Maybe, just maybe, if I write about my feelings about the Sandy Hook tragedy, I'll be able to find ways to focus on something else. Maybe I will be able to drag myself away from my computer, to tame my need to obsessively read every new article and absorb every new piece of information, to read every word describing the victims and what kind of people they were . . . to look at photos of those sweet, smiling faces. Maybe I'll be able to "move on."
But there's this big part of me that doesn't want to. I don't want to just "move on" from this. I want to hang in there with this grieving community, even though they're hundreds of miles away and will never even know who I am. I want to support them by honoring those they've lost, by studying those faces, by praying for the families of the victims and for the survivors. It somehow feels like I'm coming alongside them, holding their hands from afar, by allowing myself to feel the anguish and cry the tears, by fully recognizing what has been lost here.
As a parent, I've had to ruthlessly guard my mind from thoughts of "what if that were my child in the photos? My child's little body, broken and lifeless? My future without my son or daughter?" I know I can't allow my thoughts to spiral in that direction, opening the door of my heart to fears that will paralyze me. So that's the end of this paragraph.
As a teacher, I can't help but think about the what-ifs and imagine a similar scenario playing itself out in my school. Since I'm on a leave of absence this year, I felt somehow displaced on Monday morning, knowing my friends were going back to their classrooms and their students, undoubtedly playing the whole scene out in their minds, substituting their classrooms and closets and hallways (and students and colleagues) for those at Sandy Hook. I wanted to be there with them, locking arms emotionally and helping each other through the day. In the aftermath of Friday's tragedy, I flashed back to every lockdown drill I've ever done, analyzing the procedures, wondering what would have been the best action to take had this evil come to our school instead of theirs.
And as I read of the heroics of the teachers at Sandy Hook, those who didn't survive and those who did, I could completely relate. Not because I or anyone I know has ever lived through something like this, but because I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that every teacher I know would have taken the same measures to protect their kids (a.k.a. students), despite the risk to their own lives.
I don't say that to somehow minimize the heroism of the Sandy Hook educators.
Eduators like Dawn Hochsprung and Mary Sherlach, who lost their lives trying to lunge at the gunman.
Or Anne Marie Murphy, the teacher's aide who tried to cradle and comfort sweet Dylan Hockley, who was wrapped in her arms when they were both found dead.
Or sweet, young Victoria Soto, who saved some of her students by hiding them away in a closet and trying to divert the gunman before he took her life.
Or the countless teachers and staff who huddled with children in closets and bathrooms and classrooms, comforting them, pushing their own terror down deep so they could remain steady and calm for their students . . . knowing they might die that day.
I'm just saying that while we teachers don't always have all the answers to unlock a student's academic difficulties, and although every once in a while we might not email back as quickly as a parent would like, and despite the fact that we just don't always get stuff right . . . we would not hesitate to risk our lives for the sake of our students.
Last night I went to Gillian's chorus concert, and the first group to sing was the third grade chorus. As I listened to their tiny voices, I scanned their faces and spotted several who were in my second grade class last year. I suddenly had to catch myself, arrest my own emotions, and force myself not to burst into tears as the "what-if" thoughts tried to push their way to the surface of my mind. I love those kids, and they are not unlike those twenty beautiful children who lost their lives on Friday. I wanted to rush up to the stage and hold their little cheeks in my hands and kiss the tops of their heads and just feel that they are safe.
Sidebar: I surely hope it doesn't seem like I'm responding to this tragedy as a teacher more than I am as a PARENT, for goodness sake. Like I said before, I can't allow myself to go there, because of past experiences with irrational, paralyzing fear and the dark place where it takes my mind and spirit.
Of course, as a result of this awful, terrible event, many discussions going on around our country and in the media have to do with three big questions: What about mental illness? What about gun control? Where was God? I have a few thoughts about those questions.
What about mental illness? If we haven't figured out by now that mental illness is REAL and that it causes people to do completely irrational things, then we're just plain stupid. And I'm not talking about Aspberger's, which has seemingly come to the forefront of the discussion, even though it is not a mental illness. It would take a whole heck of a lot more than Aspberger's to cause someone to do something so heinous. There's a whole range of things that ARE mental illnesses, but many are very difficult to identify and diagnose, and even harder to treat. Or so I've read. Lord knows I'm no expert, but I don't think you have to have a degree in psychiatry to understand the basic fact that it's all very complicated. Surely we can do more to reach and extend love to those who suffer from these illnesses, more to educate the public, more to understand the so-called "signs" of mental illness and find ways to address them as early as possible. More to support their families, for whom my heart breaks. Truly. My heart breaks for the families of those who are seen by most to be weird or anti-social, those who are marginalized. Even those who aren't any of those things but who suffer from such severe clinical depression that they take their own lives. I've known these people, and I know their surviving families, and I have fiercely grappled with these situations. Just like my heart breaks for them, my heart breaks for the mother of the shooter. This poor woman was the person who loved him the most, more than anyone in the whole world, and who no doubt agonized over how to meet his needs, wondering if he would ever be able to function somewhat normally within a society that would largely never understand him or even try to do so. This young man who committed such a reason-defying act of murder was once a sweet, innocent toddler. He was once a tender first-grader, just like the children he slaughtered. His mother was perhaps the only one who could have loved him enough to have hope for a future for him, and even she must have felt hopeless at times. Please don't take this the wrong way . . . but I wonder if her death was the one merciful thing about this whole ordeal, even though it surely wasn't intended to be. I cannot begin to fathom what her existence would be like today if she were alive. Can I say that, even as a Christ-follower who believes in the power of God to heal every broken heart and bring us through even the most horrifying reality? Am I allowed to think that the best place for her to be today is in the arms of our Heavenly Father and hope like crazy that she's there? Dear God, let it be so.
What about gun control? I don't like guns. I'm a little afraid of them, I don't want them in my house, and I personally know of the tragedy that can occur in a split second that would otherwise be impossible were it not for the presence of a legally-purchased gun. Still, I'm generally not in favor of a sweeping motion that would prohibit those who feel differently than I do from having the right to have a gun. But at this moment, this issue is unavoidable, and it would be pointless to be even remotely bothered by the idea that many people want to seriously engage the discussion and call for some changes. We can't deny the fact that private gun ownership played a roll in this tragedy. The shooter's access to the kind of weapon he used in his rampage really can't and shouldn't be ignored. I don't think it's unfair to ask why someone would or should have an assault-style weapon in his or her home. I'm not saying I know what to do about it, but I don't think we're in a position to just sweep that detail under the rug and roll our eyes when well-meaning people want to significantly explore the issue. We're not the first country to have an event like this one bring the debate over gun control to a head and lead to a definitive and drastic measure. Personal gun ownership has been outlawed across the UK for years, resultling from a similar tragedy that occured when a lone gunman entered a school in Dunblane, Scotland, seventeen years ago and killed sixteen five- and six-year-olds and their teacher. This is such a volatile issue, and we have passionate commentary on both sides to look forward to over the next I-don't-know-how-long. I tend to agree with the rhetoric that says that if we disarm all the law-abiding citizens, only the criminals will have access to firearms, and the good guys will have no way of defending themselves. Perhaps just tighter restrictions should be put in place. If it's harder for regular citizens to buy guns in the first place, surely there will be fewer guns available for criminals to buy illegally (like the killers in the Columbine massacre did). If only certain types of weapons are legal to own (like basic handguns), the more potentially destructive ones won't be accessible to people like the Sandy Hook shooter. But I have to admit that the idea of taking away a basic right and freedom, even for good reasons and with the greatest of intentions, makes me more than a little nervous.
