Thursday, July 24, 2014

Psychology of the run





My head is absolutely swimming. There's not much to say so I'll talk that photo up there. That's me. Running. Running during a recent crossfit workout. Before crossfit, I never ran at all.

The work out was run 800 m, do a bunch of weights and push ups, run 800 mg, do a bunch of SERIOUSLY? more weights and push ups, and then run 800 m. This is the last 800 m. I was soaked through. The tank top came off for the first time ever.

This photo was the last 800 m. I didn't want Mr. Hall to run beside me. I didn't want his constant stream of encouragement. I didn't want this photo taken.

I'm glad Mr. Hall didn't listen. That photo is BADASS!

Running is hard. It's long and plodding. There's nothing you can do but plow through it, one step after another. Burning lungs and all.

We got an email about our foster daughter. They'll be terminating the birth mother's rights and they want to meet with us to talk about 'adoption'. And now I'm losing my mind.

It's not a big surprise, this development. The birth mother has had a lot of time to get it together and she hasn't. The foster daughter needs permanence. I want to be her permanent. Mr. Hall is not so sure. It's killing me all of this.

Mr. Hall doesn't want to stop being foster parents. He wants to take kids in, work on their issues and send them back to their mom. He has energy for these kids that we don't even know yet. If we adopt this shuts things down. The other option is helping her transfer to another adoptive family.

I want to be honest and look through my last few years. I had two miscarriages. This plays a role here, I know it does. My healing has moved forward in leaps and bounds but it'll never be fully healed. Not until I'm in heaven with John and Chloe in my arms.

But oh my God this girl we call foster daughter. I can't even breathe if we're offered the chance to be her real mommy and daddy. 

So now, I pray, on the knees and pray.....no matter what happens this race is a long one....with Mr. Hall beside me... taking pictures of my badassery.......



Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Mad Men, foster care and the rest


My love of Mad Men knows no bounds. Like everything else I like, I don't just like--I obsess. The season is over for now and nothing will appear until next year. I like how the final season is going. Don is starting become a human being.

The writer of this show, Matt Wiener, enjoys exploring the sequelae of ugly childhoods. Don is a child from a neglectful and abusive childhood. He was born a bastard and unwanted. He was molested in his early teens by a prostitute that lived in the same house. That house up there is a house of ill repute, his childhood home. He is showing the house to his children. Meta!

Neglectful and abusive childhoods cause a child to be centerless. They don't form a center from which we trust, seek out and reciprocate love. Don is not able to do this. He is a self centered and manipulative man. Good looking as he is, his suit is quite empty.



In the words of Queen Ellen, "He is all sizzle and no steak."

The steak that makes us who we are suppose to be. We are to exchange and be intimate. We are to love and get crazy together. It's a stupid, hard world out there and we need each other.

I place all of this in context of my foster daughter's life. She's been with us for 17 months now. Parenting her is somewhat like parenting my own kids. The evil one fights to come out, the kids give lip,  be disrespectful and display general childhood grumpery.

Then there is this:

"I don't want to be a child in your family.",  my foster daughter said to my husband last night.  I had sent her downstairs to brush her teeth. The signal for bedtime. She said, "Other families watch movies and stay up late. Other families don't have bedtimes.You guys are boring!" 

In her 6 year old mind,  she wishes we were like her mom and her other family. They stay up until 10 pm and watch movies. They have no rules or structure. I can't say I blame her, I'd want to live in Neverland too. Except Neverland is a nightmare. They do all sorts of things we don't do. Like smoke weed, stab each other, kill family dogs and do lengthy jail stays.

Her mom is currently in jail, in segregation  no less. Segregation means she can't even keep calm and behave so she's in a cell by herself. The more I know about this woman, the more I want to throw up. She's chaotic and violent. She has no center. She can't attach with others on any sort of healthy or sustainable level. My heart aches for this woman. I can't help but love and care for her because I love and care for her child. I pray for her.

It makes me mad because she's not going anywhere. If we adopt our foster daughter, she's not going to just die. She won't stay in seg for ever. She'll be there in the background. The Lord has a plan for this woman and we're becoming part of it.

I know what would fix this woman. I know what will fix my foster's daughter's yearnings to be free from rules and constraint. I know what will fix my anger and my husband's sadness about all of this.

Proverbs 3:5-6

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.
 
