I woke up this morning and I checked facebook, as I often do. One of the first status updates I noticed was that of a Five Towns student. "RIP," it said. I wondered who died. Then another Five Towns student. And another. And another. "RIP. RIP. RIP." Concerned, I texted a recent graduate who I know particularly well. I braced myself for news of the death of a faculty member. Or an administator. Or something silly. Like a costume or a prop. I was not, however, prepared to get the real news. That it wasn't a teacher or an administrator or a costume. It was a student.
Brian is a student who I knew. That's all. I knew him. I didn't know him well, I didn't teach him privately, I didn't have him in class. I did work with him on one production, but his first semester was my last, so I never got as close to him as I did many others. So why, then, was I crying so hard?
I called Ryan at work and told him the news. He couldn't quite remember Brian, but was sad to hear of the loss of someone so young. But it wasn't until I returned to facebook that it hit me what had happened. All of those students who I care about so much. All of them hurting.
The October after I graduated from college, my marching band friends and I suffered a similar loss when Frank and Jud Lawler were killed in a car accident. I'll never forget how I fell to the ground when I heard. How we all sat at the funeral dazed. And each year when we return for homecoming, we remember. We pass by their memorial on campus- they had made quite an impact on that school. We tell stories, and we laugh, and we wonder what they'd think of us now. All grown-up with kids and jobs.
As the day went on, more and more Five Towns students changed their profile pictures to shots of them standing next to Brian. On stage. At a party. In the courtyard. And I wondered if I might have a similar picture. I wanted to show solidarity for a community that had meant so much to me. So I searched. And sure enough, there we were. Christmas. Brian in a full Santa costume. Standing their smiling, just the two of us. I don't remember taking that picture, but I wasn't surprised to find it. Because that's the kind of kid Brian was. Life of the party. Everybody's friend.
And that's when I realized how much Brian was like Frank and Jud. And I had to ask the same question all those Five Towns kids are asking today. The same question we all asked ourselves eleven years ago.
Why?
And of course I don't have an answer. We'll never understand, and trying to explain it in any definitive way doesn't pay enough respect to the real loss. But I wonder. When people so young. So full of life. So happy doing exactly what they're doing. Kids who have been so important to their peers. When those kids are taken? Maybe it's to preserve youth for all of us. We will always remember Brian and Frank and Jud exactly as they were. And we'll remember how we were when we were with them. And that has to mean something.
I am devastated for Brian's family today. I held Lily extra tight and gave her extra kisses and chased her around the bedroom for an extra long time. I cannot begin to understand what they're going through, and I would never attempt to offer them consolation. And I can't explain the loss to my Five Towns students. But I can say that I've been there and I hurt like you're hurting today. I am so sorry for what you're feeling. But it will get easier. And in the years to come, you'll look at those pictures you have of Brian. On stage. And in the courtyard. And in his Santa Suit. And you'll remember him, and you'll miss him, and you'll smile.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Why We're Moving to Connecticut (and what it means for you)
Another long one, but hey, it's a lot of info, and people have been asking.
Ryan just signed a lease for a two-bedroom apartment. It's huge. And it has a dining room, central air, a dishwasher, a balcony off of the master bedroom, laundry in the building, and a heated garage in which we are entitled one assigned spot. (there's a visitor lot, too) It's close to the train, an amazing shopping/restaurant district, and the beach. The rent is a little less than what we pay here.
And. It is in Connecticut.
Greenwich, Connecticut, to be exact.
Now, why in the world would a couple of artsy Mets fans who have been struggling to make it in the Big Bad Apple for seven years suddenly pull up roots and relocate to Connecticut? Let's start at the very beginning.
About a year ago, Ryan's job started to get shakey. The economy was seriously effecting wealthy people's desire to redo their homes, and Ryan's boss sadly had to cut Ryan's hours to part time. (This was around the time, by the way, that a little new person came into our lives.) We struggled to make ends meet, and I eventually got a job teaching music for a certain baby education company. (It was Gymboree) That helped, for a while. My hours at Gymboree were enough to make up the difference in hours Ryan lost. Then while leading a meeting one night, (I was the manager) I mentioned to the employees that I intended to do something about our inconsistent pay. A few days later, a certain owner (her name is Mary Ann O'Neil. Fear of the name is fear of the thing itself) called me to tell me I was "not a good match for the company." Since this certain owner (Mary Ann O'Neil) had not submitted any of my paperwork, there was no record of my having worked there, and I was not entitled to unemployment. A few weeks after that, Ryan's boss told him he wasn't going to be able to keep him much longer.
Panicked (quite understandably) by the idea that we were about to have a five-month-old and no source of income, Ryan began his job search. Before long, he was offered a part-time position as a design assistant. Two days a week. In Old Greenwich, CT. But it was something. So he took it.
I will not drag you through the financial details of the last eight months. But it's been rough. Financially, physically, emotionally. The good news is that Ryan's job was very quickly increased to five days a week. The pay still isn't what it was at his old full-time job, but it's better. And, he has an artistic outlet now. This new designer respects him, has made him lead designer on a project, and has been supportive of the fact that he now has a few of his own freelance clients in the area. (a very big deal for an up-and-coming designer)
But it's still. Not. Quite. Enough,
So, why didn't I just get a job?
