The CrossFit Community

During our last few weeks in the states, we are spending quite a bit of time on the road visiting family and friends. The visits have been awesome as we have enjoyed lunches, dinners, coffee, and great conversation with many friends we haven't seen in years.

My one complaint?

(just one? Oh come on, there's living out of a suitcase, sleeping in a different bed, being on a different schedule, and trying to get clean in soft water)

My biggest complaint? The food.

Oh, it tasted great; it always does. But we RARELY eat out at home. In fact, we cook just about every day, and we rarely eat “fake” food. We eat simple meals made with real ingredients. Unfortunately, even the simplest of meals in a restaurant has added preservatives and large amounts of extraneous ingredients.

The stress of travel + “fake” food = a miserable body and mind

One of the ways we are trying to combat travel bloat (as I like to affectionately call it) is connecting with local CrossFit Gyms in the area we are visiting.

(The stress of travel + “fake” food) / CrossFit = a very happy body and mind

The beauty of each CrossFit affiliate lies in their unique identity. Each box is a reflection of its trainers, its members, and the mindset of the overall CF community. In Birmingham, we headed over to CrossFit RPM, a box whose members are mostly athletes including Wes Helms in the off-season and high school students from Hoover High School of MTV fame (on a side note, a friend informed us that when he and his daughter visited New York City, complete strangers were asking to buy her Hoover High School Letterman Jacket off her back. We still find that odd because we're from Birmingham and to us, it's just another high school).

Blake is an amazing trainer who combines a thorough mobility warm-up with strength and met-con workouts. Even though we were just visiting for a week, he gave us individual pointers and encouragement through some tough workouts. He pushed our body to a level I didn't think possible at this point in my CF training.

In Florida, we found an absolutely wonderful box, CrossFit En Fuego. We dropped in one night after they had finished their workout and spoke with their trainer, Peter, a local firefighter. Before we left that night, he invited us to join some of their members on an Adventure Run in Tampa. He extended the CrossFit arm of friendship and welcomed us as long-time members. The workouts at En Fuego were unlike any we had done thus far. Like RPM, the members spend time focusing on strength and a specific skill before attacking a met-con workout that involves crazy skills like weighted tire pulls and drags and crawlers, a variation on the burpee which involved walking your hands into the push-up position instead of dropping into it. My favorite skill though? The pass throughs. Using parallelettes, grab the bars in the push-up position, complete a push-up, swing your legs through so that your body ends up in a dip position with your feet in front of you, complete a dip and then pass your feet back through in reverse so that you end up in the push-up position again. Did I mention those bars are only 12 inches off the ground?!?!?!

The new skills we learned will continue to push us as we incorporate them into our own workouts. The friendships, whether they continue or end here, will always remind me of “the time I sucked it up and ran in my first ever paid-for race.”

For your viewing pleasure, here are some of us before the race. Peter, the trainer at En Fuego is in the middle, the hubs is hiding in the back, and I am the pasty white chick on the end.

People of Note

It is no secret that I hate people.

(snark)

Yeah, God's working with me on that one.

I just don't trust people. It's not in my nature. And I just think people, myself included, are annoying.

This fact often interferes with my Christian faith, and in an effort to help me work through my issues, God often places people, actual human beings, in my path. These very people, the ones I try so hard to stay away from, end up helping me mature.

And if there's anything God has taught me in my walk with Him, it is to be thankful for the people He placed in my life. With that said, I thought it apropos, now that I am moving, to give a heartfelt thank you and shout out to those people in Georgia who have somehow stayed with me through the years. I won't miss Georgia, but I will definitely miss them (“...and friends are friends forever...” blah blah blah).

Here they are, in no particular order:

Melody M.: One of the first people I met. You are a refreshing reminder that when life craps all over you, some people will still tell you the truth, even if it hurts, and that truth will bring healing...

Beth W.: I sat on a chair in the conference room at church and you told me if I wanted to grow, I was gonna have to let people in and trust them. I hated you for that; but you were right.

Butterflies: Thanks to Beth, you know my deepest, darkest secrets. Keep them, or I will hunt you down and cut off your wings.

Sherrill: My goodness, if it weren't for you, I couldn't have survived the last two years of pain and joy that came with the adoption and disruption.

Rita: You are my Aaron, and the most unlikely of friends.

Cherie: There are no words. Seriously. So I won't even try.

John Wood: You walked up on the platform that Sunday and scared me to death with your insight into my life. Freaked me out! But your words showed me that I had finally found a safe place that would define me by my God, not by my failures.

Becca: Everyone needs a sister they can laugh with uncontrollably. To think we might have never made it past that first meeting...snob.

Victoria S.: You are, quite honestly, the best doctor ever.

LeAnn N.: Few people are willing to confront my stubbornness. Your ability to do so in love helped me grow as a musician and a servant...and taught me to keep my mouth shut, which is no easy task.

Chad L.: You challenged me musically, requiring me to play beyond my abilities. I was sometimes too stupid to tell you I couldn't play a chart. Instead, I just practiced until I learned it. You made me a better musician.

Simple Woman: May 26, 2010

Outside my window...sunshine and a cool breeze. It's gonna be a beautiful day!

I am thinking...about how awesome it is going to be when my husband gets home. He is out-processing from his current position today, which basically means he is done with work at this Air Force Base!

I am thankful for...the movers. I spent much of my day complaining about them yesterday, so in an effort to atone for my bad attitude, I figured I'd say just how awesome they were. They really did a great job...no throwing of stuff, respectful, courteous (unless you count the pee on the seat. Seriously, will all you guys out there just sit down like the rest of us?), etc. We really don't have much stuff (about 5000lbs total and that includes all of Tim's professional gear as a musician), but even working hard it took them all day.

From the kitchen...pizza in the fridge and empty BBQ containers in the trash. Yep, it was one of those days.

I am wearing...a T-shirt and shorts. Just about everything else has been sent to Europe.

I am creating...memories. Saying good-bye sucks, but I have had an amazing time. Having battled a plethora of medical issues the last decade, I lost out on many of the joys of life, like amusement parks. Now that I am healthy and can be inverted without passing out, I decided it was high time for me to get back on the roller coaster. On Saturday, I called a friend and invited her to Wild Adventures. Within 20 minutes, another friend was on board, so we all played hookie from church and had one final hoorah. We ended the day on the same roller coaster we started...and I will always remember how awesome it was to share that experience with them.

I am going...crazy...still.

I am reading...He Loves Me by Wayne Jacobsen. Theologically, it is suspect in a few places, which I enjoy because it challenges me to search scripture and solidify what I believe. Literarily, it is lacking. Chapters which could be developed more just end; evidence is not given for Jacobsen's exegesis; and the language is elementary, but perhaps that is by design. It takes alot for me to quit reading a book. We'll see if I make it all the way through this one.

I am hoping...oh...you guessed it, that the house and car sell before we move.

I am hearing...the fan. We are one of the many people who can't sleep without fan noise or white noise.

Around the house...pretty much nothing except a few items we are storing at the in-laws.