So I pray. I pray and pray and pray . . .

I pray that His love will come through us and form the center she needs not become like her mom. That'll be my start.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

The psychology of the clean and jerk

The clean and jerk

As a foster mom there is a lot of waiting, phone calls and endless nothing. I want to obsess. I want to reread the social worker's email and search for clues about things. I want to quiz my husband about every conversation he has with the guardian ad litem. I want to know what is going on besides nothing. Nothing but waiting and nothing decided and it's been over a year and it's going to be longer. Unless it isn't.

Obsessing over nothing is a large waste of my precious energy. And makes me neglect Mr. Hall.

So, this is what I'll do instead:

1. focus on calming the hell down. Breathing. Accepting. Moving on. Be still and know that I am.

2. Fill my obsessive needs with what I have going on right now. Right here. This includes the many kids I have and their various needs.

3. Play more youtube videos and dance all crazy like with the kids.

4. Focus on my crossfit training and marvel and my excellent clean and jerk skills. Every time I go to crossfit my heart explodes with awesome uplifting awesomeness. It helps me channel my crazy in ways I never knew possible.

5. Focus on competition training because holy crap! I'm going to be competing! I hope to add something to my team. I'm working extra hard to be an asset!!

6. Give Mr. Hall extra wifey love because he is worn down.

7. Go to church and try not to cry and cry anyway because I'm so overwhelmed with love.

8. Deeply and madly enjoy each dress I wear. I have so many dresses for summer!

9. Chase my toddler around.

10. Make a lot of food with shrimp.  And that tasty pink sauce that is on the sushi. That's good stuff, what is that anyway?

So yeah, that's what I'll do instead!



Friday, April 25, 2014

Let's pretend I'm in charge




Let's pretend I'm in charge.

Let's pretend that I get exactly what I want when it comes to my foster daughter. Since her birth family is not stepping up and/or nowhere near appropriate to care for her, she can be our daughter. For realises.

I can stop getting emails about her hair and how it's not done properly. I can stop looking up her mom's inmate status and future court activity. I can stop having her mom in our life, like some ghost haunting us. Crazy ghost with buckets of crazy she crazily pours on everything. I can set limits with visitations and start making rules of my own.


This is the hard part of foster care. We are in limbo. Nothing is moving forward or backwards. Nothing is set in place or outlined. Things change month from month. Laws, relatives, personal actions and non actions determine what happens next. Not me or Mr. Hall. So we wait, give the best mommy daddy care we can.

And then I start to dream.



I see a courtroom. I see my husband and I with her in hand. The judge goes through the paperwork and asks us if we want to be her mom and dad and we say yes. I facebook it. Her last name becomes ours. The following week we have an adoption party.



Until then. Or whatever else happens. I'll just be thankful for the strength I'm gaining. Thankful for the minutes, hours and days with her. Children are a gift from God. They are not hers,mine or ours.

I'm very thankful we've found each other. And really, very thankful I'm not in charge after all.



Tuesday, April 22, 2014

The bragging rights of Coraline




My foster daughter loves the movie Coraline. I find it creepy and unsettling. I'm sure you can wikipedia the plot but it goes something like this:

Coraline, the little girl pictured above, moves to a new city with her family. In her new house, she finds a door that leads to another family's house. The other mom makes cakes and cookies. She's odd and wildly permissive. Coraline shuttles between the two families. Eventually, things get super creepy. The other mom becomes possessive and morphs into spider. She traps Coraline and tries to sew buttons on her eyes. It's creepy and I can't watch it.

My foster daughter can't get enough of this movie. A thousand times I've asked her why, but no clear answer is found. I'm sure it has to do with her, living with us. I'm sure she can relate to this kid on the screen, going back and forth between two vastly different worlds. Two moms and  what not.

She does a lot of things I don't understand. She is a lot of things I don't understand. Everything from her hair to her way of tearing up napkins while she eats. I'm learning about her hair and we finally found a decent hair shop (read: black people salon). It's a struggle since I didn't birth her. I'm still learning how to operate her without triggering meltdowns and tantrums. It's a process and it's coming along.

One thing that she does really bugs me. It's the bragging. She constantly brags about her mom.  Whenever she spies something she likes, she claims her mom has it or has given it to her. For example she'll say, "My mom has that shirt" "My mom has that car" "My mom takes me to this park" "My mom buys that shampoo" "My mom has these socks".