On March 10 I wrote an entry titled "Get a Job (Sha-Na-Na-Na) about why this was so very difficult. It outlined my job requirements which were, in a nutshell: 1. It had to be in music education 2. It had to give me autonomy 3. It had to pay at least $30 an hour 4. It had to leave time for my involvement with Momentum Rep and my church.
You prayed, God listened. I was hired about two months ago to teach Music for Aardvarks and to form a new group called Groove Glee- a glee club for second-through-fifh graders. This job meets my pay requirements, is most certainly within my field, gives me room to teach the way I know how to teach, and only involves mornings and afternoons. It begins next week.
And. It is in Larchmont, NY. Located about fifteen minutes from Old Greenwich.
So. We should definitely move there, right? I mean, Ryan has been commuting three hours round-trip EVERY DAY, (no, seriously) and pays about $23 in tolls and gas EVERY DAY (no, seriously) so obviously we should just move there.
Except. The adoption was not final yet. (more on that soon. Maybe tomorrow) We were not allowed to move. Not. Allowed. This was one of the most frustrating times in our life. We were literally trapped.
And then, last Friday, the Smith's went to court, and Miss Lily became ours forever. We are free to roam about the country. We started looking for apartments on Monday, and Ryan signed a lease today at noon. We move at the end of the month.
You prayed, God listened. This apartment is so far below market value, so perfect, we're still waiting for someone to tap us on the shoulder and tell us the whole thing has been a mistake. But we've signed a lease. It's ours.
So. What does this mean for you?
If you are a Momentum Rep or Glad Tidings friend:
Absolutely nothing :) My commute into the city will be faster. 51 minutes on the Metro North. True, it's more expensive than the subway, but it runs on a schedule and is still less than what Ryan was paying to commute every single day. And it will be a little more expensive for you to come and visit us but 1- Greenwich is way cooler than Forest Hills. I mean, there's a beach and awesome shops, and 2- come on. How often did you visit us anyway?
If you are my Dad:
Congratulations. We now live way closer to you. An hour and 52 minutes on I-95, no city traffic or tolls.
If you are a voice student:
No worries, I'll come into the city and rent studio space once a week or so.
If you are an outer-burrough or Long Island friend:
OK. That's far. Meet you in the city? Or you could still take Metro North... Did I mention how cool Greenwich is? And that there's a beach?
And that's our story. I better get packing.
Ryan just signed a lease for a two-bedroom apartment. It's huge. And it has a dining room, central air, a dishwasher, a balcony off of the master bedroom, laundry in the building, and a heated garage in which we are entitled one assigned spot. (there's a visitor lot, too) It's close to the train, an amazing shopping/restaurant district, and the beach. The rent is a little less than what we pay here.
And. It is in Connecticut.
Greenwich, Connecticut, to be exact.
Now, why in the world would a couple of artsy Mets fans who have been struggling to make it in the Big Bad Apple for seven years suddenly pull up roots and relocate to Connecticut? Let's start at the very beginning.
About a year ago, Ryan's job started to get shakey. The economy was seriously effecting wealthy people's desire to redo their homes, and Ryan's boss sadly had to cut Ryan's hours to part time. (This was around the time, by the way, that a little new person came into our lives.) We struggled to make ends meet, and I eventually got a job teaching music for a certain baby education company. (It was Gymboree) That helped, for a while. My hours at Gymboree were enough to make up the difference in hours Ryan lost. Then while leading a meeting one night, (I was the manager) I mentioned to the employees that I intended to do something about our inconsistent pay. A few days later, a certain owner (her name is Mary Ann O'Neil. Fear of the name is fear of the thing itself) called me to tell me I was "not a good match for the company." Since this certain owner (Mary Ann O'Neil) had not submitted any of my paperwork, there was no record of my having worked there, and I was not entitled to unemployment. A few weeks after that, Ryan's boss told him he wasn't going to be able to keep him much longer.
Panicked (quite understandably) by the idea that we were about to have a five-month-old and no source of income, Ryan began his job search. Before long, he was offered a part-time position as a design assistant. Two days a week. In Old Greenwich, CT. But it was something. So he took it.
I will not drag you through the financial details of the last eight months. But it's been rough. Financially, physically, emotionally. The good news is that Ryan's job was very quickly increased to five days a week. The pay still isn't what it was at his old full-time job, but it's better. And, he has an artistic outlet now. This new designer respects him, has made him lead designer on a project, and has been supportive of the fact that he now has a few of his own freelance clients in the area. (a very big deal for an up-and-coming designer)
But it's still. Not. Quite. Enough,
So, why didn't I just get a job?
On March 10 I wrote an entry titled "Get a Job (Sha-Na-Na-Na) about why this was so very difficult. It outlined my job requirements which were, in a nutshell: 1. It had to be in music education 2. It had to give me autonomy 3. It had to pay at least $30 an hour 4. It had to leave time for my involvement with Momentum Rep and my church.
You prayed, God listened. I was hired about two months ago to teach Music for Aardvarks and to form a new group called Groove Glee- a glee club for second-through-fifh graders. This job meets my pay requirements, is most certainly within my field, gives me room to teach the way I know how to teach, and only involves mornings and afternoons. It begins next week.