One of my favorite things...moving and starting over. We have lived in this city longer than any other. I wasn't a military brat, but even still, I moved quite a bit before I was married, and we have lived in 3 cities and 5 different homes since then. Most people hate to move. I find it cathartic. People have a tendency to hold on to who you were when they first met you, in spite of the changes that occur over time. Moving allows not only an opportunity to be the new you in a new location, but also an opportunity to purge your stuff. The process is annoying at times, but it also promotes physical, mental, and emotional detox.

A few plans for the week...finishing the last few repairs on the house.

Here is a photo I am sharing of me and my friends after my first roller coaster ride in 7 years:

The Ultimate Hero WoD

One of the most inspiring aspects of CrossFit is the incorporation of what members call Hero WoDs (Workout of the Day), workouts that are named for military men and women, firemen, and policemen who have lost their lives in the line of duty. The Hero WoDs are always insanely difficult, but members "hit them hard" to honor the fallen.

Today, after a "normal" CrossFit workout, we sat around talking and our trainer mentioned The Ultimate Hero WoD, aptly named The Jesus WoD. CrossFit Central ran the workout, which was designed to mimic the 14 stations of the cross, at 3PM on Good Friday. Yeah, the magnitude is not lost on me, either.

The Jesus WoD (See the video here.)

14 Rounds

Men's weight 95#/ Women's weight 65#

10 Deadlifts
10 Squat Cleans
10 Push Press
50 Walking Lunges with the barbell on the shoulders

At no point are the hands to leave the bar until after rounds 3, 7, and 9, at which point the bar is placed on the ground and the individual completes 7 Turkish Get Ups.



Yeah, I will be completing this WoD next Good Friday.

Simple Woman: May 17, 2010

Outside my window...an interesting dichotomy of rain and sun. Even the birds are still chirping.

I am thinking about sex, but not in the manner you might think. In the last 2 weeks I have read about or seen: a prom photo of a senior who is 9 months pregnant; sex-ting during church; a video of 8-year-old girls wearing less than Beyonce and dancing to Single Ladies even more provocatively; a wedding after an unwed pregnancy; a friend teaching abstinence at a pregnancy center where the girls didn't even know you could get STDs from oral sex. I'm just about sick of the oversexualization in our culture.

I am thankful for just about everything. Except maybe mosquitoes, roaches and stupid people.

From the kitchen...a whole lotta nothing. I can barely get around the kitchen because of all the junk. The movers are coming this week to take the kitchen stuff, the linens, and most of our clothes so that they will get to Europe sooner than our furniture.

I am wearing...sadly, the EXACT same thing from last week's post. But I PROMISE I took it from the clean clothes pile.

I am creating...piles of stuff for the movers.

I am going...to the globo-gym this afternoon. I am sure to get evil and questioning glares when I practice handstand push-ups, but tonight is a pizza party for me, so I won't be able to workout in my regular CrossFit gym.

I am reading...What the Dickens, by Gregory Maguire. He's not a great writer, but his imagination is intriguing.

I am hoping...we sell the car and the house before we move.

I am hearing...Wishing and Hoping in my head. Apparently that last statement song bombed me.

Around the house...ahem. I plead the 5th.

One of my favorite things...lattes in the morning.

A photo I am sharing:

An action shot of me cleaning 95#:

Recipes for the Rest of Us: Chocolate Espresso Cake

Chocolate. Espresso. Nuff said.

I was pleased with this recipe because I wasn't really sure how much espresso to use. Generally, in cakes of this flavor combo the espresso overpowers the chocolate (seems illogical, but it happens). I truly like to taste the separate flavors. This cake resulted in a chocolate cake with hints of espresso, and it was truly delicious.

You will need:

1 3/4 c AP Flour
2 c Sugar
3/4 c unsweetened cocoa
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
dash of cayenne or cinnamon (optional)
2 eggs
1 c buttermilk
1/2 oil of your choice
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 c espresso + 1/2 c boiling water


Mix dry ingredients in a bowl and set aside.

Combine wet ingredients (except water and espresso) in separate bowl. Slowly add water/espresso .

Fold or mix wet and dry ingredients until well incorporated. Pour into 13x9x2 greased pan and bake for 30-35 minutes. When done, the cake should still appear "wet" on top, but will be springy to the touch. Be careful not to remove too soon or it will fall.

I made a standard buttercream frosting (confectioner's sugar, vanilla, butter, milk), but next time I think I'll add shortening to the frosting to create more "fluff"


For your viewing pleasure, I have included a photo of our cake after the hubs and I got ahold of it. We like to leave cakes within easy access for drive-by tastings as we pass through the kitchen. I made a joke with the hubs about him "evening up the side" after I had cut a chunk off. What ensued was a little game of "Let's see how awkward we can cut the cake." I bested him.

Never go in against a Scandinavian Cherokee when cake is on the line:

Simple Woman: May 10, 2010

Outside my window...sunshine. Really and truly, sunshine cures everything. Of course, here in the deep south, sunshine generally has friends, namely heat and humidity. The last few days, however, those last two have been vacationing somewhere else, so the weather has been breezy and glorious.

I am thinking...about my OB/GYN appointment today and how hard it will be to say goodbye to the doctor and woman who has walked me through so much the last 8 years. She's the one who noticed just about everything wrong with my body and sent me to the appropriate specialists. She's the one who held my hand (and the puke bucket) after physical exams when everything hurt and she was still trying to figure out what was wrong. She celebrated with us when the boys came home and held me when they were gone. She went beyond the call of duty in every aspect of my care, and I will miss her.

I am thankful for...a husband who does the dishes in the morning (It doesn't take much to make me happy), even if, by his own account, his motivation was 1/3 selfish (too many dishes in the sink for him to wash the french press).

From the kitchen...an espresso chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. AWESOME! Recipe coming soon.

I am wearing...those $9 sweat pants again with a T-shirt from the butcher that reads..."Nothing Butt the Best"

I am creating...an atmosphere of paranoia. The hubs and I are on a mission. We will finish ALL 7 seasons of the X-files (the ones after that were sans Fox Mulder, and really...what is X-Files without Mulder and Scully?). One interesting side effect of watching 3-4 (or 8...ahem) episodes a day is the shift in thinking. Everything is now a conspiracy theory and the government is always involved.

I am going...to Germany in 6 weeks! Oh wait...I've already mentioned that haven't I? Yeah, that date couldn't get here soon enough.

I am reading...your mind (you will notice that the sarcasm is back, a sure sign that I am healing emotionally).

I am hoping...to see as many friends and family as possible before we move.

I am hearing...the distant sounds of a military training session. Usually this involves choppers, low rumbles, and faint gunfire. The hubs has told me it is eerily similar to the sounds he heard when he was deployed.

Around the house...a lot less stuff than there was last week. Thank Heavens. We worked our tails off to sale stuff and throw stuff out. This week, more stuff will be sold or thrown out because we only have 6 more weeks until we move to Germany (oh wait, I already said that, didn't I?)