Where was God? I know, in my heart, that God was there. Somehow. I don't believe He had willfully removed Himself from that place, nor do I believe for one second that just because of some silly little idea like "no prayer in schools" that we have removed him. Do we really think so highly of ourselves that we could implement some puny piece of legislation that is able to keep the Almighty God out of anywhere? Oh, the arrogance of that notion. I know for a fact that he has been at my school every single day I was there, because his Spirit lives in me, and no flimsy rule prohibiting prayer or Bible reading in public school can keep Him out. That's one of the reasons I teach at a public school. Just by being there, the love of Jesus and the power of the Holy Spirit flow right out of me and every other Christian teacher and directly into the lives of students, parents, and co-workers through silent prayers, words of encouragement, hugs and pats on the head, high-fives, attaboys and attagirls . . . and LOVE. God is love, and if you've read or watched anything about Sandy Hook, you know there was plenty of that going around on that terrible day and in the days since.
Still, I have to wonder how it could have happened in the first place, how God could have "allowed" such a terrible thing, why He Himself didn't shield those precious, innocent children from the bullets of a madman. But I will never, ever know the answers to those questions. None of us will. I have long since had to come to grips, as so many of us have, with the fact that sometimes unthinkable and atrocious things happen in this world. I don't know why. I don't, I don't, I don't. I've heard it suggested by the truly insane that God sent that gunman. I am personally offended by that thought, and may God have mercy on those who so grossly misrepresent Him. I have heard some connect this tragedy to a frightening condition of moral decay in our society, and I do believe there is merit to that argument. I don't believe events like this are God's "punishment" for the fact that we've murdered millions of unborn children and have arrogantly redefined His standard of marriage (which we have), as some have been accused of implying. I also don't believe that the gunman was some kind of unwitting product of an amoral culture, himself a victim of societal decay, unable to be blamed for his actions. On the contrary, and although I won't even pretend to know how his mental illness factors into all this, he was responsible for this terrible thing, and by all accounts it was, without a doubt, premeditated. But perhaps the very possibility of violent tragedies like this one, along with countless other horrible things, is another symptom of our Godlessness.
Sidebar: Case in point: Do you know what the other "recommended" stories on MSNBC's main page were, alongside news of the funeral for Victoria Soto? I'll tell you. They included news of a $23million decision against a teacher who repeatedly sexually abused a fifth grade student in his classroom, an after-school basketball coach who was busted for trying to get a teenage boy to perform in same-sex porn videos for money, and a California couple who were shot when they met with someone who answered the Craigslist ad for an iPhone they were selling. If these aren't evidence of moral decay, I don't know what is.
The one Truth I know, above all else, is that God is. He IS. We can't know everthing that means, because His ways are higher than (i.e. beyond our capability to perceive, understand, or otherwise know) ours ways, His thoughts higher than our thoughts. The good news is that His love is also higher than ours, which means He loves us all in ways we don't have the capacity to understand, and His love is able to permeate even the darkest of circumstances and provide healing light and life. He wants us to respond to that love by allowing Him into our lives, to transform us, and to comfort us in tragic times, to give us beauty in exchange for our ashes. He wants to redeem the ugliness in our lives, our broken hearts, and anything else that needs fixing in us. He welcomed those little souls into an eternity with him on Friday, and He is there in Newtown with those who have lost so much, comforting them, holding them, ready to bring peace in the absence of any human comprehension, which will never come. He is poised to take their ashes and give them beauty in exchange, somehow, miraculously, in ways we can never fathom. We're never going to figure it out, folks. But we can accept it. And then we can rest in it, and leave the heavy lifting to Him.
Here are links to some of the very thought-provoking articles I've read over the last few days:
A letter from a teacher to the teachers at Sandy Hook.
An article written by the mother of a son with serious mental illness.
Profiles of the Victims. Read what their families want the world to know about them. Look at their pictures. Say their names out loud.
Acts of Kindness Campaign. It started with 26, but surely it should include 27. Maybe even 28 . . . the world lost Adam Laska a long time ago, and that loss is tragic, too.
If you've read this far, thank you. I think I have needed to articulate all this. It barely scratches the surface of what's in my heart, actually, but it's something. If even one person responds and says something to the effect of, "I feel ya, Heather," it will mean something to me. I don't expect everyone to agree with my thoughts, but I know we all agree that this is a terrible, terrible thing, and that we are all broken just a little because of it. And we can agree on LOVE. It is the very nature of God, and it's available to and through all of us. Let's find more and more ways and people to love, my friends.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Recent Randomness
It has come to my attention that I have recently taken several photos of random and unconnected events. So why not share them, right? Kind of like what many bloggers do with "Wordless Wednesday," except it's Tuesday and, well, this is me. That means "wordless" is a virtual impossibility. :-)
These first couple of photos are of Caroline and Ellis on the day Tony took them to Comic-Con in Tampa. Comic-Con, for anyone who doesn't know (which may well be many of you), is a nationwide series of conventions for lovers of comic books and related characters, including all things sci-fi and superhero. Ellis doesn't read comic books, but he loves superhero action and adventure. When The Avengers came out last summer, I thought he might spontaneously combust in anticipation of seeing it. So the whole Comic-Con thing was his idea, and Tony, who is sweet and wonderful and quite possibly the father of the year, agreed to take him. Then Caroline jumped on the bandwagon, too. The whole point for most who attend is to dress up in one's favorite character and browse the many booths and exhibits catering to those who are hopelessly geeked out about this stuff. At first I wasn't so sure about the event, because when I looked for info online I was assaulted with photos of female attendees wearing not-so-family-friendly costumes. But upon further investigation, I became convinced that everything would be okay. And it was, apparently. Tony and the kids reported nothing too risque. They, along with our friends Steve and Mark, had a great time.
Here's a close-up of Green Arrow and Catwoman looking "intimidating."
And here's the full view. Both of them are wearing my boots. Ellis is wearing Gillian's yoga pants, which I had to talk him into doing, assuring him that the "tunic" we fashioned from an old hoodie of mine (this involved sewing, by the way. I was very impressed with myself.) would adequately cover up all his business. After all, he just barely managed to get those pants on, know what I'm sayin'?
I was quite ambivalent about Caroline's costume, as you might expect. Black body suit with high-heeled boots? Fourteen years old? *sigh* I dunno, y'all. God help me, I'm trying to let her grow up at the right pace. And we all know we have to choose our battles, right? So she wore shorts underneath, and the belt helped break things up a bit, and it wasn't totally skin tight. We do our best, honeys. We do our best. I have to admit . . . she did look pretty cool.
These first couple of photos are of Caroline and Ellis on the day Tony took them to Comic-Con in Tampa. Comic-Con, for anyone who doesn't know (which may well be many of you), is a nationwide series of conventions for lovers of comic books and related characters, including all things sci-fi and superhero. Ellis doesn't read comic books, but he loves superhero action and adventure. When The Avengers came out last summer, I thought he might spontaneously combust in anticipation of seeing it. So the whole Comic-Con thing was his idea, and Tony, who is sweet and wonderful and quite possibly the father of the year, agreed to take him. Then Caroline jumped on the bandwagon, too. The whole point for most who attend is to dress up in one's favorite character and browse the many booths and exhibits catering to those who are hopelessly geeked out about this stuff. At first I wasn't so sure about the event, because when I looked for info online I was assaulted with photos of female attendees wearing not-so-family-friendly costumes. But upon further investigation, I became convinced that everything would be okay. And it was, apparently. Tony and the kids reported nothing too risque. They, along with our friends Steve and Mark, had a great time.
