http://www.cupcakestakethecake.blogspot.com/2012/09/life-is-piece-of-cake.html
I was selected as a guest blogger for Cupcakes Take the Cake! Yay! Please click the link above to read my post, and then PLEASE click the LIKE button on their website, so hopefully I will be asked back in the future. 🙂
(Of course, LIKEs here are always appreciated too. That goes without saying!)
I was feeling pretty spiffy (yes, I really said spiffy) in my new shirt from Loft…until I caught a glimpse of my reflection and thought “THERE’S Waldo!!” Hmmm, maybe that’s the reason the shirt was on sale at the outlet mall. (The photo is supposed to be my ‘YIKES, I look like Waldo face. But it looks more like a “YIKES, I’m turning into a fish face. I should have consulted a teenage girl for pointers on taking self-photos with my cell phone.)
Then I got to thinking what it would be like to be Waldo. To be right there in the middle of it all, but invisible at the same time. It might be fun to just be able to observe everything around you. To see what goes on when no one thinks you are there. To find solitude among the masses. To hide from the world for a while.
I think it would get lonely very quickly though and soon I’d be begging for someone to find me. “Hey! I’m over here!!! No, no, not there. That’s a red, white and blue beach ball. I’m over here, waving frantically. No, not there either. That is an American Flag waving.”
You’d never think someone like Waldo would be hard to find. Red and white striped shirt and hat with bright blue pants should easily be found an instant. But if everything around you is the same, it all blends in. It doesn’t stand out. It is overlooked.
Some days you want to be unique. Different. Noticed.
Other days you want to hide in plain sight. Like Waldo.
Now I will think of Waldo every time I wear that shirt. But maybe it will make me pause and ponder, “Do I want to be lost or found today???”
“In a minute.” How many times have I said that to my kids when they ask me to do something with them? Way too many.
Last night, a minute was the difference between a scary situation and a disastrous situation for Jim and Greg.
As they waited at a stop light, they suddenly had front row seats to a high-speed car chase. A car seemingly came out of nowhere, hightailing it into the intersection. As the driver attempted to turn at the high rate of speed, the car slid sideways, jumped the curb, started to roll, and ultimately slammed into an embankment.
Almost immediately, a police car followed in hot pursuit. The officer stopped and jumped out with his gun drawn. Jim could hear him yell, “Get down on the ground!” The driver put his hands up and flung himself out of the car, landing face down. The officer stood as still as a statue – gun still aimed – waiting for backup. (If you look closely at the photo, you can see both the gun and the guy sprawled on the ground.)
In a minute, the light would have turned green and Jim and Greg could have been in the middle of that intersection. In a minute, they might have been more than witnesses. In a minute, things may have turned tragic.
Greg got in trouble this week and I was lecturing him about it again last night. One of the last things I said before we parted was, “I’m so disappointed in you.” I meant I’m disappointed in that specific behavior. But I said “in you.” I shudder to think how those words would have haunted me if, in a minute, something terrible had happened. How I would have re-played in my mind every single time I responded “in a minute” to a request.
“Mom, will you play Battleship with me?” “In a minute.”
“Mom, will you make cookies with me?” “In a minute.”
“Mom, may we go to the mall?” “In a minute.”
Jim said when it happened, Greg just kept saying over and over “That was unexpecting. It was really unexpecting.” Then later he added, “We’ve had some unusual Daddy/Greg time before, but that was the most unusual-est!” When I asked him if he was scared, he replied “No! It was awesome!”
I love that he is still unjaded and innocent enough that he doesn’t comprehend what could have happened in that minute. That he doesn’t realize that life can change in a minute.
To rephrase a common quote, live each second to its fullest; you never know what the next minute may bring.
Greg, you are so right. Life is unexpecting. It is really unexpecting.
“Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly, leave the rest to God.” ~Ronald Reagan
Greg: Mooommm, Eric kicked me in the face!!!
Eric: No, I kicked you in the arm!!
Greg: Yeah, but that made my hand hit my face.
Eric: So….basically you punched yourself!
I am sick. A lot. I hide it. Well.
I try not to complain. I really do try. I tell myself that others have worse problems. I’m fortunate in many ways. But that doesn’t mean my problems aren’t important. So, for today, I’m giving myself permission to complain. A lot. I’m not hiding it. Not well.
I have a body full of bacteria and a weak immune system. I have lyme, and have also tested positive for all of the major co-infections that ticks carry. Lucky me got bitten by a tick with super powers. Oh, did I mention I also have lupus? And blood clotting issues that makes my blood the ideal environment for bacteria to thrive? When I get sick, I really do it right.
A recent illness required a trip to the ER. While lying around, I made a sick and tired list. It was therapeutic.
From a distance, the yellowed, typewriter written, tattered papers appear to be nothing impressive . But the information contained on those papers is what makes them amongst my most cherished possessions. It is the only window I have into an unknown part of my life. The only knowledge about my biological past. My adoption papers.
The sketchy information does not even come close to telling the entire picture about the beginning of my life, but it’s enough for me to read between the lines to create a story in my mind. Enough to take the blank slate and provide some understanding of the circumstances surrounding my birth and what makes me the person I am.