One of my favorite things...my dog. Margot, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, was EXTREMELY strong-willed as a puppy. We went through a week or so where we fed her from our hand to teach her who the alpha was (not her). For the longest time, she wouldn't sit with us or let us hold her on her back. The positive side to a strong-willed dog comes when the hierarchy is established. She is just over a year old now, and she is quickly becoming the best. dog. ever. (Odie, a Corgi my in-laws had, will be hard to beat). She has recently learned the awesomeness of sleeping on the couch while we watch T.V. And she is obedient, even when distracted. Yep, she's a keeper.

A few plans for the rest of the week...prepping for the move, taking Margot's health certificate to the USDA for travel clearance, and X-Files, because the truth is out there.

A couple of photos...the first one of Margot as a puppy. I mean really, who could resist that face:


The second, a Christmas Market in Germany. Apparently, Christmas is HUGE in Germany. I'm not usually one to deck the halls, but I am really looking forward to this:

Normal Grief

Apparently, I am normal.

Who knew?!?!

Last week I paid my therapist $100 to tell me just how normal I am, which is a far cry from my life a decade ago when I paid my therapist $200 to tell me how psychotic I was.

For those who know me, whether in real life or on the innerwebs, my greatest struggle right now is no big secret. The last week in February, just days before we were to receive the paperwork for finalization, The Department of Family and Children's Services decided to disrupt our adoption placement. We lost three boys...three brothers who needed a home are now back in foster care.

Yesterday, I saw a church leader at a local coffee shop. The conversation went like this:

Him: So how are you doing?

Me: (chuckling) All things considered, I am doing good.

Him: So how are you doing?

Me: (more somberly) I'm grieving. It is what it is, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it.

Our conversation continued; He offered me grace; and told me I was normal. God love him. He had enough sense and presence of mind and understanding of grief to not say anything stupid. God love him.

I am now far enough through my grief that I feel compelled to share some truths about loss.

Grief is normal. Yep. Extreme loss = grief. If it doesn't, see a therapist so they can tell you that you aren't normal.

Grief is ugly. Those on the outside don't like to look at it. They would prefer that it went away. Old Testament folk understood this. That's why grieving people donned sackcloth and ashes. So people would know they were grieving and leave them alone.

Grief is a process. Old Testament people knew this, too. People in mourning were set apart, and actually given time to grieve. People were expected to give them space. The attire said, “I'm grieving. My loss is too great. Please go away.” I also imagine this was done so people didn't say stupid stuff to the hurting.

Grieving people cry...all the time. Even in their sleep, apparently. After the Hubs found me crying in my sleep, I mentioned this to the therapist. She assured me that this was normal, that this is my mind's way of purging emotions I cannot deal with while awake.

Grieving people don't need you to say anything. More importantly, they don't need you to say stupid stuff. Christians are notorious for saying stupid stuff because many Christians fall prey to the idea that faith in God precludes bad stuff from happening, or in the very least, that faith prohibits “negative” emotions. A dear friend of mine is writing a book with an entire chapter dedicated to What Not To Say. I can't wait to read it. Here are few on my own list (and as you will see, grieving people are also sarcastic and cynical in their explanations):

• “This must be in God's plan because it happened.” This is not scriptural. Sometimes sure. But not always. God's plan was for man to live forever in unity with him; but man's freewill messed that up. Man's freewill is still messing stuff up. God isn't surprised, and He's not up there thinking, “Well, crap, what do I do now?” But I am convinced that more often than not, bad stuff happens because of (wo)man, not God.
• “I know how you feel.” No, you don't. Even if you have experienced the exact same loss, you can't possibly know how I feel because you aren't me. Or maybe you once knew, but now that you are on the other side of your grief, you have forgotten just how ugly it was.
• “God is in Control.” You know what, I didn't like it when Twila Paris sang it either. I know God is in control, but sometimes in the midst of my grief, I get mad at God. David did, too. But God gets it, and He's okay with it. I don't need you to fuel that anger by telling me that the very God I am angry at is the same God that watched all this happen and didn't stop it.
• “Know Jesus. Know Peace.” Yes, that cute little bumper sticker is true, but that doesn't make me feel any better. As my church leader said yesterday, it just makes you want to hit them.
• “Just hold onto Jesus.” I am holding on. How do you think I was even able to get out of bed this morning?

Of course, by now you might be wondering, “What should I say, then?” I can only tell you the responses that helped me the most:

• The few friends who said absolutely nothing. Even when I was with them crying uncontrollably. Maybe they wanted to, but they didn't, and that was glorious and more comforting than anything they could have offered.
• My mother (not the biological one) who came into the bedroom after they took all the boys' things and just rubbed my back and said, “There's nothing I can say that will make it better.” She understands great loss.
• The friends who just called it like they saw it: “Damn! That sucks!”

Because you know what? Grief is a painful process. No medication exists that can help it. No therapist can make it go away. S/he can only help you through the process. And that process will sneak up on you in the most unexpected of moments.

Of course, other times, you see it coming. Like this Sunday. Or maybe you didn't notice it was Mother's Day. But I did. I always do.

Simple Woman: May 4, 2010

Outside my window...rain. I love storms. The smell of freshly moistened earth. Thunder plowing across the sky. The chaos created when the wind rips leaves and small limbs from the safety of the tree and scatters them in unfamiliar places. Perhaps it's the beauty/chaos dichotomy.

I am thinking...more and more about how I am going to spend my time in Germany. I could teach, and I would love it; but it would also be a vacuum that would suck any opportunity to really experience Europe. Or I could write and record. I am playing with a Julie/Julia-esque 365-day transformation that would involve this temple of the Holy Spirit and would focus on transforming the 4 aspects of loving God: Heart, Soul, Mind, and Strength.

I am thankful for...the many opportunities I have had to serve on the worship team at church. Music is the one aspect of my life that demands authenticity (Not to imply that I am not authentic in other areas. Quite the contrary, I'm disturbingly real). I can run from emotion until I find myself worshiping God with music. Suddenly, I cannot hide the reality in which I live. Serving has forced me to confront some very strong feelings of anger and grief, while simultaneously remembering the joy.

From the kitchen...GREEK YOGURT!! If you haven't tried it...go get some NOW!

I am wearing...wait for it...are you sitting down? A grey pocket tee with hair dye stains and olive-green cut-offs made from a pair of cotton sleep pants. Please contain yourself.

I am creating...pull-up hands, which consist of calluses and tears from hanging on the bar. I still have not reached my first workout goal: an unassisted pull-up. Don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining. I have muscles for days, and my personal bests for the power lifts go up every week. It's the motion of the pull-up that I can't get.

I am going...to Joshua Cup this afternoon to study German and buy coffee. Die Frau trinkt.

I am reading...absolutely nothing because I haven't been able to get a new book. I am going through withdrawals. I'm usually a 2-book-a-week gal.

I am hoping...God really comes through for some friends of mine.

I am hearing...God in the small things again. Like the birds chirping outside my window.

Around the house...a vacuum cleaner in the corner; dog toys on the floor; an empty fecal sample collector on the T.V. (because we have to bring in a "fresh" sample for Margot's vet appointment on Friday); a salt shaker in the den; and a plethora of other small items, evidence of our complete disregard for cleaning the last few days. According to Murphy's Law, the realtor should call and want to show the house within the hour.

One of my favorite things...laughter. Genuine laughter. Not contrived, but long and hearty. The kind that makes you have to pee.