Here's a close-up of Green Arrow and Catwoman looking "intimidating."
And here's the full view. Both of them are wearing my boots. Ellis is wearing Gillian's yoga pants, which I had to talk him into doing, assuring him that the "tunic" we fashioned from an old hoodie of mine (this involved sewing, by the way. I was very impressed with myself.) would adequately cover up all his business. After all, he just barely managed to get those pants on, know what I'm sayin'?
I was quite ambivalent about Caroline's costume, as you might expect. Black body suit with high-heeled boots? Fourteen years old? *sigh* I dunno, y'all. God help me, I'm trying to let her grow up at the right pace. And we all know we have to choose our battles, right? So she wore shorts underneath, and the belt helped break things up a bit, and it wasn't totally skin tight. We do our best, honeys. We do our best. I have to admit . . . she did look pretty cool.
Jin scooted his way outside when I was taking the pictures, and he managed to get his hand filthy standing up next to the van. He's totally cute even when he's showing me how dirty he is.
It's science project season, and Gillian and Ellis are in the home stretch. G. took a break not long ago to let me snap a picture of her cuteness.
And one of Daddy and Jin, too.
My little flamingo, showing his Lee University pride. In his underwear. Because he's a boy.
The two youngest playing outside, which is where both of them would prefer to be any day, any time.
And here's one more. Caroline and I headed out for a run the other night, looking quite Twinkie-like. I thought it was hilarious, and I reminded her that I was dressed first, which meant I automatically got a pass on being the one to change. Besides, I'm way too old to give a crap about matching outfits. She wasn't amused, but it must not have been too humiliating, because we went right out in our little black and blue uniforms. It was really more of a charity jog for her, because she can run a lot faster and longer than her ol' mama, but it was a good push for me. And mother-daughter togetherness is always a good thing. :-)
Sidebar: See how Caroline looks in the above picture? That is what I look like in my imagination, and it's always a little jarring to see a picture of myself and to come face to face with the discrepancy between fact and fiction. The irony is that when I was almost fifteen, as she is now, I actually did look like that, but I imagined myself to look a lot more like this 41-year-old version of myself. Can anyone relate???!!! If I wrote a book about it the title would be My Self-Image: The Wasted Years.
Friday, October 26, 2012
A Different Kind of Kitchen God
My oven is all jacked up. It's a gas oven, construction grade, nine-and-a-half years old. Maybe I shouldn't expect too much at this point. A while ago (over a year) it developed this annoying habit of randomly cutting off, all by itself, without my permission. Because it's a gas oven, I understand that once it reaches the desired heat, it's designed to cut off and refire as needed to maintain the proper temperature. The problem now is that when it tries to refire (and I know it's trying because I hear that clicking noise indicating that the gas is once again flowing), the flame doesn't catch, so it won't ignite. Thankfully, after a few clicks, it stops releasing gas so my whole oven and house don't turn into a fireball waiting to happen. That would be bad.
You can imagine how frustrating this is. Picture Thanksgiving 2011, when my parents came down from Tennessee, and we had to cook the turkey on the grill outside. Seriously. Turned out just fine, but one of my best cookie sheets will never be the same. Sure, we've looked into getting the oven fixed or replaced, but those things cost money we simply don't have right now, so we're dealing with it. I have discovered that for whatever reason it helps to open the oven door when I hear that clicking sound. Not sure why, but that makes the gas ignite and the oven will cook a while longer. I wish I had video of myself literally running to open that door before the clicking stops and the opportunity is missed for a few minutes. Sometimes I have to do that repeatedly during a cooking process, just to keep things going. At other times, it just stops altogether, and even though all the lights are illuminated on the control panel, nothing is happening inside and the only thing to do is turn it completely off and then on again. Aaarrgh!
So this basically means that I can never just heat up my oven, put in a broccoli casserole (or cookies, or meatloaf, or muffins, or a Thanksgiving turkey!) and leave the kitchen to take care of some other task while it cooks.
I have to stay close.
Always listening for signs of distress.
Obsessively checking on whatever's cooking.
Making sure it's getting the heat it needs so it doesn't have to stay in there any longer than necessary.
In this scenario, I'm a lot like God. And that casserole is a lot like me.
We all go through difficult situations, even whole eras of difficulty, it seems. We can feel as though we're boxed in, confined in a dark space, and it just keeps getting hotter and hotter. Sometimes, like my oven, there's a little relief from the heat, and we convince ourselves that that's all we really want. Relief. The truth, however, is that what we need is the heat. While God may not have brought this pain or trial into our lives (don't we so often usher it right in ourselves?), He's always using it to cook up something really good in our hearts.
Can you imagine if He just walked away from the oven?!
What if He took His hand off the controls and simply let everything play itself out? If He did, we might experience some false sense of relief, because things might cool off temporarily, but who likes uncooked casserole? If we're ever going to finish cooking, it's eventually going to have to get hot in there again.
Sometimes we're in the oven of God's discipline, and He's using it to lovingly correct and truly transform us. This reminds me of one of my favorite passages of Scripture:
"And have you entirely forgotten the encouraging words God spoke to you, his children? He said,
'My child, don't ignore it when the Lord disciplines you,
and don't be discouraged when he corrects you.
For the Lord disciplines those he loves,
and he punishes those he accepts as his children.'
As you endure this divine discipline, remember that God is treating you as his own children. Whoever heard of a child who was never disciplined? If God doesn't discipline you as he does all his children, it means that you are illegitimate and are not really his children after all. . . . But God's discipline is always right and good for us because it means we will share in his holiness. No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening - it is painful! But afterward there will be a quiet harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way." ~ Hebrews 12:5-11
Thinking about it this way gives new meaning to that image of myself nearly tripping over the kitchen rug on my race to the oven, eager to throw open the door to let enough air in so the oven will stay hot. Thank God He does the same thing with us. He never leaves the kitchen.
He stays close.
Always listening for signs of distress.
Obsessively checking on whatever's cooking.
Making sure we're getting the heat we need so we don't have to stay in there any longer than necessary.
At times there's a lot of uncomfortable kneading, mixing, dicing, and heating that goes on, but I'm glad to be a culinary masterpiece-in-progress in the kitchen of Chef God. If his promises are true, and I know they are, one day the final product will be something fragrant and satisfying, and He'll say "Mmmm, that's good."
You can imagine how frustrating this is. Picture Thanksgiving 2011, when my parents came down from Tennessee, and we had to cook the turkey on the grill outside. Seriously. Turned out just fine, but one of my best cookie sheets will never be the same. Sure, we've looked into getting the oven fixed or replaced, but those things cost money we simply don't have right now, so we're dealing with it. I have discovered that for whatever reason it helps to open the oven door when I hear that clicking sound. Not sure why, but that makes the gas ignite and the oven will cook a while longer. I wish I had video of myself literally running to open that door before the clicking stops and the opportunity is missed for a few minutes. Sometimes I have to do that repeatedly during a cooking process, just to keep things going. At other times, it just stops altogether, and even though all the lights are illuminated on the control panel, nothing is happening inside and the only thing to do is turn it completely off and then on again. Aaarrgh!