The thing of it is, it's all lies. Her mom is in jail, facing some significant jail time. She'll be sentenced next month and it looks like her parental rights will be terminated. Termination of Parental Rights is the legal term. Her mom given over a year to get her act together and be a mom. She can't though. For a lot of reasons she can't.

So, when I hear my foster daughter brag about her mom, I get irritated. I am not proud of this. I realize she brags because she's scared and wants it to be true, this super mom in her head. I pray for the Lord to protect my heart. Anger is not helpful with any of this.

I'm mad at her mom. I want her mom to be a full grown human being. One that behaves without irrational actions. One that doesn't smoke weed or spend tons of money on crap. One that has a decent credit rating and doesn't depend on sugar daddies. One that doesn't strike out with violence. But--that's not going to happen.

So, I'm let my foster daughter brag till the cows come home. I'll be with her until she can't brag anymore. I let her talk, wax poetic and be whatever she needs to be. Because I'm her foster mom and I want to be something to brag about.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Psychology of the Snatch

This is Camille Leblanc-Bazinet showing us how it's done


The snatch is a weightlifting movement wherein the snatcher grabs a weight from the floor and hoists it overhead whilst squatting. Once everything is locked, as seen above, the snatcher stands the hell up.

Google for more detail if you want.

This week, my crossfit practice has been heart breaking. My head screams for me to sleep in before I leave for the gym. It's unrelenting these days, starting a good 12 hours before I go. SHUT UP BRAIN! IT'S NOT HAPPENING! WE'RE GOING! GET OVER IT!

Also of note, this month we're deep in the thick of pull up progressions. My goal is to improve my pull up capacity-which is zero. I'm not getting very far. pfft.

On Wednesday, we did death by thrusters. 'Death by' means  you have one minute to do one lift--like the thruster.

Thrust                                                ers



Then, the next minute you need to do two. Each minute means you do one more than the previous minute. Until you can't surpass the previous number. I was the first one out. BOOH :(

Sometimes I really REALLY suck at crossfit. I fell twice this morning doing my snatches. Butt to the dang floor! Sometimes it's all I can do not to fricking cry. And I can't cry because then I'd be the girl who cries. So I don't. There's no crying in crossfit!! I save that for the ride home. :)


The problem is, I'm starting to care about crossfit. This isn't someplace I go to put my earbuds in, hop on the ellipse and blank out. There is no TV to stare at. Its us, the mats, the bars and humble pie.

Right now I'm laying the foundation. Learning how to squat down and stand up. Learning how to fall and to fly. The weight will come. The pull ups will come. It's a process.

But, I need to remember, my badassery is already here.
                            

                                        Mrs. Hall, in the pony tail, showing us how it's done


Thursday, April 10, 2014

Happy in the dressing room


I had a moment in the dressing room last week. At my house, there is no full length mirror so it's quite a shock seeing myself in technicolor. The evidence of three, hard fought pregnancies is undeniable. Yet, I was quite pleased with myself. In fact, I was happy.

Imagine that. Happy in a dressing room.

I don't have a flat, concave belly. I don't have chisled anything. Yet, I'm pleased as punch. I never expected this. My goal was not to be the fat mom. That was my first and only goal.

I can't express the relief I have, not being the fat mom. At the park I'm wearing skinny jeans and crawling in the tubes with the kids. I'm trying to do pull ups on the monkey bars. I'm laughing and chasing my tiny kids. Pretending I'm a hungry monster trying to eat their toes. They squeal with wide eyed happiness. I don't feel exhausted or dehydrated. I feel strong and pretty. Mr. Hall gives me hugs and pats me on the tush. It's all very exciting.

Let me tell you about the dresses.

Downtown, there is a consignment store I've been eyeing for years. All manner of dresses and cool vintage wear. I've been coveting. Deeply, privately and with hope. Last week I was there and wow. I am a fox when dressed properly.

There was one dress I loved the most. It was from banana republic. Retro inspired, black and white pattern. There was a red dress so beautiful, it made me blush. The owner gave a frowny face. She loved those dresses too. "But I'm too big for them". But  I'm not. To the victor go the spoils.

This is my real life. I'm capable of lifting heavy things, hopping on boxes and jump rope a mile a minute. Nothing seems impossible now. I feel smoother and taller. And it's not going to stop.

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