A few plans for the rest of the week...Oh, I still need to help the sanitation department earn their wages by throwing out stuff we don't plan to take to Germany.

A photo I am sharing: This is my friend, Heather, a breast cancer survivor, and her youngest child, a girl who came home from Ethiopia in the midst of Heather's chemotherapy. I have set up an honorarium site through Susan G. Komen, where you can help raise $1000 in her honor for breast cancer research.

CrossFit: A Body/Mind Transformation

Every time I hit the gym, I am amazed at what my body can do. When my body is convinced that it is finished, it goes another round. When my mind is distracted, it grabs onto the bar and pounds out one more rep. And when it is all over, I collapse...amazed.

Every. Single. Time.

I am continually amazed that I can walk into a gym and not relapse (it helps that our gym has no mirrors). Eating disorders are like that. Those of us in "remission" have to be forever mindful of our bent toward self destruction...how it creeps in slowly, flips a switch, and BAM! CrossFit, because it focuses not on body image but on body production and functionality, has proven effective in not only keeping the beast in the cage, but also taming her ferociousness.

After 8 weeks:

My arthritic knees are improving. I can air squat full range of motion, butt to the floor, feet flat on the ground.

My balance has returned. Oh, I still run into walls or door knobs every now and then, but I can actually hold a few yoga positions. Not too shabby for someone who once fell over when she closed her eyes.

My core is stronger. Obviously, the hysterectomy last summer helped in this regard, but my posture is better than it has ever been. I don't slouch anymore because my core can actually support my spine.

My body is cleaner. What does that even mean?!?! Well, apparently my body is detoxing itself (and no, I didn't do some freaky-deaky colon cleanse or liquid diet). Last week was a particularly gruesome week of workouts, and every single time I went to grab a workout shirt from the pile (I tend to re-wear them because, hey, they're already dirty, right?), we were confronted with the particularly undeniable odor of cigarette smoke. I haven't smoked for about 4 years. After a bit of research, we learned that nicotine is stored in fat cells. As my body is converting fat to muscle, it is releasing all the toxins stored from my days as a smoker. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I was basically sweating nicotine, which would also explain some increasingly disturbing urine colors I had last week, despite my consumption of vast amounts of water.

I can now complete a 20-inch box jump. I still workout with an 18-inch, but I can actually jump high enough to clear the 20-inch box.

I can do one double under (jump rope...two turns of the rope for every jump. Tim is getting quite good at these).

I can now invert my body without losing consciousness. As my heart gets stronger, it has the ability to force blood into my extremities when I am upside down. This is a vast improvement for someone who lost consciousness regularly. With the hubs holding my ankles, I can actually do a static handstand hold for 20-30 seconds...and not even get dizzy.

My recovery time after a workout is shorter. Workouts that once took 15-20 minutes of recovery time now only take 5-10. This basically means I can push myself harder now.

I am stronger physically. I set a personal record on the clean last week. 4 weeks ago I was at 55#. 2 weeks ago I hit 75#. On Saturday, I hit 85#.

I am mentally stronger. Last week, during a particularly difficult workout, when I was confronting my personal demons of recent loss, I broke down. I cried...long and hard. I walked out of the gym and just cried. After my husband finished his workout, he said something I already knew to be true: "You know you have to go in there and finish." He was right. I didn't know how I was going to do it. But I did. Tears falling on the barbell rack and the floor, I completed five rounds of back squats and dips...all while using a personal best of 111# on the bar.

Simple Woman: April 26, 2010

Outside my window...weeds...and really tall grass that will get mowed today. Some pretty hypnotizing shadows dancing on the fence.

I am thinking...about my boys. I am always thinking about my boys, even when other thoughts float around, they only mingle with thoughts of my boys. But I am also thinking about the opportunity I had yesterday to sing "How He Loves" and how the truth in those lyrics makes every thought bearable.

I am thankful for...coffee. Really, does anything else need to be said?

From the kitchen...we finally made homemade oreos (or faux-reos, as the hubs called them). That was just a little bit of Heaven right there.

I am wearing...the scars and bruises of a tough week at the gym. It was all worth it when on Saturday I reached a personal record on the clean: 85#!!

I am creating...I whole lotta trash for the city. We are getting rid of a bunch of stuff and just streamlining everything for the move. As far as I am concerned? We could just bring an air mattress and start from scratch. That's how much I want to start over.

I am going...to learn German before we move. I mean it. I am. You just wait and see.

I am reading...the Psalms from back to front. As much as I love the Psalms, I also know this is the only way I am going to make it through the entire book. I never knew how awesome the last few were. Seriously, how can one read about how great God is and still be discouraged? (That's a rhetorical question not meant to spark debate).

I am hearing...the neighbor's lawnmower. The engine is harassing me...

Around the house...guitar stuff...everywhere. The hubs and I played during the worship services yesterday, which means I spent the week practicing...which means there are picks, cables, guitar cases, charts, etc. throughout the house. Looks like I'll be cleaning that up, too.

One of my favorite things...throwing the football in the backyard. Margot, the corgi, loves this activity, too. She sprints the distance between us with every throw...eventually throwing slobber in the wind. She will eventually get so tired that she will squat and pretend that she is peeing just so she can rest. We have even taught her "Down! Set! Hike!" And every now and then we will sneak in an extra command to try and throw her off: "Down! Set! Bluuue 52! Oklahoma! Oklahoma! Hike!" Hilarious!!

A few plans for the rest of the week: detailing the car for a potential buyer; yardwork...lots of it; promoting my honorarium site for the Susan G. Komen For the Cure site. I am trying to raise $1000 dollars in honor of my friend and survivor, Heather. When I do, I am shaving my head.

Here's a photo I am sharing...Margot panting furiously after football:

Simple Woman: April 19, 2010

This morning, when I opened my laptop, bound and determined to write because I am a writer and Lord knows I haven't been all that motivated lately, I hit the wall. That blank, mocking, belittling wall of nothing...or everything...that keeps writers from writing. And I thought about just closing the laptop and folding laundry, or wasting a couple hours traveling the world in JewelQuest.

Obviously, that didn't happen because here I am. What did happen was Simple Woman. A couple of blogs I follow post regularly about Simple Woman, and when I saw one of those posts today, I just decided it was an easy way to keep writing. After all, I may not be able to isolate enough thought to write from scratch, but surely I can finish a couple starter sentences, right?

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FOR TODAY

Outside my window...I see nothing because I haven't even opened the curtains yet. A few minutes ago I did hear the lilting lines of two birds, reminding me that even if I do sleep in late, joy still comes in the morning if I let it.

I am thinking...about the soreness in my arms after yesterday's workout involving pull-ups, sprints, and handstands. Every day I hit the gym, I feel stronger and more solid, but in the midst of the workout, I often wonder aloud, Who makes this crap up?

I am thankful for...the gift of music because no matter how bad it gets, I can always pick up my guitar and feel better.

From the kitchen...a whole lot of dirty dishes, but in a couple hours I will be prepping Thai peanut sauce and beef satay for dinner tonight. It's a new recipe which has proven difficult only because I have to beat the husband away from the last remaining container of Chobani yogurt in the refrigerator.