So this basically means that I can never just heat up my oven, put in a broccoli casserole (or cookies, or meatloaf, or muffins, or a Thanksgiving turkey!) and leave the kitchen to take care of some other task while it cooks.
I have to stay close.
Always listening for signs of distress.
Obsessively checking on whatever's cooking.
Making sure it's getting the heat it needs so it doesn't have to stay in there any longer than necessary.
In this scenario, I'm a lot like God. And that casserole is a lot like me.
We all go through difficult situations, even whole eras of difficulty, it seems. We can feel as though we're boxed in, confined in a dark space, and it just keeps getting hotter and hotter. Sometimes, like my oven, there's a little relief from the heat, and we convince ourselves that that's all we really want. Relief. The truth, however, is that what we need is the heat. While God may not have brought this pain or trial into our lives (don't we so often usher it right in ourselves?), He's always using it to cook up something really good in our hearts.
Can you imagine if He just walked away from the oven?!
What if He took His hand off the controls and simply let everything play itself out? If He did, we might experience some false sense of relief, because things might cool off temporarily, but who likes uncooked casserole? If we're ever going to finish cooking, it's eventually going to have to get hot in there again.
Sometimes we're in the oven of God's discipline, and He's using it to lovingly correct and truly transform us. This reminds me of one of my favorite passages of Scripture:
"And have you entirely forgotten the encouraging words God spoke to you, his children? He said,
'My child, don't ignore it when the Lord disciplines you,
and don't be discouraged when he corrects you.
For the Lord disciplines those he loves,
and he punishes those he accepts as his children.'
As you endure this divine discipline, remember that God is treating you as his own children. Whoever heard of a child who was never disciplined? If God doesn't discipline you as he does all his children, it means that you are illegitimate and are not really his children after all. . . . But God's discipline is always right and good for us because it means we will share in his holiness. No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening - it is painful! But afterward there will be a quiet harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way." ~ Hebrews 12:5-11
Thinking about it this way gives new meaning to that image of myself nearly tripping over the kitchen rug on my race to the oven, eager to throw open the door to let enough air in so the oven will stay hot. Thank God He does the same thing with us. He never leaves the kitchen.
He stays close.
Always listening for signs of distress.
Obsessively checking on whatever's cooking.
Making sure we're getting the heat we need so we don't have to stay in there any longer than necessary.
At times there's a lot of uncomfortable kneading, mixing, dicing, and heating that goes on, but I'm glad to be a culinary masterpiece-in-progress in the kitchen of Chef God. If his promises are true, and I know they are, one day the final product will be something fragrant and satisfying, and He'll say "Mmmm, that's good."
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Yummy Stuff
If you've read my blog with any regularity, you know I'm not a foodie blogger, if that's even the right term. I'm just a random "here's my life" kind of blogger, I suppose. But part of my life (a bigger part than I care to admit) involves eating, which inevitably involves cooking, which I actually really enjoy. This year I have a lot more time to plan and cook meals, which has led to a good bit of experimenting. Some things have been a hit with the fam, others not so much. I get lots of ideas from Pinterest, and I have a pin board just for things I've found on Pinterest and then actually done. So today I'm going to share something I came up with that was inspired by some experimenting I did, which was inspired by Pinterest. (Note: I'm terribly afraid that the fact I took pictures while cooking means I'm quite bored or, even worse, boring.)
I started with the idea of making Kiss Pies. They're basically pre-made refrigerated pie crust cut into small circles, each of which is wrapped around a Hershey's chocolate (or other flavor) Kiss, sprinkled with a little sugar and cinnamon, and baked. You can find the original recipe here. I used the Pumpkin Spice Kisses, and they turned out okay. I think I might have used too much pie crust.
Oh, yes, my friends, this turned out to be quite delish. Not as greasy as a McDonald's bacon, egg, 'n' cheese biscuit, and maybe a little more biscuit-y, since the idea was to cook everything inside. At McDonald's everything is really between the top and bottom, so I think there's a better stuffing-to-biscuit ratio, but my whole idea behind this was to have a convenient, leave-the-house-with-it-in-your-hand kind of breakfast item. That being the case, my aim was to make a big batch and freeze them individually to be cooked later.
So that was the real test. I made a couple more and wrapped them individually in wax paper and put them in a labeled Ziploc in the freezer. The next day (I think) I offered them to my kids, and not only did they transfer directly from the freezer to the oven (no thawing!), but the kiddos loved 'em. Perfect. Since then I've made a much bigger batch, which is a kind of labor of love, what with all the egg and bacon cooking and the assembling, etc., but it's been nice to be able to pop just one or two in the oven in the morning for a very filling breakfast for the kids. I made some with ham, too, and I'm sure sausage would be a great option. Really just about anything would work in there. In fact, that same day I made one with the leftover apple mixture and it was soooooo good.
Since I first made these I've seen something similar on Pinterest, and I'm sure there are many versions. After all, there is truly nothing new under the sun, right?
Sooo . . . okay, then. Well, there ya go. I realize I have no idea how to wrap this post up. Do I say "Enjoy!", as though I actually expect people to go right out and try these fabulous things, thankful I've opened their eyes to such wonderfulness? How about "Thank you for reading." No, that sounds like I might actually be trying to be a food blogger, and the good Lord knows I'm not. Don't get me wrong - I'm always very appreciative of anyone who reads my blog. Oh, my. This is awkward. Okay, so how about this . . .
Have a very nice day. :-)
I started with the idea of making Kiss Pies. They're basically pre-made refrigerated pie crust cut into small circles, each of which is wrapped around a Hershey's chocolate (or other flavor) Kiss, sprinkled with a little sugar and cinnamon, and baked. You can find the original recipe here. I used the Pumpkin Spice Kisses, and they turned out okay. I think I might have used too much pie crust.
I also had a few apples that were on the way out and, therefore, not as likely to be eaten outright, so I chopped 'em up, added some butter, walnuts, brown sugar, and cinnamon and made little mini apple pies. I lined muffin cups with pie crust, filled them with the apple mixture, and closed up the top with the excess pie crust, kind of pinching and scrunching it all around. These actually turned out really well, I thought. I'm an apple pie kind of girl, and no apple dessert on a restaurant menu is safe around me. It will always win out over the most decadent of chocolate dishes. :-)
Wow. My food photography leaves a LOT to be desired.
So while I was cooking random things inside random prepared dough, I decided to experiment with a can of large buttermilk biscuits I had. I made some scrambled eggs and a few strips of bacon and made my own bacon, egg, 'n' cheese "pockets." I started by flattening out one biscuit, and then I added eggs, bacon, and shredded cheese.
Then I flattened out a second biscuit and laid it on top. I pressed down the sides so the edges of the two biscuits met, and I rolled and pinched them together in the same way you would with a pie crust. I baked the pocket at about 375 for roughly fifteen minutes (My oven is all weird, which is why this number is not precise, but baking according to the instructions on the biscuit can should do the trick.) until it was nice and brownish gold.
So that was the real test. I made a couple more and wrapped them individually in wax paper and put them in a labeled Ziploc in the freezer. The next day (I think) I offered them to my kids, and not only did they transfer directly from the freezer to the oven (no thawing!), but the kiddos loved 'em. Perfect. Since then I've made a much bigger batch, which is a kind of labor of love, what with all the egg and bacon cooking and the assembling, etc., but it's been nice to be able to pop just one or two in the oven in the morning for a very filling breakfast for the kids. I made some with ham, too, and I'm sure sausage would be a great option. Really just about anything would work in there. In fact, that same day I made one with the leftover apple mixture and it was soooooo good.