And. It is in Larchmont, NY. Located about fifteen minutes from Old Greenwich.
So. We should definitely move there, right? I mean, Ryan has been commuting three hours round-trip EVERY DAY, (no, seriously) and pays about $23 in tolls and gas EVERY DAY (no, seriously) so obviously we should just move there.
Except. The adoption was not final yet. (more on that soon. Maybe tomorrow) We were not allowed to move. Not. Allowed. This was one of the most frustrating times in our life. We were literally trapped.
And then, last Friday, the Smith's went to court, and Miss Lily became ours forever. We are free to roam about the country. We started looking for apartments on Monday, and Ryan signed a lease today at noon. We move at the end of the month.
You prayed, God listened. This apartment is so far below market value, so perfect, we're still waiting for someone to tap us on the shoulder and tell us the whole thing has been a mistake. But we've signed a lease. It's ours.
So. What does this mean for you?
If you are a Momentum Rep or Glad Tidings friend:
Absolutely nothing :) My commute into the city will be faster. 51 minutes on the Metro North. True, it's more expensive than the subway, but it runs on a schedule and is still less than what Ryan was paying to commute every single day. And it will be a little more expensive for you to come and visit us but 1- Greenwich is way cooler than Forest Hills. I mean, there's a beach and awesome shops, and 2- come on. How often did you visit us anyway?
If you are my Dad:
Congratulations. We now live way closer to you. An hour and 52 minutes on I-95, no city traffic or tolls.
If you are a voice student:
No worries, I'll come into the city and rent studio space once a week or so.
If you are an outer-burrough or Long Island friend:
OK. That's far. Meet you in the city? Or you could still take Metro North... Did I mention how cool Greenwich is? And that there's a beach?
And that's our story. I better get packing.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Texts from Last Month
I've been busy. Really busy. Yesterday I met a friend from high school for coffee who could only laugh as I did my best to carry on an academic conversation about theatre while feeding Lily cheese and grapes.
But we're all busy. So I'm not complaining. But I made a commitment to blog, and this commitment has been difficult to fulfill. I'd love
to catch everyone up on every little detail of the last month, but that would take a long time and it would be really boring and Tom would make fun of me. So instead, I present to you Texts From Last Month. These are all texts I have received from a variety of people in my life, and they are unedited.
OK, it's really texts from the last two months. But you get the idea. And I think it tells the story.
Texts from last month:
Landed!
I sold my first coffeehouse tickets...eeek its actually happening. Ive sold 4 so far :) :) ps james is bringing a cello player...amazing!!
it has been a long time since I have sent u a drunke text. so. here it is.
have you seen "The Muppets Take Manhattan?" b/c we are living it.
And kates dead
Ok kate would be so dead by now
She dun got shot in the chest. Bad guys always die from that
You've got very important arteries there. You'd bleed to death by now
Gone about 1/4 mile since last text (25 minutes ago) accident has 2 lanes of 95 blocked...WHY CANT PEOPLE WATCH WHERE THEY R GOING!!!!!!
Omg there's a rly creepy hinckley lookalike on my train.
Could you tell Lily that I mailed her invitations so she's not worrying about it all day. Thanks! I cc'd her on both her cell phones...but tell her just in case.
Hey, does Lilly have a Sophie the giraffe?
right. I'm sure it's SO diff. now to be a mom when others around u arent
Typed him earlier!
Cry quieter, please. It's annoying.
Eeeeek.... Lol, and you my friend are jumpin in te pool again! Yaaaay us!
HELP vehicle is calling me a tow truck. This, I fear is bad.
Hey- i gotta buy new papers and tobacco 4 the joint. Do u want to just use something like last nites?
Baby oragel seemed to do it
it will be very humiliating if I dont pass my fireguard test.
Not all assassins are farces of human beings.
Academic? Yes. Anal? Also yes. ;)
I'm thinking of writing a blog that's going to piss a lot of moms off. You think I should just keep my mouth shut?
Hi. I'm in the cab.
Who is my old man?
Tranny all the way.
Do i need the goatee for oil change? If not, i think im gonna shave it. :) if youd rather i wait, im cool with that too.
since i'm dead in act 2, am i called for tonight?
Space on white or home?
Hold off on notation... my intern is going to do it tonight and send via email.
Thats what mrc is about. 4 the first time ever i feel part of a group. Thx. Xoxo get home safe
But we're all busy. So I'm not complaining. But I made a commitment to blog, and this commitment has been difficult to fulfill. I'd love
to catch everyone up on every little detail of the last month, but that would take a long time and it would be really boring and Tom would make fun of me. So instead, I present to you Texts From Last Month. These are all texts I have received from a variety of people in my life, and they are unedited.
OK, it's really texts from the last two months. But you get the idea. And I think it tells the story.
Texts from last month:
Landed!
I sold my first coffeehouse tickets...eeek its actually happening. Ive sold 4 so far :) :) ps james is bringing a cello player...amazing!!
it has been a long time since I have sent u a drunke text. so. here it is.
have you seen "The Muppets Take Manhattan?" b/c we are living it.