I am wearing...the same $9 pair of Wal-Mart sweat pants I have been wearing since the beginning of Winter. They are more comfortable than anything I have ever worn. And a T-shirt I bought at Taranto's, a complete and total dive on a river in Mississippi. But they serve the best crawfish I have ever eaten.

I am creating...an illusion. I keep convincing people that I am okay, and I am, but not nearly as okay as my convincing facade. Someone told me the other day that I am always confident, which is true I suppose. The secret to confidence is just not giving a damn about what other people think. I have one being to whom I am responsible...my Creator, God in Heaven. After that, it doesn't really matter. BUT...that doesn't mean I never collapse into a blob of emotional wreckage, choking on my own tears as I try to understand the loss I experience.

I am going...to live in Germany in a two months. Assuming the Air Force clears me to move with my husband and they do so in a timely manner so as not to leave me in the states without him for a few months.

I am reading...Shelter. Had I known it was Science Fiction involving AIs and the anthropomorphizing of bots in the late 21st century, I NEVER would have bought it. But I did, only because the cover looked cool and it was on the $3 rack at Books-a-Million. I have actually thoroughly enjoyed it.

I am hoping...we actually sell the house before moving to Germany. We really don't want to carry it for a while after the move.

I am hearing...the dog beg for attention from the Alpha Male who just walked in the door for a lunch break.

Around the house...dog hair. We have a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, and she blows her coat twice a year, which is definitely better than shedding year-round.

One of my favorite things...Smoothie Sunday. We have no idea when this tradition started, but the hubs and I have had smoothies for dinner on Sunday for a couple years. It is, quite sadly, the highlight of our week.

A few plans for the rest of the week...the Exhale Conference for the youth group at church. I'm playing guitar for the worship team and have 5 songs to learn by Wednesday.

Here's a photo I am sharing...of one of our friends from Taranto's (he was delicious).

The Other is Gold

In elementary school, the summer between my fourth and fifth grade years, I moved to the other side of Decatur, Alabama, just one street over from my friend Caroline, who introduced me to Lisa, her best friend. We spent the next four months or so playing softball, tearing up the Slip-N-Slide, and apparently wearing really red lipstick...apparently. The jury is still out on that last one because the plaintiff has yet to offer any evidence.

Not soon after our friendship began, I moved to Birmingham. Understandably, we lost touch, but I never forgot Lisa or Caroline. In fact, I often wondered what they were up to, but this was long before every household had a computer, let alone the internet and Google.

My freshman year of college, I ended up at The University of Alabama, at Slutwiler Tutwiler Dorm, affectionately labeled, fo'teen flos o'hos (The name never did make any sense because even though the top floor was the 14th floor, superstition had led the contractors to skip the 13th floor altogether. Apparently Julia Tutwiler believed in omens, but didn't have the math skills to realize she built a building with 13 floors). Imagine my surprise when I realized that Caroline and Lisa were roommates on the same floor. Of course, by now, we all had our own interests...I was holed up in a practice room at The Moody Music building while Caroline was pre-med and theater (I think) and Lisa was becoming fluent in Spanish.

I ended up transferring, and understandably, we lost touch again.

A few years later, I was married and attending graduate school in Iowa. You see where this is going, right? Who should I meet in the church lobby one day? Lisa, now married, and also attending graduate school. And because God has a sense of humor, we found ourselves playing softball again. Imagine the jokes that ensued when I was on the pitcher's mound and Lisa was in the batter's box...again...over a decade later.

We were able to spend a little bit more time together over the next few years, but once again, I moved, this time to Georgia; but now, computers did exist in every home...and Facebook was reconnecting friends all across the world. As it turns out, Lisa and I live equi-distances from Atlanta...and once again, we were reunited.

I cannot surmise why our paths continue to cross. I can tell you that we share experiences and bonds that many women do not comprehend, contrary to their claims of understanding. I can tell you that over dinner last night...which lasted 4 hours and only ended because it was waaay past our bedtime and we all still had to drive 2 hours home...I realized that Lisa and I will always be friends...even if we lose contact for another 6 years...we will reconnect. And when we do, we will have dinner and great conversation that isn't interrupted or stifled by separation. Those years of lost contact will dissolve as soon as we meet again...and for that, I am grateful.

Only ifs, no ands or buts...random thoughts on my life right now

If you are trying to sell a house, and the Realtor never calls to show the house. Try not cleaning for a couple days. Works every time.

If you want to get mad at God, stop reading the Bible.

If you want to stay mad at God, don't go to the Easter Service.

If you have something planned, plan on something going wrong.

If someone is genuinely concerned about you, they will check on you. If they just want the gossip, they will check with everyone else.

If you don't like pollen, don't live in the South.

If you just mopped the floor, your dog will run through the kitchen with wet feet...over and over again.

If you want to get physically stronger, you must actually use your muscles.

If you want to get mentally smarter, you must actually use your brain.

If you want to upset someone, post a political status update on your Facebook profile.

If you want to mess with people, post an emotionally charged comment on someone else's.

If you don't want to be alone, you might actually have to leave the house.

If you thought yesterday's workout was tough, today's will be tougher.

If you want to laugh, read Chuck Norris jokes.

If you need a reason to be a Braves fan, watch this.

If you are wondering why I even bothered with this post, it's only because I haven't posted in a while.

Emotional Vomit

Mostly, this post serves one purpose: to keep me writing. I haven't done much writing since the world stopped spinning, and I simply don't want to forget how good it feels to write...even really crummy writing. I'm going to try and add cohesiveness to the randomness by posting my thoughts about various and sundry thoughts by categorizing them into emotions. We'll see how it works.

(Dear Lord, even that opening paragraph sounds like a 9^th grader who just learned how to use a thesaurus!)

Happy......Germany is only two months away. The move really can't get here soon enough.

Excited......One of my songs was selected for a Women's Worship Fellowship CD, a collection of original songs recorded live.

Comforted......that I can think about the boys without crying.

Ecstatic......my body is responding extremely well to Crossfit. When I started at the beginning of this month, I could only squat to 90 degrees and do 1 unmodified push-up. Yesterday, I squatted all the way to the ground (without letting the knees pass in front of the toes) and did 10 unmodified push-ups, and that was after we spent 40 minutes learning the split-jerk.

Thankful......for all the friends who have stuck around in the last month and still called or brought yeast rolls, or invited me to lunch or dinner (and weren't offended if I chose not to go simply because I felt like isolating).

Angry......I haven't quite figured out what I am angry at, but my therapist is glad I'm lifting heavy stuff at the gym to get rid of some of it.

Frightened......knowing that we will try and adopt again one day because even in the midst of the suck, we know that God has asked us to do so. But the process is ridiculously difficult...and the next time, we will fork over tens of thousands of dollars for a private agency because we understand now more than ever why so few people adopt through the screwed up system that is supposed to protect foster children in the states (ohhh...I just found some of that anger).

Sad......every time something about “family” comes up, which is a lot lately. The past two Sundays at church have been “Family Day” and “Baby Dedication Day.” Just about every documentary on television has been about parenting.