Since I first made these I've seen something similar on Pinterest, and I'm sure there are many versions. After all, there is truly nothing new under the sun, right?
Sooo . . . okay, then. Well, there ya go. I realize I have no idea how to wrap this post up. Do I say "Enjoy!", as though I actually expect people to go right out and try these fabulous things, thankful I've opened their eyes to such wonderfulness? How about "Thank you for reading." No, that sounds like I might actually be trying to be a food blogger, and the good Lord knows I'm not. Don't get me wrong - I'm always very appreciative of anyone who reads my blog. Oh, my. This is awkward. Okay, so how about this . . .
Have a very nice day. :-)
Friday, October 19, 2012
Picture Perfect . . . Not Really
Ever seen those hair-do photo tutorials on Pinterest? You know, the ones with the lovely young women modeling all manner of styles and showing how impossibly simple it is to create them yourself? Well, yesterday I decided to give it a shot. The "messy" bun/updo seems to be really popular right now, and Lord knows my hair does messy quite well, so I grabbed a ponytail holder and dug around for as many bobby pins as I could find and, I think, successfully managed to produce the look I was going for. I know I did, because both my girls commented on my hair when I picked them up from school. So, once again, I earned some Pinterest Points (previously defined by me as "tiny morsels of justification for spending way too much time on that darn website").
If I had stopped there, this would be a nice, neat, and mind-numbingly boring story. Fortunately, I didn't stop there. I also attempted to take pictures akin to the ones on Pinterest (not to post them there, mind you. Just because, well, I don't really know why.), and that's when the whole deal went way downhill. The girls and I laughed so. hard. when we looked at them later on, so I just have to share them with you, along with the fabulous captions we came up with to describe them.
I started with this. Not too bad, except you can't really see the hairstyle:
Then this. Fail.
Better angle, but only the back. And do you see all those fly-away hairs! Messy, indeed. I fixed those later.
Maybe I should try to do these in the mirror, a la teenagers everywhere. I wish you could have been there with me as I tried to figure out how to hold the camera and take the picture so the camera wasn't right in front of me and I was looking in the right place and not feeling like a complete idiot (which I did). Still doesn't show the hair very well.
What the heck am I looking at? And, uh . . . focus?
I like to call this one my "I may or may not have seven bodies buried in my back yard" look. Creepy.
Less creepy. But I look like I'm about the say the Pledge of Allegiance.
Okay, so no more pics in the mirror. Turning the camera back around towards me again. Aaaaand, forgot to zoom back out. Nice.
Tilted a little low. Very Olin Mills-ish. All that's missing is my hand placed ever-so-delicately under my chin.
You'll never find those bodies (insert quiet evil psycho laugh).
Okay, maybe I'm not a serial killer. I might, however, be a puppy.
Now I'm just getting silly.
Wow. I can really make my eyes bug way out.
Okay, just me again . . . but still not much of the hair.
Ah, a better shot of the hair. But do you notice my psycho eyes again? Despite the fact that my arm is nearly twisted out of the socket to achieve this shot, I can still see you, and I'm thinking of the perfect spot in my backyard . . .
So here's the one that comes closest to what I was trying to do. It did occur to me that someone else is always behind the camera in those Pinterest shots.
I don't think anyone will be calling me to model hair style tutorials. And I think I might still have one or two bobby pins lodged in my hair somewhere. But, my goodness, this was all so worth the laugh at the end of the day. :-)
If I had stopped there, this would be a nice, neat, and mind-numbingly boring story. Fortunately, I didn't stop there. I also attempted to take pictures akin to the ones on Pinterest (not to post them there, mind you. Just because, well, I don't really know why.), and that's when the whole deal went way downhill. The girls and I laughed so. hard. when we looked at them later on, so I just have to share them with you, along with the fabulous captions we came up with to describe them.
I started with this. Not too bad, except you can't really see the hairstyle:
Then this. Fail.
Better angle, but only the back. And do you see all those fly-away hairs! Messy, indeed. I fixed those later.
Maybe I should try to do these in the mirror, a la teenagers everywhere. I wish you could have been there with me as I tried to figure out how to hold the camera and take the picture so the camera wasn't right in front of me and I was looking in the right place and not feeling like a complete idiot (which I did). Still doesn't show the hair very well.
Closer would be better. No, I'm not in a steamy shower. That's just how it looks when you take a picture into the mirror and don't turn off the flash. Duh. I look really tan, though. Bonus.
What the heck am I looking at? And, uh . . . focus?
I like to call this one my "I may or may not have seven bodies buried in my back yard" look. Creepy.
Less creepy. But I look like I'm about the say the Pledge of Allegiance.
Okay, so no more pics in the mirror. Turning the camera back around towards me again. Aaaaand, forgot to zoom back out. Nice.
Tilted a little low. Very Olin Mills-ish. All that's missing is my hand placed ever-so-delicately under my chin.
You'll never find those bodies (insert quiet evil psycho laugh).
Okay, maybe I'm not a serial killer. I might, however, be a puppy.
Now I'm just getting silly.
Wow. I can really make my eyes bug way out.
Okay, just me again . . . but still not much of the hair.
Ah, a better shot of the hair. But do you notice my psycho eyes again? Despite the fact that my arm is nearly twisted out of the socket to achieve this shot, I can still see you, and I'm thinking of the perfect spot in my backyard . . .
So here's the one that comes closest to what I was trying to do. It did occur to me that someone else is always behind the camera in those Pinterest shots.
I don't think anyone will be calling me to model hair style tutorials. And I think I might still have one or two bobby pins lodged in my hair somewhere. But, my goodness, this was all so worth the laugh at the end of the day. :-)
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Byrds in China - Gotcha Day
Hard to believe, but it's been over two months since Jin's Gotcha Day. In case you're unfamiliar with adoption lingo, or if you haven't figured it out by now, the term "Gotcha Day" refers to the actual day when an adoptive family "gets" their adopted child or children. It's the day that family will always look back on and be able to say to that child, "That's the day I gotcha!" It will most likely be celebrated in varying degrees forever more, much like a birthday or anniversary, and moms and dads and children will look at pictures and reminisce and share memories in the same way they might tell tales of the delivery room . . . I'll never forget the moment when they put you in my arms . . .
We knew all this going in, of course, and we did our best to prepare. We had our video camera and our regular camera and all the documents we had been told to take with us. We had a couple of toys we had brought for Jin, and a supply of Cheerios that had been wisely suggested by friends who had already adopted. We had been advised to write down any questions we wanted to ask Jin's caregivers, because chances were good we'd be so caught up in the emotion of the moment that we would forget them all. We knew from the experiences of others that there was no way to predict how Jin would respond to what was going on around him. Some kids seems to comfortably go to their new parents with great ease, perhaps because they're generally easygoing and good-natured (which is good), or perhaps because they've been so deprived of meaningful human contact in their orphanage lives that they will reach for anyone who seems to want to show a little affection (not so good. Heartbreaking, actually.). On the flip side, some kids freak out, terrified of the transition they sense is happening, wondering who the heck these smiling, crying people are and why they look so different, and get your hands off me right NOW!