And kates dead
Ok kate would be so dead by now
She dun got shot in the chest. Bad guys always die from that
You've got very important arteries there. You'd bleed to death by now
Gone about 1/4 mile since last text (25 minutes ago) accident has 2 lanes of 95 blocked...WHY CANT PEOPLE WATCH WHERE THEY R GOING!!!!!!
Omg there's a rly creepy hinckley lookalike on my train.
Could you tell Lily that I mailed her invitations so she's not worrying about it all day. Thanks! I cc'd her on both her cell phones...but tell her just in case.
Hey, does Lilly have a Sophie the giraffe?
right. I'm sure it's SO diff. now to be a mom when others around u arent
Typed him earlier!
Cry quieter, please. It's annoying.
Eeeeek.... Lol, and you my friend are jumpin in te pool again! Yaaaay us!
HELP vehicle is calling me a tow truck. This, I fear is bad.
Hey- i gotta buy new papers and tobacco 4 the joint. Do u want to just use something like last nites?
Baby oragel seemed to do it
it will be very humiliating if I dont pass my fireguard test.
Not all assassins are farces of human beings.
Academic? Yes. Anal? Also yes. ;)
I'm thinking of writing a blog that's going to piss a lot of moms off. You think I should just keep my mouth shut?
Hi. I'm in the cab.
Who is my old man?
Tranny all the way.
Do i need the goatee for oil change? If not, i think im gonna shave it. :) if youd rather i wait, im cool with that too.
since i'm dead in act 2, am i called for tonight?
Space on white or home?
Hold off on notation... my intern is going to do it tonight and send via email.
Thats what mrc is about. 4 the first time ever i feel part of a group. Thx. Xoxo get home safe
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Lemon Drops- or, Why Drinking is Never Ever the answer- Part 3
Drinking too much in May of 2009.
I spent most of my time in May of 2009 in rehearsals for "Barefoot in the Park." It is a surprisingly difficult show- the acting is straightforward enough, but it is so literal and prop-specific that it's a lot to learn. So when Ryan called and invited Steve (the actor playing Paul, who was also one of my college students caught in the crossfire of my graduation party events- he's the one who watched me fall into the tree...) if we wanted to go out after rehearsal, the answer was an enthusiastic yes. We had so much to learn, we just needed to relax.
So, another evening starts out simply enough. And we left the bar at a reasonable hour, feeling little more than buzzed. Ryan and I reminisced about all the time we spent in bars in Athens. We talked about Night Court, and Flaming Lemon Drops.
"What's a flaming lemon drop?" Steve wanted to know.
And that's where the evening changed.
This was unacceptable. What were they teaching these kids in college, anyway? It was our duty to teach Steve the wonder that is the Flaming Lemon Drop.
For non-Bobcats, it's a shot of lemon vodka, and a slice of lemon that one bites immediately after shooting the vodka, much like a tequila shot. But instead of salt, lemon drops involve sugar. And when the lemon drop is flaming, the sugar is poured directly on top of the lemon, soaked with 151, and lit on fire. So you can understand how very important it was that we pass this lesson on. It was our duty.
And it didn't take very many flaming lemon drops before the three of us were sitting on the front porch, laughing hysterically. Eventually we got chilly and headed inside. But on our way in, I noticed the mail on the floor. I stopped to glance through it as Ryan and Steve continued into the studio, where more lemon drops were waiting. I noticed one of the envelopes was from our adoption agency, so I decided it was appropriate to read and interpret the letter right then.
What the letter actually said: (a paraphrase)
Sometimes it takes longer than a year for families to be matched. Since the agency needs cash flow to match families, from now on if you've been waiting more than a year we ask that you pay $5000 towards your total fee. (the entirety of which would generally be due at placement.)
What I read:
Give us $5000 right now, or you will never be a mother.
Meanwhile, the guys were in the studio, pouring more lemon drops when Ryan realized I wasn't with them. "Is she crying?" Ryan asked.
"How did you know that? I didn't even realize she wasn't with us." was Steve's answer.
"We've been married a long time," Ryan explained, as he came back to the living room.
Ryan and Steve found me on the couch sobbing- SOBBING- curled in a tight ball, the letter from the adoption agency dangling from my fingers. Steve did his best to comfort me while Ryan read the letter, trying to understand what possibly could have provoked such a response. (all the while knowing that, as we've learned, it doesn't take much to provoke such a response...)
"Sweetheart, this doesn't have anything to do with us. Honestly. We've only been approved for four months. If it seems like it's gonna be a year, we'll deal with that then."
And, as is my usual way, I cried. And cried and cried and cried. Until they left me alone for a moment. And then, I made my move. Into the bedroom, and into the closet, where we had been storing our carseat/stroller travel system. (a "paper pregnancy" gift from Ryan's parents, since this is the one item a parent MUST have just to take a baby home.) Ryan found me moments later struggling to pull the unassembled stroller out of the closet. Where was I going with the stroller? I didn't know then, and I don't know no, but I assure you- it was going to be dramatic.
Ryan did the only thing a loving husband can possibly do in this situation. He gave me a slight push, toppling me over onto our bed, where I stayed until morning.
That was May 14, 2009. Lily was born three days later.
So what did I learn from drinking too much?
1- Sometimes deciding that something is never ever ever going to happen is a little premature.