Annoyed......with P90x and how many people I know are buying into it. I've never tried it and I don't plan to for one simple reason: Like every other commercialized workout program, the focus is on appearance. Case in point: “I've never gotten so many comments from so many people about how fit I look” (italics added). “Just click 'YES' now to get ripped with P90x.” I am working on a post comparing P90x with Crossfit, so I'll save the full diatribe for that. For now, consider the reality that in spite of our supposed progress toward body acceptance, people are still body image focused...more concerned with what they look like than what they can do, which is why in the last 48 hours I have talked with one friend about his personal struggles in this area, another whose 10 year old daughter wants to “lose weight quick,” and learned from my therapist that more than one teenager has come in for therapy because a local gym trainer has given them steroids to get faster results.

I am a Crossfit Woman

A few months ago, I started seeing and hearing about Crossfit. I didn't know what it was, other than some workout program, and by the name, I assumed it was some Christian-based gym program...which made me immediately skeptical.

Oh how wrong I was.

I decided to check into this whole CF thing when I saw photos of friends on one of those social networking sites. It wasn't their buffness or thinness that attracted my attention. It was his baby daughter strapped to his back while he did pull-ups; and the crazy exercises like 20" box jumps (exactly what it sounds like people. Jumping onto a box that is 20" high...over and over); and the gym dogs (actual canines) who hung around the gym; and the pictures of little kids using kettlebells and doing squats and box jumps right along with their parents (how many gyms do you know that let children under 16 in?); and the fact that every Crossfit gym is basically just a skeleton warehouse with free weight equipment in it (no machines other than the rower).

Then the hubs actually did one of the workouts...and he wouldn't shut up about it. Not that I really wanted him to because I love seeing him get fired up about stuff. Then he started going to their website and watching videos and looking at pictures, and because I couldn't resist watching videos of people doing things I'd never heard of (a muscle up), I watched over his shoulder. And then I noticed something.

Maybe you noticed it, too.

Fern, the woman in the video...isn't your typical gym woman. I'd spent my life in gyms (and malls, and restaurants, and schools, and sitting in my own bedroom) trying to figure out how to "look" like the typical gym woman: too thin, make-up, improper technique, hours of cardio, etc. All it got me was 14 years of anorexia sub-type purging.

I started watching more of these videos on the Crossfit website of women doing these amazing things...and each one of them had a different body-type. And then the hubs found this article.

I was hooked. I have been a Crossfit woman for just under 3 weeks, but for the first time in over 2 decades, I'm not worried about my weight. For the first time ever, I walk into the gym and my self-esteem doesn't plummet because of all the "other" women there, but rather grows based on what I am about to accomplish. For the first time ever, I am focusing not on looking like someone, but on doing something. And for the first time ever, I actually FEEL my body getting more than just strong...it's functionable.

Now don't get me wrong...I can't do a muscle up (they recommend not even trying a muscle up until you can do 15 pull-ups and 15 dips). But one day, I will. And I'll post the video of it with some cool captions and killer mood music.

My first goal? One unassisted pull-up.

See you on youtube.

Red Tape

We have spoken with 2 congressmen, 2 senators, a governor, 2 agencies, and 4 attorneys. In addition, friends who know people involved with children's services in Georgia and other states, have asked for help. Friends have asked personal attorneys for advice and help with our situation. The answer is always the same.

What happened is a travesty. Someone should have looked at the bigger picture and seen that these boys were happy, healthy, and thriving; but they didn't. Legally, the boys cannot be placed back in their home.

It would seem the bureaucratic red tape is strong enough to bind reason, logic, and sensibility.

The question that remains is exactly what IS happening as a result of all this.

With our case:

We know nothing about the boys and where they are except that they are together and not in this city. Basically, as a result of policy, they were uprooted again, but this time, in addition to changing schools and homes, they changed cities.

They once had our last name. They now have their birth name.

They were enrolled in baseball. They are no longer part of their team.

They had a family. They are now in foster care...again.

We are scheduled to say goodbye to them tomorrow.

The Office of the Child Advocate (OCA), which exists to make sure that the Department of Family and Children Services (DFCS)*** really does serve the best interest of families, has called to let us know they are investigating.

The head of DFCS for the state called this week to say that her attempts to contact our county office have yielded nothing. It was a “courteous call” to let us know she hadn't forgotten about our case, but she has not been able to actually talk with anyone at the county office (Had I not been so emotionally spent at the time, I would have said something snarky like, “Welcome to the club”).

With us:

Emotionally, every day gets “easier.” The only thing keeping us sane is the strength we are given by the prayers of everyone who has rallied behind us and the truth that God knows, understands, defends, loves, holds, and controls everything.

I have begun the process for medical clearance with the military. Basically, that means I have filled out a ton of paperwork and had doctors and dentists fill out a ton of paperwork, and am waiting to appear before a panel of a doctor, a mental health professional, and some other person to discuss said paperwork and prove that I am medically capable of accompanying my husband on an overseas assignment.

We are trying to sell a house in a dying market. UGH!

We are trying to remember what it is like to be a family of two.

“I was made for this.”

That's what I told my therapist about one month after our boys came home. Now, in the aftermath of the disrupted placement, I'm remembering that meeting, and trying to figure out what happened. And I'm still trying to figure out how to live when the world just doesn't seem to be spinning correctly.

***Most states just call it the Department of Family Services. In light of our current reality, I find it interesting that Georgia distinguishes between family and children, as though they were two separate issues. Speaks volumes, people.

Susan G. Komen Donation Page

Check it out!

How I Deal

I'm a song writer. I wouldn't venture to say I am a good one, but God ministers to me through music and words.

I tell you this not to float my boat, toot my own horn, or even shamelessly promote myself. I tell you this because I haven't been able to write anything since my whole world blew up three weeks ago. In that time, we have talked to 4 attorneys, 2 agencies, a congressman's aide and the governor's office. Because we admit to breaking the policy, we have no case. As such, our family of 2 that became a family of 5, is now a family of 2...again. We don't even really remember how that works, and honestly we feel like the world isn't quite spinning correctly.

The only thing we know for sure is that God is faithful. His love never fails. And we are holding him to His promise that He defends the cause of the orphan and is a father to the fatherless because our sons are back in foster care.

And since I really can't find words to express the grief that comes with losing my sons, I'll just post this video of my latest song. It's not a perfect video, but you'll get over it and the essence of the song is there.

He Is

I raise my hands up and lift up the name of Mighty God
I can't see in front of me but I believe He's worthy of this
I will cry out this praise loud and bow down and lay my crown at His feet
And rest in the given that He is my strength when I am weak

He's the only thing constant, the only thing sure
Nothing compares to his enduring love that remains
when the well has run dry
He lived and He died and bled mercy and grace
for the lonely who ache and the lost and afraid
the helpless, the hurting, the hopeless who call on His name

He is
He was
And He will be forever (mine)

Alpha Omega
Provider Sustainer
My Fortress My Shelter
My Rock and My Healer
My Savior Redeemer
My Grace all sufficient
My God and My King who is Risen

Holy and Righteous
Faithful and Matchless
My Witness My Father
My Judge and My Keeper
Spotless Perfection
My Soul's Resurrection
My God and My King who is Risen

"The Shaw 5" Letter Writing Campaign

The Story:

When our 3 sons were placed in our home for adoption, we encountered many behavioral issues that we have yet to share. Now is the time to share those.