Knowing Jin had been with a foster family, as opposed to an orphanage where caregivers' attention was divided among too many children, I really had no idea what to expect. By watching the videos we had been sent, it seemed that he was getting plenty of very positive attention, for which we were grateful. Not only that, we had sent him a care package that included a photo album of pictures of all of us, and we were hoping he had been shown these pictures as much as possible and would be able to make some kind of connection when he finally saw us in the flesh. This is one potential advantage to adopting a child who is a little older. But there was no guarantee that had been happening.
Again, I had no idea what to expect. And I was nervous.
That whole day, I kept feeling my stomach churn. I thought about the fact that he was probably just going about his day as usual, having no idea how much his world would change later on. I suppose it was a good thing for us that our day was so full. It started in Beijing, where we got up early, packed up our stuff, enjoyed our breakfast spread, and headed for the airport. I must admit that I had obsessed just a little bit about what to wear . . . to meet my 2-and-a-half-year-old son. Like he would even care what I was wearing. But I wanted to look nice, because this is the first time he would meet me. I wanted to look clearly . . . maternal. I decided on a pink shirt, because that's a nice, soft mommy-ish color. I fussed over how to do my hair. I had been wearing it up in a clip so often, because it was SO HOT, but I was aware of the fact that my hair was down in all the pictures he had seen of me. But I wanted it out of my face where I wouldn't have to fuss with it, so I compromised on a half up, half down approach. *sheesh*
We had a three-hour flight to Jin's hometown, Guiyang City, in the province of Guizhou. When we arrived we were met by our local guide, Vicky, who took us to our hotel to relax for about an hour and a half before we headed to our 5:00 appointment. Our appointment at the adoption office where we would get Jin. Where they would hand him over. Where we would walk in as a family of five and walk out with a new person who would be a part of our family foreverfromthatmomentonholycowthisisabigdeal! Deep breaths, Heather. Don't throw up or anything.
The five of us emerged with Vicky from the van into the rainy late afternoon and approached the entryway of one of a million office buildings on one of a million streets. The small lobby was dark and smoky and not air conditioned, and we rode an elevator a few floors up and took a couple flights of stairs from there to a small office that was also smoky and not air conditioned. The adjacent room, however, was more spacious and had very nice furnishings, including a few toys, and it was there that we waited for Jin to arrive.
Did I mention I was nervous?
When we heard voices and footsteps on the stairs, my stomach dropped right down into my shoes and my heart skipped a beat or two. No looking back. No changing my mind. This is happening right now. RIGHT. NOW. (I'm feeling a little weak in the knees just thinking about it.)
We turned toward the door . . . and there he was. In the flesh, a photo come to life before our eyes, the child whose pictures and videos we had examined countless times in the preceding months and who, without even knowing it, had implanted himself firmly in all our hearts.
Before that moment, I think I would have predicted that I would cry immediately upon seeing him. I didn't, though. I don't know if I can really describe my feelings. There was certainly a sense of wonder . . . Holy cow. It's HIM. It's really him! But there was also a kind of matter-of-factness about it, and I was aware that me acting like a blubbering, emotional idiot might not be the most comforting thing for him to witness. He was certainly wide-eyed and reserved for the first few minutes, because here were five people he's never seen before. I had wondered before if we might be the first caucasians he'd ever seen, but as you can see from the photo that wasn't the case. The American man holding him, along with his wife, runs a foster home called Hope Haus in Guiyang City, and he was instrumental in setting up the foster family network there. We learned that Jin spent some time at his place after he was first found, because he needed to get healthy before he could undergo surgery to remove his leg.
Jin's foster parents are delightful people. They seemed so genuinely happy to meet us, and so happy to finally unite Jin with his forever family. As soon as they saw me, they immediately knew who I was and dug into a bag they had brought and pulled out the photo album we had sent him. With great joy, Jin's foster mother ("Mama") showed him a picture of me, then pointed to me and said "Mommy!" She was eager to help him make the connection, and it was clear she had been regularly showing him the album. Here's a picture of him with that album. It was on a tiny flash drive they gave us that included over three hundred pictures of our boy.
I believe they loved him very much, and I wish so much that I had a way to stay in communication with them. I want them to know how well he's doing and to see pictures of him as he grows and changes. I want more time to talk with them about him . . . and about them. I want to know more about their lives, their story, how they came to be a part of a Christian house church, because I believe they are a gift from God Himself to Jin and, therefore, our family, because this sweet boy was cared for in a home where he heard about Jesus and learned to sing praises to Him. In CHINA. How crazy is that?
Here's a picture of Jin with these sweet people, one of many on that flash drive. What a treasure, for us and for him.
Not only were Jin's foster parents and Sam (from Hope Haus) there, but we were also joined by Jin's first foster mom. She was a very sweet woman, too, and obviously cared very much for Jin. His physical needs proved to be a little too much for her to handle (before and/or after surgery? We're not sure...), which is why a change was made and he ended up with the married couple. Their grown daughter and her boyfriend also showed up to say "goodbye." I'm telling you, this kid was loved. Thank you, Lord. We all stayed there in the adoption office for some time together, and we asked questions, they provided answers, and Jin hopped around happily and energetically and played with all of us until he was covered in sweat. We have since learned that this is the norm, and the child can sweat while doing next to nothing in an air-conditioned room. :-)
We all posed for a group photo, probably the only time ever when this group will be together in one place, these people who are separated by culture and language and geography, but who are united in their love for this sweet little boy. It's pretty amazing when I think about it. God does things that would be so completely unbelievable if I didn't witness them firsthand.
We've gotcha, Jin . . . and you've got us.
We knew all this going in, of course, and we did our best to prepare. We had our video camera and our regular camera and all the documents we had been told to take with us. We had a couple of toys we had brought for Jin, and a supply of Cheerios that had been wisely suggested by friends who had already adopted. We had been advised to write down any questions we wanted to ask Jin's caregivers, because chances were good we'd be so caught up in the emotion of the moment that we would forget them all. We knew from the experiences of others that there was no way to predict how Jin would respond to what was going on around him. Some kids seems to comfortably go to their new parents with great ease, perhaps because they're generally easygoing and good-natured (which is good), or perhaps because they've been so deprived of meaningful human contact in their orphanage lives that they will reach for anyone who seems to want to show a little affection (not so good. Heartbreaking, actually.). On the flip side, some kids freak out, terrified of the transition they sense is happening, wondering who the heck these smiling, crying people are and why they look so different, and get your hands off me right NOW!
Knowing Jin had been with a foster family, as opposed to an orphanage where caregivers' attention was divided among too many children, I really had no idea what to expect. By watching the videos we had been sent, it seemed that he was getting plenty of very positive attention, for which we were grateful. Not only that, we had sent him a care package that included a photo album of pictures of all of us, and we were hoping he had been shown these pictures as much as possible and would be able to make some kind of connection when he finally saw us in the flesh. This is one potential advantage to adopting a child who is a little older. But there was no guarantee that had been happening.
Again, I had no idea what to expect. And I was nervous.