2- If left alone, I will eventually fall asleep.
3- Reading the mail drunk is a bad idea.
4- I do not have an addictive personality. I do not have a family history of alcoholism. I do not drive motor vehicles nor do I opporate heavy machinery while drunk. I also don't spend time with anyone who would do anything but make sure I was safe. Is drinking too much a good idea as a habit? Absolutely not. But in these rare cases where a tightly-wound, emotionally wounded woman was not allowing herself to feel the anxiety and pain and frustration- you know what? Sometimes drinking too much is the answer.
I spent most of my time in May of 2009 in rehearsals for "Barefoot in the Park." It is a surprisingly difficult show- the acting is straightforward enough, but it is so literal and prop-specific that it's a lot to learn. So when Ryan called and invited Steve (the actor playing Paul, who was also one of my college students caught in the crossfire of my graduation party events- he's the one who watched me fall into the tree...) if we wanted to go out after rehearsal, the answer was an enthusiastic yes. We had so much to learn, we just needed to relax.
So, another evening starts out simply enough. And we left the bar at a reasonable hour, feeling little more than buzzed. Ryan and I reminisced about all the time we spent in bars in Athens. We talked about Night Court, and Flaming Lemon Drops.
"What's a flaming lemon drop?" Steve wanted to know.
And that's where the evening changed.
This was unacceptable. What were they teaching these kids in college, anyway? It was our duty to teach Steve the wonder that is the Flaming Lemon Drop.
For non-Bobcats, it's a shot of lemon vodka, and a slice of lemon that one bites immediately after shooting the vodka, much like a tequila shot. But instead of salt, lemon drops involve sugar. And when the lemon drop is flaming, the sugar is poured directly on top of the lemon, soaked with 151, and lit on fire. So you can understand how very important it was that we pass this lesson on. It was our duty.
And it didn't take very many flaming lemon drops before the three of us were sitting on the front porch, laughing hysterically. Eventually we got chilly and headed inside. But on our way in, I noticed the mail on the floor. I stopped to glance through it as Ryan and Steve continued into the studio, where more lemon drops were waiting. I noticed one of the envelopes was from our adoption agency, so I decided it was appropriate to read and interpret the letter right then.
What the letter actually said: (a paraphrase)
Sometimes it takes longer than a year for families to be matched. Since the agency needs cash flow to match families, from now on if you've been waiting more than a year we ask that you pay $5000 towards your total fee. (the entirety of which would generally be due at placement.)
What I read:
Give us $5000 right now, or you will never be a mother.
Meanwhile, the guys were in the studio, pouring more lemon drops when Ryan realized I wasn't with them. "Is she crying?" Ryan asked.
"How did you know that? I didn't even realize she wasn't with us." was Steve's answer.
"We've been married a long time," Ryan explained, as he came back to the living room.
Ryan and Steve found me on the couch sobbing- SOBBING- curled in a tight ball, the letter from the adoption agency dangling from my fingers. Steve did his best to comfort me while Ryan read the letter, trying to understand what possibly could have provoked such a response. (all the while knowing that, as we've learned, it doesn't take much to provoke such a response...)
"Sweetheart, this doesn't have anything to do with us. Honestly. We've only been approved for four months. If it seems like it's gonna be a year, we'll deal with that then."
And, as is my usual way, I cried. And cried and cried and cried. Until they left me alone for a moment. And then, I made my move. Into the bedroom, and into the closet, where we had been storing our carseat/stroller travel system. (a "paper pregnancy" gift from Ryan's parents, since this is the one item a parent MUST have just to take a baby home.) Ryan found me moments later struggling to pull the unassembled stroller out of the closet. Where was I going with the stroller? I didn't know then, and I don't know no, but I assure you- it was going to be dramatic.
Ryan did the only thing a loving husband can possibly do in this situation. He gave me a slight push, toppling me over onto our bed, where I stayed until morning.
That was May 14, 2009. Lily was born three days later.
So what did I learn from drinking too much?
1- Sometimes deciding that something is never ever ever going to happen is a little premature.
2- If left alone, I will eventually fall asleep.
3- Reading the mail drunk is a bad idea.
4- I do not have an addictive personality. I do not have a family history of alcoholism. I do not drive motor vehicles nor do I opporate heavy machinery while drunk. I also don't spend time with anyone who would do anything but make sure I was safe. Is drinking too much a good idea as a habit? Absolutely not. But in these rare cases where a tightly-wound, emotionally wounded woman was not allowing herself to feel the anxiety and pain and frustration- you know what? Sometimes drinking too much is the answer.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Lemon Drops- Or, Why Drinking is Never the Answer- Part 2
Drinking too much in January of 2009.
By January of 2009, we had turned in all of our paperwork, completed our profile, and were just waiting for my fingerprints to come back. It took nine trips to the police station to get my fingerprints done. The right guy wasn't in. Or I needed cash. Or the address on my license didn't match the address on my application so I needed to go to the DMV, get a new one, wait for it to come in the mail... Or my fingerprints were done, sent, and not clear enough because my fingers are too small. Seriously?