In school, they were threatening teachers, bullying and fighting peers and classmates, wandering off on school grounds, and refusing to follow basic safety measures at the school. They were failing academically.

Our two oldest sons were unresponsive to discipline measures we used, including the monster timeout. Though many of these measures would work for a week or two, old behaviors would resurface. These boys often retaliated to discipline by damaging our house and property and urinating on walls, floors, garbage cans, etc.

Our oldest son was physically aggressive with me. When Tim traveled, he often hit, kicked, and wrestled me, telling me he didn't have to do what I said. We tried everything. By the end, he was sleeping on the floor, with only enough clothes to fill a hamper.

Every time we approached The Department of Family and Children Services and asked what we were to do, they said, "We don't know. Figure out how to parent those boys." On the advice of our therapist and a veteran foster parent with whom DFCS had connected us, we began spanking. The change was instantaneous.

The defiance ceased. The boys began progressing in school. The principal, who has known our oldest since he was in alternative school 2 years ago, has said he is a completely different child. The teachers noted that our boys were improving. And the school knew the discipline measures we were using at home. They were supportive.

On Tuesday, for reasons about which we can only speculate, our oldest boys volunteered the information to the case worker. Our therapist believes it was an attempt on their part to regain control and to hurt us. The result was completely unexpected.

On Friday morning, DFCS removed our boys from our home and placed them back in foster care. By their own admission, they believe we are the best placement for the boys, but because we broke policy, they removed the boys.

The boys told the case worker that they STILL wanted to live here even though they were being spanked. DFCS still removed them.

The school principal told DFCS they were making the biggest mistake and jeopardizing our family. DFCS still removed them.


The Call:

We have no idea the difference it will make, but someone suggested a letter writing campaign. If you support our decision, and believe that DFCS has made a mistake, and you want to do more, write a letter.

All we ask is that you remain calm. Do not do or say anything that might further jeopardize the future of these boys, as we are currently speaking with attorneys about suing for custody. We still do not know if that is the route we will take, but if we do, your letters will greatly help our efforts.

Our boys deserve a forever family that provides an environment of love and safety; one that will allow them to succeed against the odds. We ARE that family.

Send your letters to:


Houston County DFCS
ATTN: Heidi Stollenwerck
92 Cohen Walker Drive
Warner Robins, Georgia 31088-2729

and/or contact Governor Sonny Purdue, an adoptive parent and advocate for adoption.

Good Borders Make Good Families***

For those who don't know, I was once an English teacher. I taught for one reason: the Aha! Moment. That moment when little brain synapses finally connect and the student, whether s/he is 12 or 28, understands.

This week, my boys have been on winter break, and the hubs has been kicking it military style, which basically means I have held down the fort with ALL. THREE. BOYS. AT. HOME. And any mother of boys knows that Downtime = Bad Attitudes and Broken Stuff; so we've been busy in order to keep everyone sane and happy. One of the many projects we are working on this week is repairing the red brick borders that the boys have knocked over...the ones I spent days measuring, placing, and shaping so that the backyard looked more like a backyard and less like a layer of underbrush.

We often tell our boys, “Have fun. Don't be stupid. Be boys. If you break something, fix it.” And that is exactly what we are doing.

While Bubby (formerly known as Boo) raked the front yard and Little Man picked up trash, Middle Man and I fixed the border. I dug the trench, we worked together to place the stones, and he packed the dirt around them. About half-way through, an insightful conversation transpired:

MM: This is hard work, but it's kinda fun to do it together.

Me: Yep.

MM: It's going really fast. We're already half-way done.

Me: Yep. Hard work is always easier if we work together. I wouldn't necessarily call it fun, but it has to be done, so here we are.

MM: It looks really good.

Me: And that's the best part of hard work...being able to see how it looks when you are done.

MM: I like it.

AHA!

And I didn't even need a lesson plan, people. In one hour, this scrawny little 7-year-old learned a valuable lesson in teamwork and hard work. AND HE LIKED IT! I imagine every time he sees that border, he'll stand a little taller and walk a little prouder because HE was a part of it.

What about you and your kids? What's the best Aha! Moment you've shared together?

***In case you didn't catch the reference, here.

Winter Storm 2010

The forecasters predicted snow. So the schools closed. And hubs and I laughed and laughed because this is Georgia, people. And I am not referring to the country.

When we woke up the next day and no snow had fallen, all we heard from the boys was, "When?!" And we kept telling them, the weatherman said 2:00, but it probably won't snow. 2:00 came and went, and still no snow. Then, at 2:30, something really weird happened.

Little bitty flakes of white began falling from the sky. And soon our yard looked like this:


Having experienced Midwestern snow on more than one occasion (the kind they measure in feet) we figured we better carpe diem because our boys had never. seen. snow.

This is me, pelting my son with a snowball, as hard as I could. Having never been in a snowball fight, he didn't realize how bad they hurt, and he was beaning everyone left and right. I finally retaliated, as did hubs, except hubs was even meaner. He aimed for the neck and showed him how it feels when an icy snowball explodes into your shirt collar and melts into your undershirt. Yep, we are all about making the experience real:


And there are few times a mom can "abuse" her son and get away with it. Snow days are just one of those times (I promise he laughed through the whole thing, even when I shoved snow down his shirt):


And two of the boys catching flakes:


And the Welsh Corgi, whose instincts for snow took over, even if just for a day. She LOVED the snow, which is great because there is lots of it in Germany:


And the snow just kept falling. The flakes got bigger, and before you know it, we had this:


and this:


And the boys got to eat this:


That's snow, in a bowl, with Tang sprinkled on top.

We are convinced that God made it snow just for us. If we've learned anything about God, it's that He knows how to celebrate (if that statement isn't true for you, I recommend learning more about God). In spite of all the hardships these past 5 months, God has given this family moments to celebrate a bunch of "firsts." Eventually, when the boys are old enough not to hate us, and they have finished plotting our demise (you know, when they're 30), they will look back on this year and realize just how pivotal it was to building our family. Families are built on firsts. We missed so many of them: the first tooth, the first step, the first word; but we have experienced many firsts like the Winter Storm of 2010. Before the night was over, our boys had experienced homemade hot chocolate, sledding (yes...it snowed that much), that painful first snowball to the face, doughnuts in the parking lot (their screams of joy were so loud, I could hear them all the way across the lot, where I waited safely, ready to call 911 should the vehicle flip), and the joy of spending a snow day with a family, snuggled on the couch under quilts and sucking on sweet-tarts.

The Man of the House

As a military wife and mother of three boys, I am forever battling seemingly innocent statements that well-meaning teachers and neighbors say to my boys when my husband travels:

“You're the man of the house now.”

There is one man of our house. I'm married to him. He's 35 years old, 6 feet tall, and weighs 210 pounds. And even when the military sends him away for a few weeks, he's STILL the man of the house; and it would be really helpful if everyone would quit confusing my 9-year-old.

