Checking out

So... ever since I discovered there are people I can't trust in my ward, who are cyber-stalking my every move I've been in a funk about socializing with people from Church. And since no one will 'fess up to who they are...I have been emotionally checked out of my ward, my callings, anything that will put me in any kind of contact with people who would be such a bunch of ______.

I have a friend in primary who mentioned that they hadn't gotten around to celebrating my daughter's birthdays in primary. Their birthdays were the last two weeks of September. It's November now.

I don't even know if I should bother bringing it up. It's clear as day that there is a vendetta against my family because I refuse to conform to faking my way around the ward. Which is kind of useful as a whole bucket-load of people are actively avoiding me and my family because I officially have a Scarlett letter on my chest. It is also really helpful in identifying those that are loyal, worthy friends. It's clear that in my ward anyone who is willing to speak their mind will immediately be reprimanded and not only that, they'll take it out on your kids.

So... question - do I even bother with these kind of people, or just chalk it up to... the Church would be great without all the people. OR - gospel is true - it's the people who aren't.

I am only going to my ward now, because primary could be good for my girls... although, even this theory is currently up for debate.

Trust is big for me... and when it is shattered... there's no gaining it back.

ps. I'm also writing on a gloomy, rainy day...and if you know me... I am solar powered. Today is just depressing.

Empty nests are for the birds

My nest isn't completely empty yet, but for the past two weeks I've been down two instead of just one. Birdie number three has been busy doing fireworks stands and concessions (during which she rather skillfully stalked the Jonas Brothers--such stalking included removing Nick's used straw from a watered-down drink left in their hospitality suite and helping a friend successfully impersonate Selena Gomez in order to extract intel from one of the security guards--I'm both mad and impressed) and the husband took birdie number four camping for a couple of days so it's definitely been a bit too quiet around here.

And when the birdies fly their friends fly too, so the loss is, well, exponential.

At first I was all about taking care of business (in fact, I completely bailed on the usual 4th of July festivities until last night--I know this is sick and wrong, but I just wanted to clean my kitchen). However I'm beginning to suspect that my usual rationalization for living in a state of manageable chaos is a rather good one:

The problem with getting things done is eventually they will all get done and if one doesn't have little (or even big) birdies around to undo it all, at some point one will run out of things to do.

And then what?

I am so tired of being a Bad Mommy. How do I know I am a Bad Mommy? Because my daughter keeps telling me. She is almost four.

I try my hardest every doggone day. Some days my hardest is pretty pathetic. Some days it is near-heroic.

And every day she cries for her father, her grandparents, her cousins. She tells me "I don't like you." She hits and fights and lies refuses to listen and I am so incredibly sick of it.

I know that there is nothing that can take the place of the mother, but I am at the point where I would be willing to test that statement.

I know that she is only four; I know that she doesn't understand all of what she is saying and doing. I know that she certainly doesn't mean to break my heart every single night. But I also know that other kids don't seem to be doing this. Other kids are talking about Jesus and helping and being like Mommy.

Which means that every night I get on my knees, sometimes in tears, and pray to know what I am doing wrong.

Zero to Sixty and Back Again

Yesterday Dora was talking about what she wanted to be when she grew up. She turned to the audience and yelled "What do YOU want to be when you grow up?" And Jooj answered "Jooj wants to be a mommy!"

YES!

A few hours later when watching it again, Dora turned to the audience and yelled "What do YOU want to be when you grow up?" And Jooj answered "Jooj wants to be a ChooChoo Twain."

And we're back.


I really hope that the recording angels were paying attention EARLIER on in the day.

Where did I go?

W and I are in the process of applying for our second adoption. One of the last things we have to do is write the "Pick us!!" letter to the birth parents. We are using the old one--because it is good and in the three years since we wrote it Jooj has made my brain hurt a lot-but updating it to reflect our current situations. (Like the part that says "We will never spank." Oh, the laughter when I re-read that part!) The format we used was: I wrote a paragraph introducing W, he wrote one for me, and then I wrote the rest about our belief systems, etc. It worked.

When W wrote the paragraph about me the last time it was all "Jen is so educated!" and "Masters!" and "Smart" and "Hot!" (Not really, but I read between the lines) and "Strong and Capable!" and "REALLY smart!".