So when I went to Chicago to see a friend's show, I was- once again- overwhelmed with the process. Feeling hopeless. Feeling like I couldn't keep up this fight much longer. So did I want to participate in a power hour? Of course I did. (a note to my readers who do not happen to be 23- a power hour is when everyone drinks a shot of beer every minute for an hour. It's a really bad idea. Especially when one is extremely emotionally vulnerable, and extremely not 23.) So, long story short, by the end of the power hour I was crying. A lot. Uncontrollably. For a long time. Talking about things that are most certainly not important to 23- year-olds. I was never going to get a baby. Never ever ever ever.
Fortunately we had been joined for the evening by a friend from Ohio, and this friend was able to settle me down enough with some Christian words of encouragement that I finally fell asleep. But I was most certainly the official buzzkill of the evening.
The next day I got a call from our adoption caseworker. My fingerprints had been approved, we were officially Paper Pregnant. I was ecstatic. And I felt like an idiot. Maybe the next time I decide something is never ever ever going to happen, I should wait, like, a day.
By January of 2009, we had turned in all of our paperwork, completed our profile, and were just waiting for my fingerprints to come back. It took nine trips to the police station to get my fingerprints done. The right guy wasn't in. Or I needed cash. Or the address on my license didn't match the address on my application so I needed to go to the DMV, get a new one, wait for it to come in the mail... Or my fingerprints were done, sent, and not clear enough because my fingers are too small. Seriously?
So when I went to Chicago to see a friend's show, I was- once again- overwhelmed with the process. Feeling hopeless. Feeling like I couldn't keep up this fight much longer. So did I want to participate in a power hour? Of course I did. (a note to my readers who do not happen to be 23- a power hour is when everyone drinks a shot of beer every minute for an hour. It's a really bad idea. Especially when one is extremely emotionally vulnerable, and extremely not 23.) So, long story short, by the end of the power hour I was crying. A lot. Uncontrollably. For a long time. Talking about things that are most certainly not important to 23- year-olds. I was never going to get a baby. Never ever ever ever.
Fortunately we had been joined for the evening by a friend from Ohio, and this friend was able to settle me down enough with some Christian words of encouragement that I finally fell asleep. But I was most certainly the official buzzkill of the evening.
The next day I got a call from our adoption caseworker. My fingerprints had been approved, we were officially Paper Pregnant. I was ecstatic. And I felt like an idiot. Maybe the next time I decide something is never ever ever going to happen, I should wait, like, a day.
Lemon Drop- or, Why Drinking is Never the Answer- Part One
Baby's first birthday can be an emotional day for Moms. And yesterday, I experienced it. But honestly, it wasn't as emotional for me as I imagine it is for Moms who gave birth to their children. I loved spending the day with Lily, of course, and I spent a lot of time reflecting on how much she's grown. But when it came to the "last year at this time..." reflection- well, last year at this time I was drunk.
I'm not a huge drinker. I went to OU, so I'm capable of drinking an astonishing amount for my size and weight. I just generally choose not to. But by May 18 of last year, I had had it. I had been playing the baby game for three years, and I was done playing. So today, in order to remember, make light of the situation, and give you the opportunity to laugh at me, I present to you my Paper Pregnancy, as told through three really bad ideas: drinking too much in May of 2008, drinking too much in January of 2009, and drinking too much in May of 2009. Not because I'm proud of it, but because it demonstrates my state of mind that year, and it's just funny.
Drinking too much in May of 2008.
It started innocently enough. Ryan and I were attending a graduation party for one of my college students. We were offered a glass of wine when we arrived. I finished it, realized it was too hot to drink wine, and switched to beer. Then someone showed up with something orange in bottles. Potentially a Bartles and James beverage of some kind? Until this moment it was all an accident. A long day in the sun drinking the whole time without paying attention to the amount. But there was a moment when things shifted. All of the secrets from the whole year- the fact that we had been trying to conceive at all, the pain I'd gone through, the potential light at the end of the tunnel with the decision to adopt- it was just too much to keep to myself anymore. So when a student asked me if I wanted a shot of- who even knows what it was?- I told him no, but that he could pour it directly into my bottle. (the one with about an inch of orange liquid remaining.) He filled it to the top, and I set out on a mission. My first step in this mission (after taking the first sip which literally knocked me backwards into a large tree, as witnessed by two students who thought this was one of the funniest things they had ever seen) was to find Jenn- a student who I knew well, and who was our strongest student accompanist. I pulled her aside and told her she should be prepared with the score to "Carousel," our fall musical, because I could potentially get a phone call that would pull me away from the show immediately and permanently. I told her about our decision to adopt. And about all I had been through that year. And I cried. And cried and cried and cried. And I pulled myself together, and I kept taking sips from my orange drink.
That's where things get fuzzy. But I know I pulled Kiley aside at one point and put her through the whole story, just as I had with Jenn. And then, eventually, there was no more pulling people aside. I told my story- in its entirey and on a drunken loop- to everyone at the party. They had all gathered at the table, and they were a captive audience. And I was hysterical. These poor students (and some of their parents, by the way...) who had never seen me cry, had no idea any of this was going on at all, heard the whole sad story. Over, and over, and over. Now, in my defense, my loving husband was playing the role of designated antagonist. Any time it looked as if the loop was broken, he would aske me a question about the story, dropping the needle back onto my broken record anywhere he thought was entertaining. And there were breaks in the story when I leaned against a shelf and broke it, or when I got one of the female students to cry with me. Ryan finally got me to say my tearful goodbyes, and he got me into the car. It was a long ride home, and while I slept most of the way, I woke up every fifteen minutes or so, worried every single time that I had not congratulated the graduate. Ryan assured me each time that I had. I had congratulated him many, many times.