See, Boo has a complex. A very understandable, but nevertheless disturbing complex. He's parentified. Because his birth mother was unable to care for him or his siblings, he, as the oldest, became the adult. Now, keep in mind, he entered foster care at the age of 6, which basically means that when most children were coloring outside the lines, watching Sesame Street, and learning letters, he was fixing dinner, cleaning house, and taking care of the family.

Now, at the age of 9, he has two parents who meet the family needs, stripping him from the very identity he has known. He literally has no idea how to be a kid. This parentification manifests in a variety of ways:

• ODD: Oppositional Defiant Disorder...which stems from a pervading belief that he is EQUAL to, and often more capable than, the adults in his life. As a result, he doesn't see the need to follow the rules that adults place on him.

• A complete lack of trust, coupled with an intense feeling of indestructibility. He doesn't trust adults to keep him safe, but at the same time, he will hitch a ride with a complete stranger because he is convinced he can take care of himself.

• Intense anger toward anyone who tries to “control” him.

• Undermining parental authority where his brothers are concerned. If we tell Little Man he can't have a snack, Boo will simply get him one or share his with him. He doesn't feel the need to ask permission to give his brother a piece of candy, even if that candy has proven to be a choking hazard and we have told him not to do so.

Now, when the hubs has to travel, this parentification is magnified by those individuals who encourage him to be “the man of the house.” In his mind, this reinforces the idea that his mother (yes, that would be me) isn't in charge and doesn't have the right to tell him what to do; and if she does tell him what to do, he simply doesn't have to listen. Couple this with his anger at his “absent” father and his fears of abandonment, and you get one very aggressive little boy.

We handle these situations the best we can, and the psychologist, psychiatrist, and therapist assure us that as he feels more secure and lets go of his need to parent, this aggression will subside. But in the meantime, I would simply ask one thing of everyone who suggests that my Boo is “the man of the house” when hubs is away:

SHUT UP AND LET ME PARENT!!!!

Child Safety Fail

Because nothing screams "I Love You" more than leaving your baby on some railroad tracks...with balloons.

The F--- Word

When we knew we would be adopting an older child, we joked about what it would be like the first time our child dropped the F-bomb. We knew its appearance was inevitable. I always hoped that I would handle it rather nonchalantly, primarily because I have dropped my fair share.

It happened at approximately 6:30...and then again at 6:30:27...and again at 6:30:35. And it kept happening for the next 30 minutes or so, peppered with some other fine profane specimens.

And you know what? It was cathartic. I have never been more relaxed...more focused...more in love with my son...even if he did call me a crazy f***ing white b**** who....well, you get the idea.

I won't lie either. I brought it out of him. It NEEDED to come out of him. I am no stranger to anger. I held mine in for years and it almost killed me...literally...but that's another post. So when I saw the warning signs, I knew something had to give. And sometimes, kids dealing with anger are so afraid of the result that they will stuff the emotion until it can't be controlled. And sometimes, they need a little nudge in a safe environment where they can throw caution to the wind and get it all out. That's the environment I provided...and it didn't take much.

So for 30 minutes (maybe more) I let him scream and yell and get it all out. Five months of suppressed street kid came spewing out of that cute little mouth. Five months of street kid that he had been trying to hide and deny.

And by the grace of God, I never yelled back. I just told him the truth when spit out a lie, which really just made him more angry. It went something like this...sans profanity (you're welcome):

You don't love me. Yes, I do.

You're gonna send me back. No, I'm not.

Quit lying to me. I'm not.

You're crazy. Yes, a little.

You keep saying you love me but you don't. Yes, I do.

And this went on and on, in circles. Until somehow we ended up in the bathroom, me hugging him from behind:

Get your hands off me.

I'm hugging you. I can't hug you and let go at the same time. Do you want me to let go?

No.

And when it was over, he told me he hated that he said all those things, and I told him I didn't. I told him that the 9-year-old street kid that swore at me was the real kid I fell in love with. I have always known he was in there and I'm glad he showed up. And I explained that I was surprised it took 5 months.

We shared some very poignant, Hollywood-esque moments after that. At one point, he actually wiped my tears and said, “Mama, you ARE strong enough.” I kid you not. And then we went and picked up his brothers, whom I had sent to the neighbor's house for obvious reasons, walking arm in arm, crying and laughing, across the moonlit lawn.

And then we all ate chocolate cake. Seriously. Because chocolate makes everything better.

The Goodnight Song

Preface: This post contains music theory references that I simply do not have time to define.

Long before we had kids, the hubs and I made up some lyrics to the lullaby song. We knew it had lyrics, but couldn't remember, so we made up some of the stupidest words ever. Little did we know that this song would become part of the nightly routine for our boys. They LOVE it. The hubs changes it up every now and then, and it doesn't really matter that the number of syllables outnumbers the allotted number of beats in the phrase. He just crams them all in or adds a 7/4 measure (for all you music geeks).

One night, out of the blue, when hubs reached the end, our 3-year-old broke out into his own tag ending...and now, every night, he changes it up. We never know what he's gonna come up with, but we do know that even if he changes key initially, he finds his way back to the original key with a V-I ending.

The Goodnight Song

Go to sleep. Go to sleep.
Go to sleep my big, huge boy Little Man**
It is late and you are tired, so just close your eyes and dream.
When you open your eyes, the sun will be awake.

Tag ending (usually in half-time and sung by Little Man):

and I will go potty and get back in bed and my brothers will go to school

or

and I will go potty and get back in bed and ride my bike

Usually the potty and bed part stay the same. After that you never know what's gonna come out. Sheer cuteness, folks. Just ask Webster.

***Obviously, in "real" life, we use his name, but the innerwebs gets his nickname.

Homemade Laundry Detergent

By request, I am posting this recipe for Super Cheap, Super Awesome, Homemade Laundry Detergent.

You will need a 3 Quart pot to melt the soap, a grater, and a 5 gallon bucket with lid to store the final product.

Ingredients:

1 bar Fels Naptha laundry soap, grated
1 cup Arm & Hammer Super Washing Soda
3/4 cup Borax

Combine soap and 4 cups water in pot and melt over low heat, stirring occasionally. While the soap is melting, fill 5 gallon bucket with 3 gallons of warm water. Dissolve Borax and Washing Soda in bucket of water. Pour melted soap mixture into bucket and stir until thoroughly blended. Cover and let sit over night. The detergent will solidify on top of a layer of water. Stir until blended. The final product will be a gloppy mixture (for lack of better way of describing it).

Use 1-1.5 cups per load depending on amount of dirt and size of load.

A few notes of my own:

• The original recipe calls for only 1/3 bar of soap. I use a full bar to make a super concentrated detergent. My husband is military and I have three boys, so I REALLY need something that will remove odors and stains.
• You can use any bar of soap, but I have found that Fels Naptha and Zote (available at a Mexican grocery store) work best.
• I stir with a slotted spoon because it helps break up the final product better.
• If you like scent to your detergent, just add 1oz of pure extract of your favorite scent, available at Hobby Lobby or other craft store. Or just use Fabric Softener.
• I actually marked the water level on the bucket so I wouldn't have to measure every time.