The first page of the paperwork contains details about my biological parents. The brief description – only a few lines total – is the most valuable information to me. I can peruse the traits and see glimpses of myself in the presentment, especially in the features and personality of my biological father. “Green eyes, dark brown naturally curly hair, dark complexion” could readily describe me. I like to think I also am somewhat “outgoing, happy-go-lucky and have a good sense of humor” which is how my biological father’s personality is portrayed.
My biological mother is also described as having brown hair but with brown eyes, and no curls. From reading her description, however, I know where I got my left-handedness. Drawing is listed as an interest. Perhaps that is where my son, Jake, got his love of art. Her personality is depicted as “moody, quiet and lazy.” I choose to envision that she was understandably moody because of the turmoil she was feeling over giving me up for adoption. She was uncharacteristically quiet. Pensive, wistfully wondering what “could have been” under different circumstances. She was not lazy, just weary. Fatigued and distressed about the toll pregnancy was taking on her body – and soul – for a baby she was not going to raise.
“Completed high school” is listed as the education for both, with the addition of “anticipates furthering her education” for my biological mother. From this, I deduced that the pregnancy occurred during their senior year of high school and I was born the October after they graduated. In another area of the paperwork, it states that pre-natal care began in mid-June. I concluded that the pregnancy was concealed from her classmates, and most likely her parents, until after graduation to reduce the embarrassment of her predicament. I wonder if either did go on to attend college after the adoption.
Some of the other tidbits of information tend to cause more questions than answers. The papers state that I wasn’t given baby formula for the first time until three days after birth. What happened during those first days of my life? Was I still with my biological mother during that time? What other explanation could there be for the delay in receiving formula? My adoption wasn’t finalized until the end of January, more than three months after I was born. I believe I was in a foster home during this time. Was I living at a private residence or a group home? Who were the kind people who took care of me? What were they like?
Most of the remaining information is mundane medical records and daily routines. But to me it is precious. I don’t have anyone with whom to discuss those first three months. No one to tell me how often I ate, how I reacted to bath time, that I made a “coo” sound when I laughed. These type-written words are all I have.
Will I meet my biological mother and father one day? Perhaps. There are so many questions that these papers can never answer. Maybe one day I will try to fill in the gaps left by the words that are not written. But for now, when I feel overwhelmed by all the unknown, I will pull out the worn, aged papers and look for a clue I may have previously missed. A clue to my biological past. A clue to my adoption story.
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You may have noticed I only reference the parents who created me as my biological mother and father. Not Mother and Father. Not Mom and Dad. I will always be grateful to the people described on those pages for making the difficult decision to give me to someone who could provide a better life for me. But my adoptive parents were, and always will be my Mom and Dad.
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I’m so excited that this post was featured on the Freshly Pressed page. Thanks WordPress for the recognition! http://wordpress.com/#!/fresh/
Text conversation after I discovered Jim’s accidental post on my blog (see “Publish = Blog Entry, Not Comment” for the story).
Me: You have made me laugh for the past hour. You MUST read my new blog entry. It is an explanation of “my” blog entry from this morning.
Jim: OK, but I have that look of horror on my face again.
Me: You should. Let’s just say I found your “comment.” And so did the rest of the blogging world. Go to momopolize.com to read it…NOT wordpress.com.
Jim (after reading blog): Does that make me a blogger?
Me: Sure. You are now a blogger.
Jim: Yeah! Maybe I’ll get that book deal. Blogging for idiots.
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Sorry, Jim. Looks like it’s not in the cards for you. Maybe “Commenting for Idiots?”
(photo from nulledtemplates.com)
Important warning to all bloggers: One must be sure to log out of WordPress on husband’s computer when finished. Or one may find a new mysterious blog entry next time one logs on.
My husband, Jim, finally decided to read Momopolize. “Gee honey, it only took you 3 weeks. Thanks.” Oops. I forgot, I promised to play nice. I meant “Gee honey, you took the time to read 3 weeks of blogs in one day. Thanks!!” After reading, he decided to post a complimentary comment about my new blog. Only he didn’t post a comment. He put his comment as a new blog post. And PUBLISHED it. For the world to see. So for everyone who viewed the new blog entry from earlier today titled “I hope no…”, now you have an explanation. I’m sure you’ve been wracking your brain all day trying to figure out the mystery.
At least now I know I’m not the most technologically challenged person in the family.
This was Jim’s “comment” blog entry seen ’round the world.
“I hope no one sees how long I’ve been reading this. I never realized how much I miss of my own family. What an interesting time from 2:30pm to 6:00pm each week day. I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you for all you do! Love you.”
I hope this dispels any rumors that I am narcissistic for posting my immense appreciation and love for myself.
Honey, repeat this 3 times: Don’t click “add new post.” Ever. Thanks for the kind comment though. I really do appreciate it. And for giving me my laugh for the day. And material. Lots of material for my blog. Writing my blog is easy. I simply regurgitate the antics of my family!
I’m not really a writer. I just play one in real life.
(7/30/12)