I told my therapist the whole story a few days later, completely mortified, certain I was going to be scolded. Not because I was ever scolded in therapy, but because I was sure I deserved it. His response shocked me.
"Yeah. That pretty much had to happen. You've been trying to keep all this inside for way too long. It doesn't need to be a secret. And it became such a big secret that maybe you needed a little liquid courage to get it out. Your students already respected you. Honestly, they probably respect you more now that you've shown them you're a real person."
And you know what? He was right. There was some teasing on the first day back to school, naturally. But when we all returned in the fall, I didn't have to pretend any more.
I'm not a huge drinker. I went to OU, so I'm capable of drinking an astonishing amount for my size and weight. I just generally choose not to. But by May 18 of last year, I had had it. I had been playing the baby game for three years, and I was done playing. So today, in order to remember, make light of the situation, and give you the opportunity to laugh at me, I present to you my Paper Pregnancy, as told through three really bad ideas: drinking too much in May of 2008, drinking too much in January of 2009, and drinking too much in May of 2009. Not because I'm proud of it, but because it demonstrates my state of mind that year, and it's just funny.
Drinking too much in May of 2008.
It started innocently enough. Ryan and I were attending a graduation party for one of my college students. We were offered a glass of wine when we arrived. I finished it, realized it was too hot to drink wine, and switched to beer. Then someone showed up with something orange in bottles. Potentially a Bartles and James beverage of some kind? Until this moment it was all an accident. A long day in the sun drinking the whole time without paying attention to the amount. But there was a moment when things shifted. All of the secrets from the whole year- the fact that we had been trying to conceive at all, the pain I'd gone through, the potential light at the end of the tunnel with the decision to adopt- it was just too much to keep to myself anymore. So when a student asked me if I wanted a shot of- who even knows what it was?- I told him no, but that he could pour it directly into my bottle. (the one with about an inch of orange liquid remaining.) He filled it to the top, and I set out on a mission. My first step in this mission (after taking the first sip which literally knocked me backwards into a large tree, as witnessed by two students who thought this was one of the funniest things they had ever seen) was to find Jenn- a student who I knew well, and who was our strongest student accompanist. I pulled her aside and told her she should be prepared with the score to "Carousel," our fall musical, because I could potentially get a phone call that would pull me away from the show immediately and permanently. I told her about our decision to adopt. And about all I had been through that year. And I cried. And cried and cried and cried. And I pulled myself together, and I kept taking sips from my orange drink.
That's where things get fuzzy. But I know I pulled Kiley aside at one point and put her through the whole story, just as I had with Jenn. And then, eventually, there was no more pulling people aside. I told my story- in its entirey and on a drunken loop- to everyone at the party. They had all gathered at the table, and they were a captive audience. And I was hysterical. These poor students (and some of their parents, by the way...) who had never seen me cry, had no idea any of this was going on at all, heard the whole sad story. Over, and over, and over. Now, in my defense, my loving husband was playing the role of designated antagonist. Any time it looked as if the loop was broken, he would aske me a question about the story, dropping the needle back onto my broken record anywhere he thought was entertaining. And there were breaks in the story when I leaned against a shelf and broke it, or when I got one of the female students to cry with me. Ryan finally got me to say my tearful goodbyes, and he got me into the car. It was a long ride home, and while I slept most of the way, I woke up every fifteen minutes or so, worried every single time that I had not congratulated the graduate. Ryan assured me each time that I had. I had congratulated him many, many times.
I told my therapist the whole story a few days later, completely mortified, certain I was going to be scolded. Not because I was ever scolded in therapy, but because I was sure I deserved it. His response shocked me.
"Yeah. That pretty much had to happen. You've been trying to keep all this inside for way too long. It doesn't need to be a secret. And it became such a big secret that maybe you needed a little liquid courage to get it out. Your students already respected you. Honestly, they probably respect you more now that you've shown them you're a real person."
And you know what? He was right. There was some teasing on the first day back to school, naturally. But when we all returned in the fall, I didn't have to pretend any more.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The Decision to Adopt
This morning we had what will very likely be our last home visit with our adoption case worker. Soon, a two-year process will come to an end. (the process. Not the result. The result is, thankfully, quite permanent.) It's been an often exhausting, always emotional, forever rewarding experience. But how did we decide to take this journey?
For Ryan and I, adoption has always been on the table. Even when we were dating we discussed it. We just knew, somehow, that our family would be at least partially built this way. Maybe because both of our extended families were built this way- the branches of
our family trees that include adoption outnumber by far those that don't. Of course like all young women, I assumed that I would give birth to children first, and adopt later.