He just emailed me the update and here is what it says now: "Good mother!" "Preschool and Playgroup!" "Takes kid to soccer!" "Mom!" and "Jooj's Mom!"

Apparently I have vanished in three years.

I don't know where I went (I certainly haven't gotten any smaller physically) and I don't know when it happened. There was a point where I desperately wanted to be someone's mom--anyone's mom! And it is not like I want to go back to that place (although I am often tempted) but there has got to be a place where "Mom" and "Me" co-exist.

Have you found that place? Where is it? How did you get there?

Unprepared

My daughter became a young woman tonight.
At the Fiesta Days Rodeo.
In the port-a-potty.
(for some reason, this sounds skeezy...I mean it in the no-she-wasn't-in-there-with-a-boy kind of way!)

She came back into the Grandstand to our spot on the bench with big smile on her face and whispered it to me. I wasn't sure if I believed her nor did I want to have the full on conversation with her 13 year old brother sitting in between us.

I leaned over, placed my hand on Hoss' cheek and pulled his head close to my face and whispered it to him. All the color left his face, his eyes got real big, and he said, "She what?" Oh, you just wait....I don't think daddy's are ever ready to hear that their little girl's not so little any more.

After I got past the initial shock and the giggling to myself over what a fantastic journal entry it would be for her:
Dear Diary, tonight I got my first period in the port-a-potty at the Rodeo...
I started to feel a little panicky!
A few things came to mind:
Her reaction is a million times the opposite of my reaction.
She's all excited!
She couldn't wait to tell me.
I could have died!
I waited as long as I could before mumbling something to my mother.
I guess we'll have to stop at the store on the way home.
What do I get her?
The last time I had a period, there were only a few options: cardboard applicator, no applicator, and something like unto a diaper!
That was before 'wings' and ultra thins.
What works best right at first?
I'm starting to sound like a dad, not a mom......
It's just that I've been without periods now for longer than I had them.
Things aren't ever going to be the same at our house.
Ugh....her brothers......they need to be instructed too.
I guess it doesn't matter if I'm ready or not.....Aunt Flow is here.

Last night being a good mommy was incredibly hard. We talked, for the first time, about how she is adopted. It came about pretty naturally: We were talking about temples. I told her how she went to the temple with us when she was a baby, so that we could be her parents forever.

"Baby Jooj go to temple?"
"Yes."
"Baby Nora (her cousin) go to temple?"
"Well, no."
"Why?"

So we talked about how Baby Nora came out of Tia Amy's belly, so they didn't have to go to the temple. And Baby Jooj didn't come out of mommy's belly, so...

"Baby Jooj in you belly."
"No, Mami can't get babies in her belly. Mami's belly is broken."
"No! Baby Jooj go in YOU belly."
"No, honey, Mami's belly is broken, so Heavenly Father put Baby Jooj in Diana's belly. Then Diana brought you to us, because Mami and Papi and Jooj are a family."
"No, I go in YOU belly. No Diana."
"I wish you were in my belly, Jooj, but Mami's belly is broken."
"You belly need batteries?"
"Yes, Mami's belly needs special batteries."
"Oh. Es Ok?"
"Oh yes, Mami is ok. And Jooj is my baby forever."

And it was so hard.

I love my daughter, I love my family, and I love that, through adoption, I am able to have her with me. And I know that telling her about adoption is important--it is not like we can hide it and she can meet her twin at summer camp and switch places in order to reconnect her father and I in love and marriage and groovy guitar songs. But I didn't expect it to hurt my heart to tell her.

I so wanted to say "You came from my belly--you and me have been together, even as little tiny cells inside Grammy Su, forever. I felt you kick, I loved you every second of the day. I fed you with my every heart beat, and I pushed you out and held you the instant you were born. You are mine and will never feel the need to seek out another mother, another person who shares your cells."

But I couldn't. Because it isn't true.

I know that she loves me. I know she is MINE. But our talk last night was the start of my biggest fear--that she will not feel like she is mine entirely, any longer. I know we will talk about it again and again, and I worry that, each time, she will feel drawn to another woman, another family, another set of siblings. Maybe she won't--maybe we are enough for her. But the fear is there.