That whole day, I kept feeling my stomach churn. I thought about the fact that he was probably just going about his day as usual, having no idea how much his world would change later on. I suppose it was a good thing for us that our day was so full. It started in Beijing, where we got up early, packed up our stuff, enjoyed our breakfast spread, and headed for the airport. I must admit that I had obsessed just a little bit about what to wear . . . to meet my 2-and-a-half-year-old son. Like he would even care what I was wearing. But I wanted to look nice, because this is the first time he would meet me. I wanted to look clearly . . . maternal. I decided on a pink shirt, because that's a nice, soft mommy-ish color. I fussed over how to do my hair. I had been wearing it up in a clip so often, because it was SO HOT, but I was aware of the fact that my hair was down in all the pictures he had seen of me. But I wanted it out of my face where I wouldn't have to fuss with it, so I compromised on a half up, half down approach. *sheesh*
We had a three-hour flight to Jin's hometown, Guiyang City, in the province of Guizhou. When we arrived we were met by our local guide, Vicky, who took us to our hotel to relax for about an hour and a half before we headed to our 5:00 appointment. Our appointment at the adoption office where we would get Jin. Where they would hand him over. Where we would walk in as a family of five and walk out with a new person who would be a part of our family foreverfromthatmomentonholycowthisisabigdeal! Deep breaths, Heather. Don't throw up or anything.
The five of us emerged with Vicky from the van into the rainy late afternoon and approached the entryway of one of a million office buildings on one of a million streets. The small lobby was dark and smoky and not air conditioned, and we rode an elevator a few floors up and took a couple flights of stairs from there to a small office that was also smoky and not air conditioned. The adjacent room, however, was more spacious and had very nice furnishings, including a few toys, and it was there that we waited for Jin to arrive.
Did I mention I was nervous?
When we heard voices and footsteps on the stairs, my stomach dropped right down into my shoes and my heart skipped a beat or two. No looking back. No changing my mind. This is happening right now. RIGHT. NOW. (I'm feeling a little weak in the knees just thinking about it.)
We turned toward the door . . . and there he was. In the flesh, a photo come to life before our eyes, the child whose pictures and videos we had examined countless times in the preceding months and who, without even knowing it, had implanted himself firmly in all our hearts.
Before that moment, I think I would have predicted that I would cry immediately upon seeing him. I didn't, though. I don't know if I can really describe my feelings. There was certainly a sense of wonder . . . Holy cow. It's HIM. It's really him! But there was also a kind of matter-of-factness about it, and I was aware that me acting like a blubbering, emotional idiot might not be the most comforting thing for him to witness. He was certainly wide-eyed and reserved for the first few minutes, because here were five people he's never seen before. I had wondered before if we might be the first caucasians he'd ever seen, but as you can see from the photo that wasn't the case. The American man holding him, along with his wife, runs a foster home called Hope Haus in Guiyang City, and he was instrumental in setting up the foster family network there. We learned that Jin spent some time at his place after he was first found, because he needed to get healthy before he could undergo surgery to remove his leg.
Jin's foster parents are delightful people. They seemed so genuinely happy to meet us, and so happy to finally unite Jin with his forever family. As soon as they saw me, they immediately knew who I was and dug into a bag they had brought and pulled out the photo album we had sent him. With great joy, Jin's foster mother ("Mama") showed him a picture of me, then pointed to me and said "Mommy!" She was eager to help him make the connection, and it was clear she had been regularly showing him the album. Here's a picture of him with that album. It was on a tiny flash drive they gave us that included over three hundred pictures of our boy.
I believe they loved him very much, and I wish so much that I had a way to stay in communication with them. I want them to know how well he's doing and to see pictures of him as he grows and changes. I want more time to talk with them about him . . . and about them. I want to know more about their lives, their story, how they came to be a part of a Christian house church, because I believe they are a gift from God Himself to Jin and, therefore, our family, because this sweet boy was cared for in a home where he heard about Jesus and learned to sing praises to Him. In CHINA. How crazy is that?
Here's a picture of Jin with these sweet people, one of many on that flash drive. What a treasure, for us and for him.
Not only were Jin's foster parents and Sam (from Hope Haus) there, but we were also joined by Jin's first foster mom. She was a very sweet woman, too, and obviously cared very much for Jin. His physical needs proved to be a little too much for her to handle (before and/or after surgery? We're not sure...), which is why a change was made and he ended up with the married couple. Their grown daughter and her boyfriend also showed up to say "goodbye." I'm telling you, this kid was loved. Thank you, Lord. We all stayed there in the adoption office for some time together, and we asked questions, they provided answers, and Jin hopped around happily and energetically and played with all of us until he was covered in sweat. We have since learned that this is the norm, and the child can sweat while doing next to nothing in an air-conditioned room. :-)
We all posed for a group photo, probably the only time ever when this group will be together in one place, these people who are separated by culture and language and geography, but who are united in their love for this sweet little boy. It's pretty amazing when I think about it. God does things that would be so completely unbelievable if I didn't witness them firsthand.
(l-r: Jin's foster sister, "Mama," first foster mom, me, Tony, Gillian in front, Jin, Caroline, Ellis, foster sister's boyfriend, Sam, "Babba")
I gave Jin's foster moms gifts I had brought for them. Those gifts had been just one more thing to cross off my checklist as I prepared for the trip, but in that moment I was struck with how grossly inadequate they were. Body wash, lotion, and hand sanitizer from Bath & Body Works. Seriously? Believe it or not, this was the moment when I became emotional. I was overcome with thankfulness. No amount of good-smelling American made bath products - or anything else, for that matter - could ever convey my profound sense of gratitude. They loved a kid who would never be their own and made him a part of their family until we could get there to make him a part of ours. There was no feeling of "Move over, lady. Now the REAL mom is here." Far from it. I was so deeply humbled in that moment. I was keenly aware of a "passing of the torch," knowing that these people were just as much a part of God's plan for Jin's life as I am, and I cried as I hugged them and thanked them, just hoping my emotion would convey more of my heart than my words ever could. I'm fighting back tears even as I type this.
And then, the whole group quietly and with great sensitivity slipped out of the room and down the stairs while Jin was entertained by his new siblings. It's unlikely that any of us, including Jin, will ever see, speak with, or hear from them again, and this almost breaks my heart. He loved them, too, you know. It's his "Babba" for whom he cried out later that night at our hotel for over an hour before he finally fell asleep, exhausted, on Tony's shoulder. His "Mama," I have come to realize, will always be just that - Mama. I, on the other hand, am Mommy, or Mom. I'm okay with this, only because in his mind I know these are just labels, and it doesn't mean he's somehow withholding from me the love and respect and honor I'm due as his MOTHER. After all, she was his mother, too, for a time, and I will always teach him to regard her with the love, respect, and honor that she is due, even though he won't truly remember her.
Just now, Jin crawled into my lap in front of my computer, and I showed him several pictures from that flash drive that he hasn't seen until now. I watched his little face as he looked at these photos of him with his foster parents. He was happy to recognize himself first, of course . . . "DuoDuo!" he said. Then he followed my finger as I pointed at the screen . . . "Babba," he said with slow recognition. "Mama." He smiled, and as my emotions made their way to the surface I tried to gauge his reaction, wishing I could see inside his mind and know what memories might be flooding back, what emotions he might be experiencing, wondering if in his already fitful sleep tonight he might be visited by dreams of these people he loves. Will he be comforted by their faces, or saddened by his loss? Will he feel a new sense of abandonment? Will something be different for him when he wakes up?