Then, in a moment of frustration in the spring of 2007, I said, "Maybe we should just adopt." I was certain I had solved all of our problems and that my life would soon be complete. So when Ryan answered with, "I don't think it's time yet," I was angry, disappointed, and fearful we were not on the same page when it came to starting a family. I understand now how wise he was being, and how difficult this was for him, as he desperately wanted to adopt. It's what he's always wanted.
But here's a hint concerning adoption readiness. If you phrase it as "maybe we should just adopt," you're not ready.
Then, in May of 2008, I had a very different moment. I don't remember what sparked it. I don't remember what day it was or what time it was or what I was wearing. But I remember the feeling of certainty. I looked at Ryan, and I said, "Oh! We're supposed to adopt!" with a smile on my face and excitement like I've felt about very few things in my life.
"I was just waiting for you to say so," he answered.
But once the decision is made, where in the world do you start?. The Internet, naturally. There is an overwhelming amount of information about adoption available, and I soon became overwhelmed. But I took a deep breath, and I read things carefully, and I reminded myself that I didn't need to have all the answers. In fact, when it comes to adoption, it is impossible to know all the answers, since each case is so completely individual.
We had some decisions to make:
- adopting through an agency vs/ hiring an adoption lawyer or going through the foster system.
- open, semi-open, or closed adoption
- domestic or international adoption
- infant or older child
And there's no right or wrong. We just went with what felt right, and the answer always felt really clear to us. We decided we were interested in a domestic, semi-open, infant adoption through an agency.
I called the agency that sounded like the best fit for us- Bethany Christian Services- and learned that they were not accepting applications for parents looking for Caucasian babies for another several months, as they wanted to serve the families that were already waiting.
Disappointed, I shared the news with Ryan that evening. His response surprised me. "So, there are people
waiting for white babies, but there are babies who aren't white who need homes?"
"Yes-" I said, confused.
"Then why in the world would we wait for a white baby? That doesn't even make sense. What do we care what color the baby is? We want to give a baby a home. That's all that matters."
And I felt like an idiot. Of course it didn't matter. Now please understand that for many people, it would matter. Transracial adoptions can bring a whole slew of issues. But with our family, living where we live, those issues are manageable.
So I called Bethany the next day, and made a reservation to attend their next informational meeting. These meetings are held every month or two. There was one in two days.
Attending the informational meeting just made us all the more ready, so we started to share the news with friends and family. For the most part, the reaction was the same. "We're so glad you know so we can talk about it now. We've all known you were going to adopt for a long time."
And the process began. May, 2008.
For Ryan and I, adoption has always been on the table. Even when we were dating we discussed it. We just knew, somehow, that our family would be at least partially built this way. Maybe because both of our extended families were built this way- the branches of
our family trees that include adoption outnumber by far those that don't. Of course like all young women, I assumed that I would give birth to children first, and adopt later.
Then, in a moment of frustration in the spring of 2007, I said, "Maybe we should just adopt." I was certain I had solved all of our problems and that my life would soon be complete. So when Ryan answered with, "I don't think it's time yet," I was angry, disappointed, and fearful we were not on the same page when it came to starting a family. I understand now how wise he was being, and how difficult this was for him, as he desperately wanted to adopt. It's what he's always wanted.
But here's a hint concerning adoption readiness. If you phrase it as "maybe we should just adopt," you're not ready.
Then, in May of 2008, I had a very different moment. I don't remember what sparked it. I don't remember what day it was or what time it was or what I was wearing. But I remember the feeling of certainty. I looked at Ryan, and I said, "Oh! We're supposed to adopt!" with a smile on my face and excitement like I've felt about very few things in my life.
"I was just waiting for you to say so," he answered.
But once the decision is made, where in the world do you start?. The Internet, naturally. There is an overwhelming amount of information about adoption available, and I soon became overwhelmed. But I took a deep breath, and I read things carefully, and I reminded myself that I didn't need to have all the answers. In fact, when it comes to adoption, it is impossible to know all the answers, since each case is so completely individual.
We had some decisions to make:
- adopting through an agency vs/ hiring an adoption lawyer or going through the foster system.
- open, semi-open, or closed adoption
- domestic or international adoption
- infant or older child
And there's no right or wrong. We just went with what felt right, and the answer always felt really clear to us. We decided we were interested in a domestic, semi-open, infant adoption through an agency.
I called the agency that sounded like the best fit for us- Bethany Christian Services- and learned that they were not accepting applications for parents looking for Caucasian babies for another several months, as they wanted to serve the families that were already waiting.
Disappointed, I shared the news with Ryan that evening. His response surprised me. "So, there are people
waiting for white babies, but there are babies who aren't white who need homes?"
"Yes-" I said, confused.
"Then why in the world would we wait for a white baby? That doesn't even make sense. What do we care what color the baby is? We want to give a baby a home. That's all that matters."
And I felt like an idiot. Of course it didn't matter. Now please understand that for many people, it would matter. Transracial adoptions can bring a whole slew of issues. But with our family, living where we live, those issues are manageable.
So I called Bethany the next day, and made a reservation to attend their next informational meeting. These meetings are held every month or two. There was one in two days.
Attending the informational meeting just made us all the more ready, so we started to share the news with friends and family. For the most part, the reaction was the same. "We're so glad you know so we can talk about it now. We've all known you were going to adopt for a long time."
And the process began. May, 2008.
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