Is that... Kristin?" it would be "Oh... so that's all you've done with your life?"
So, I will not be attending our reunion, Class of 2005. Sorry. I hope you have a lovely time, I hope you reconnect in ways you want. I'll just stay here, go for a run, talk to my dogs, and go on a date with my husband instead. If you want to get to know the adult Kristin, feel free to reach out.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Dear Jim -- An Expectant Adoptive Father
Dear Jim,
In the past few weeks, I have seen you interact with a lot of kids. From a just learning to walk infant to busy 6 year olds, you were quiet and stand-offish at first, not knowing where you fit as a man who has not yet been a father, but soon enough you were welcomed into their little worlds. You read a book to one little girl. You held another on your shoulders and helped her out of her car seat. You held a boys hand as he crossed the road and kept a hand lightly on his shoulder as your navigated a busy parking lot. You played catch and fixed bikes. Your eyes were bright, you were so excited.
And on the drive home from each time spent with kids, I felt the disappointment and could see it in your face. I know you loved the time with them but it gets harder with each visit. With each sweet little smile or cute little giggle, you are reminded again that you are not yet a dad. So, when after a long silence you say, "I'm ready." I know exactly what you mean.
I remember when we were carefree, looking at cute little babies and keeping a safe we-don't-know-anything-about-kids distance, when the "someday" in "someday, when we have kids" was a daydream in a far off land that would become our reality at some time in the future. A daydream we fueled with our naive conversations about having perfectly well behaved kids, still having time for ourselves, being perfect parents. A daydream with scenes of us sharing a quiet afternoon in a well-manicured back yard, you playing ball with a son and me serving pink lemonade at our daughters tea party.
I was with you when our dreaming evolved into excitement and a sense of urgency. When we put smiley faces on certain days of the calendar and suddenly noticed every little kid between the ages of 0 and 10. When we planned cute ways to tell our families about a pregnancy. When it wasn't a question that we would soon be parents in that blissful daydream we've cultivated for so many years.
You were a part of sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for a stick to tell us our fate. When we read reviews on every possible fertility enhancement we could find. When we learned the lingo of people who are officially trying to conceive. When we would analyze pink lines every day I was testing for ovulation.
I was the one that you held tightly when I broken down on Mother's Day last year. I was the one you treated to flowers and chocolates and kisses and back rubs when I couldn't take infertility any longer. I was the one you cared for and protected, because that is who you are.
I know that you have, like me, wondered if it was your own body that was betraying us. Wondering if maybe it's discipline from a past sin or something you are doing wrong. I know that you have started taking multivitamins and avoided bacon (your favorite) and other foods that might be the problem. I know it has worried you.
I was sitting beside you when you realized adoption was the plan for our life. When your voice got quiet and you told me you thought that was the right path for us. I experienced the excitement in that car as we drove to Thanksgiving dinner, I was amazed when we made plans and agreed on everything.
I helped you while you fixed our banister, plugged every outlet and childproofed our home. We sat together nervously as a stranger interviewed us to become potential parents. You drove us two hours each way, two weekends in a row, to go to more interviews. You went through fingerprinting, background checking, piles of paperwork and filling out profile information beside me. You helped pick out the pictures to submit, you organized the tax documents for me.
I know at times it felt like you weren't as important. In adoption, the initial focus seems to be the birth mother, which sometimes extends to the adoptive mother, with the adoptive father sitting behind. I know that Mother's Day sermons are about how great moms are and Father's Day sermons are about stepping up. I know that because you don't openly share your concerns with the world, you don't have the support that I do. But I want you to know that I support you.
So I hope this Father's Day you can celebrate. Celebrate your dad, and all of his good traits. Celebrate the father-figures in your life, or father's that you appreciate.
Celebrate the hope that someday we will be parents and hold on to that hope with me. Celebrate knowing that our "someday, when we're parents" will actually come.
And let me celebrate you. Knowing your character, knowing your heart, witnessing your actions-- I celebrate that you will be the father of my children. I celebrate your kind heart, your giving spirit, your love for me, your hard work, your wonderful smile and your devotion to the Lord. I celebrate being "your girl" for half of my life. I imagine you holding our baby, walking our young child across the street, holding our child on your shoulders, and I celebrate the future.
