Cathartic journaling of an adoptive mom.
Latest Posts
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Familiarity with kids
Little kids made me uncomfortable as an adolescent and young adult. I felt no desire to hold them or to interact with them. For the most part I didn’t understand them, and as far as I could remember I was just not around babies at all. Though as a little girl, I played mommy for…
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Exploring nature on a whim
In college I longed to go explore beautiful Romania. But I can count on one hand how many times I did that. I love nature, I enjoy hiking, but I was in a pretty lazy crowd. Only three guys had cars, and the logistics of traveling were otherwise complicated. And the days, the weeks, the…
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Rugă
Cand ma asez seara tarziu in pat, si o aud in surdina pe Jackie cum ofteaza in somn, nu mai am cuvinte, desi gandurile alearga mai cu viteza.
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Wisdom of expression
It’s easier and easier to impart judgment. We asses the world, we make decisions about it, we look at it subjectively and objectively. No matter.
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Innocence
I get the best ideas for my book when I’m driving alone, or late at night, after I’ve settled in bed. It’s harder than I thought to streamline and consolidate all my ideas, to narrow it all down. Simple is better. I love structure. This blog has none, no rhyme or reason. But it’s a…
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November warmth
It is a special season and we are finally wise enough to know it’s a limited time. Kids will grow older, we will allow ourselves to be stolen by others’ needs, wants and expectations. I sure hope we will stand strong, and root our hearts and minds into Eternity. But we can’t plan for others.…
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Her dream last night
Jackie wakes up cheerful and rested. As of late she tells us what she dreamt about. The last few times there were boats in her dream; and her dreams are pretty epic.
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Through her eyes
The best way to empathize is to put myself in my daughter’s shoes, to see the journey through her eyes. I often quote her wittiness. So why not tell her story the way I remember processing the world when I was her age.
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Community
Why do I share such vulnerable thoughts? Because as time passes, and I read back, the raw experiences are most treasured.
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The grief box
I haven’t found my words yet. The irony doesn’t escape me that I have to have such conversations face to face. Yesterday I cried. As the sense of irritation turned into deep sadness. Then I went to one of my last post adoption support group meetings.