The six of us stayed a little while longer with Vicky - our guide in Guiyang - and the adoption office employee. We signed some paperwork. We gathered our things and the few things Jin had, which were, other than the clothes he was wearing, a bag containing some snacks he likes, a toy car and disposable camera we had sent him in his care package, a fan, and the photo album. Oh, and the right shoe that went with the one he was wearing. And then Vicky took us back to the hotel. Jin was perfectly content in the van, but very quiet, as I'm sure he was already sensing a shift, even though he couldn't have known just how monumental it would be. At the hotel he enjoyed playing in the kids' room and ours, and we all just hung out together, watching him, entertaining him, commenting to one another about our observations, enjoying his spunky happiness. I think we ate a ridiculously expensive dinner in the hotel restaurant, because that seemed to be the easiest thing to do.
And it was all pretty much surreal.
It wasn't until it got late, and the kids said "goodnight" to Tony, Jin, and me, and headed back to their room, that things changed for Jin. It was then that he realized that he wasn't going to sleep in his own bed, that these fun strangers seemed to want him to stick around, and despite his repeated efforts to convince them otherwise, had no plans to take him back to where he belonged. He became increasingly insistent as he said something that sounded like "bu la LA!" and pointed to the door, over and over again. He wriggled and squirmed until we put him down, and he tried desperately to get his shoe on, perhaps hoping this would make it clear to us that he was ready to go. He started to cry in a panicked sort of way, calling out for his Babba. Tony took him out into the hallway, trying to placate him just a little, and they found a little room at the end of the corridor with a window overlooking the street below. When I came to check on them, he shooed me away, disappointed I wasn't his Babba. Tony tried to distract him by pointing out the passing cars, knowing he's fascinated with them, but Jin never let up. Finally Tony gave in by pretending to wave at Babba, saying "Hi, Babba!" It may sound unfair or deceptive, but he was hoping to convey some sense of Babba's nearness in the hopes that Jin would feel comforted. I don't know if it worked or not, but eventually his body's need for sleep took over, and we managed to get him to bed.
I'm pretty sure I just lay there for a while that night thinking, "Um . . . huh. What? Wow. Oh, my. Here we go. What in the world is ahead of us? He's finally ours. This is so . . . um . . . huh. What? Wow."
Like I said, it was all pretty much surreal. I'm guessing it might have been that way for his foster parents, too, as they tried to go to sleep, missing the boy who had slept between them for months, longing for his sweet night-night kisses, wondering if we would be good to him and love him and provide for him and be the family every kid should have. Knowing they had seen him for the last time.
Emotional day, huh? It sounds a little sad towards the end, but it really wasn't. Yes, I was very aware of the fact that the only thing Jin could process was that we (strangers to him) were taking him away from those he knew and loved. But I also knew that being adopted is what's best for him and that someday he will understand everything, too. I believe he'll find it hard to imagine any other life. He'll be grateful (to God, not us), I think, once he knows his whole story. All of this, and God's perfect peace, are what kept me from being completely heartbroken on his behalf and from feeling like some kind of legalized kidnapper.
When I think about it, Jin's Gotcha Day is not unlike the days my other kids were born. Each was a monumental day in the history of our family.
- All parties involved had to go through a lot to get there.
- There was immense relief, considering the many things that could have gone wrong along the way.
- There was pain, and there were tears.
- There was a great deal of gratitude for those who helped make it possible.
- There was some letting go (Any other birth moms out there experience a tiny bit of grief that your baby was no longer inside your body, as close to you as he or she would ever be?).
- There was profound joy.
We've gotcha, Jin . . . and you've got us.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Coming Clean
When I first found out about Pinterest, I thought it was a wonderful idea. How many times have I seen something online, only to have no way to find it again when I want to? Now, what WAS that web address? Pinterest allows users to put all those things neatly in one place where it's easy to retrieve when we're ready to use it or (let's be honest) just remember it at all. That's all well and good. The problem, at least for me, is that now all that internet wonderfulness is in one place where it's easy to retrieve. TOO easy to retrieve . . . and catergorized. Lord, help me! I find myself obsessively scanning recipes, just in case the best one in the universe ever has appeared since the last time I looked . . . twelve minutes ago. And the do-it-yourself stuff? I think I've convinced myself that I'm a DIYer just by pinning the ideas and reading the tutorials. I do have a Pinterest board entitled "Things I've pinned that I've actually cooked/made/worn/done," and I have quite few things pinned there, but c'mon. The truth is that Pinterest hasn't made me a better cook, parent, or wife. It hasn't made me more crafty or frugal. And it definitely hasn't made me skinnier.
Pinterest has made me . . . an addict. Hello. My name is Heather, and I'm a Pinterest junkie.
And if I'm to be brutally honest (more honest than I'd like to be), Pinterest has, at times, contributed to a subtle feeling of discontentment, because there's just so much out there that's beautiful and exquisite and fine . . . and completely out of my reach anywhere other than on Pinterest. Obviously I'm not talking about cookie recipies and things made with Mod Podge. But those "Home Decor" and "Travel" categories can suck me into a world where all the homes feature gourmet kitchens and poolside fireplaces and winding mahogany staircases and the people who live in them vacation at elite resorts in Bali and Greece. Oh, and they have unbelievable wardrobes that they wear on their perfect bodies. This is the world where that feeling of discontentment, left unchecked, can be dangerous, because it's based in fantasy and makes me temporarily forget all the ways my life is fabulous, just the way it is. My home is fabulous. I've vacationed in some pretty fabulous places. Most importantly, my family is fabulous. It's all SO GOOD.
Still, it's amazing how quickly I can forget that.
So recognizing this little addiction is a good thing, and the challenge is keeping everything in perspective enough to actually enjoy the true benefits of Pinterest, because there are some. The only other alternative is to go cold turkey, and that would be . . . well . . . let's just make sure it never comes to that. After all, if it hadn't been for Pinterest, I may never have discovered oven-cooked bacon, and I'm pretty sure that's going to revolutionize my whole life.
P.S. Want to know a funny irony? When I sat down to write this post, it was going to be all about the experimenting I did yesterday with a few recipes I found . . . on Pinterest.
Pinterest has made me . . . an addict. Hello. My name is Heather, and I'm a Pinterest junkie.
And if I'm to be brutally honest (more honest than I'd like to be), Pinterest has, at times, contributed to a subtle feeling of discontentment, because there's just so much out there that's beautiful and exquisite and fine . . . and completely out of my reach anywhere other than on Pinterest. Obviously I'm not talking about cookie recipies and things made with Mod Podge. But those "Home Decor" and "Travel" categories can suck me into a world where all the homes feature gourmet kitchens and poolside fireplaces and winding mahogany staircases and the people who live in them vacation at elite resorts in Bali and Greece. Oh, and they have unbelievable wardrobes that they wear on their perfect bodies. This is the world where that feeling of discontentment, left unchecked, can be dangerous, because it's based in fantasy and makes me temporarily forget all the ways my life is fabulous, just the way it is. My home is fabulous. I've vacationed in some pretty fabulous places. Most importantly, my family is fabulous. It's all SO GOOD.
Still, it's amazing how quickly I can forget that.
So recognizing this little addiction is a good thing, and the challenge is keeping everything in perspective enough to actually enjoy the true benefits of Pinterest, because there are some. The only other alternative is to go cold turkey, and that would be . . . well . . . let's just make sure it never comes to that. After all, if it hadn't been for Pinterest, I may never have discovered oven-cooked bacon, and I'm pretty sure that's going to revolutionize my whole life.
P.S. Want to know a funny irony? When I sat down to write this post, it was going to be all about the experimenting I did yesterday with a few recipes I found . . . on Pinterest.
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