Happy Father's Day, Jim. You are my love, my best friend, and the better half of me. I can't wait until a little voice calls you Daddy on this very special day.
In the past few weeks, I have seen you interact with a lot of kids. From a just learning to walk infant to busy 6 year olds, you were quiet and stand-offish at first, not knowing where you fit as a man who has not yet been a father, but soon enough you were welcomed into their little worlds. You read a book to one little girl. You held another on your shoulders and helped her out of her car seat. You held a boys hand as he crossed the road and kept a hand lightly on his shoulder as your navigated a busy parking lot. You played catch and fixed bikes. Your eyes were bright, you were so excited.
And on the drive home from each time spent with kids, I felt the disappointment and could see it in your face. I know you loved the time with them but it gets harder with each visit. With each sweet little smile or cute little giggle, you are reminded again that you are not yet a dad. So, when after a long silence you say, "I'm ready." I know exactly what you mean.
I remember when we were carefree, looking at cute little babies and keeping a safe we-don't-know-anything-about-kids distance, when the "someday" in "someday, when we have kids" was a daydream in a far off land that would become our reality at some time in the future. A daydream we fueled with our naive conversations about having perfectly well behaved kids, still having time for ourselves, being perfect parents. A daydream with scenes of us sharing a quiet afternoon in a well-manicured back yard, you playing ball with a son and me serving pink lemonade at our daughters tea party.
I was with you when our dreaming evolved into excitement and a sense of urgency. When we put smiley faces on certain days of the calendar and suddenly noticed every little kid between the ages of 0 and 10. When we planned cute ways to tell our families about a pregnancy. When it wasn't a question that we would soon be parents in that blissful daydream we've cultivated for so many years.
You were a part of sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for a stick to tell us our fate. When we read reviews on every possible fertility enhancement we could find. When we learned the lingo of people who are officially trying to conceive. When we would analyze pink lines every day I was testing for ovulation.
I was the one that you held tightly when I broken down on Mother's Day last year. I was the one you treated to flowers and chocolates and kisses and back rubs when I couldn't take infertility any longer. I was the one you cared for and protected, because that is who you are.
I know that you have, like me, wondered if it was your own body that was betraying us. Wondering if maybe it's discipline from a past sin or something you are doing wrong. I know that you have started taking multivitamins and avoided bacon (your favorite) and other foods that might be the problem. I know it has worried you.
I was sitting beside you when you realized adoption was the plan for our life. When your voice got quiet and you told me you thought that was the right path for us. I experienced the excitement in that car as we drove to Thanksgiving dinner, I was amazed when we made plans and agreed on everything.
I helped you while you fixed our banister, plugged every outlet and childproofed our home. We sat together nervously as a stranger interviewed us to become potential parents. You drove us two hours each way, two weekends in a row, to go to more interviews. You went through fingerprinting, background checking, piles of paperwork and filling out profile information beside me. You helped pick out the pictures to submit, you organized the tax documents for me.
I know at times it felt like you weren't as important. In adoption, the initial focus seems to be the birth mother, which sometimes extends to the adoptive mother, with the adoptive father sitting behind. I know that Mother's Day sermons are about how great moms are and Father's Day sermons are about stepping up. I know that because you don't openly share your concerns with the world, you don't have the support that I do. But I want you to know that I support you.
So I hope this Father's Day you can celebrate. Celebrate your dad, and all of his good traits. Celebrate the father-figures in your life, or father's that you appreciate.
Celebrate the hope that someday we will be parents and hold on to that hope with me. Celebrate knowing that our "someday, when we're parents" will actually come.
And let me celebrate you. Knowing your character, knowing your heart, witnessing your actions-- I celebrate that you will be the father of my children. I celebrate your kind heart, your giving spirit, your love for me, your hard work, your wonderful smile and your devotion to the Lord. I celebrate being "your girl" for half of my life. I imagine you holding our baby, walking our young child across the street, holding our child on your shoulders, and I celebrate the future.
Happy Father's Day, Jim. You are my love, my best friend, and the better half of me. I can't wait until a little voice calls you Daddy on this very special day.
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