This post, as with most of my posts, is unfiltered, discombobulated, and sincere - not to mention unusually lengthy. To anyone with an "English" sense, these are all rough drafts. Never do I sit down brainstorm my writing. I just write. Here is tonight's result:
It’s been over a year now since we’ve had the kids. Fifteen months, to be precise.
When we first decided to foster Team Billings (and eventually adopt them) we were lauded by many as Saints. My wife is always told, by people in her foster licensing class, that there will be a special place in Heaven for us. Which is odd, because I thought Heaven in general was supposed to be special enough.
Anyway, her and I will have the Jesus - V.I.P. Lounge, courtesy the adoption of a sub 5-year old sibling group.
A bold move indeed, to adopt three kids. Remember, I wanted a girl, and my wife wanted a boy, so we settled for two boys and a girl. It hasn’t been easy since. And there isn’t a day that goes by where I’m not envious of parents with only one or two kids. Three complicates things quite a bit. I suppose it’s the equivalent of having one or two kids as a single parent, but however you cut it, three is tough.
But a married couple, with one kid (or even two)? Count your blessings people.
I knew parenting wouldn’t be easy. But most parents have some type of transition period – usually a birth (of a single child) to help ease them into parenthood. As far as Kris and I, two professionals with loads of experience with children, we find ourselves on the ropes daily. We take unbelievable punishment.
I work at a job where it’s take, take, take – question, question, question – teach me, teach me, teach me; and I come home to an environment where it’s take more, take more, take more - question more, question more, question more - teach more, teach more, teach more.
In a lot of ways we are a single couple fending for ourselves. The bulk of our blood and old friends are across the country. So it’s not like the kids can spend the night at Grandma’s house while mom and dad take a breather (which we often need to do). That can’t happen here.
At ages three, four, and five – they’re at a crucial stage in their lives. And I caught myself today saying to my wife how unappreciative, spoiled, and greedy our children have become (or already were). Neither of us can believe this, though, since the only thing we feel like we do all day long is yell at them and count down from five.
My mom always says to me that she would watch me and my brother at night as we slept, and she would feel so bad – she would feel like such a terrible parent – because all she did all day was yell, yell, yell.
I reassure her that – while I certainly remember her temper – I don’t remember seeing it all the time. I remember the good, like any kid will. And there was a lot of good.
Despite these words from my own mother, I can’t help but feel guilty about the way I treat them: I certainly don’t abuse them. Well, not in the physical sense. But, like my mother, my temper is short and quick. I feel unappreciated, both at home and at work - and that only contributes to the distress.
With school it’s a simple matter of feeling betrayed or left out to dry at a time when I had expended all I had to help those around me. I felt like, after that 2009 season, I had nothing left. That’s why I walked away from track following my early (untimely) departure from cross country. However, there were no pick-me-ups, I was merely pushed aside without the courtesy of being notified or consulted with.
It was all logistics: I impeded on their employment plans – they needed Coach X for season Y and that was it. The hire was made, and with it promises were broken. You know, anything I did prior to me quitting cross country and backing out of track usurped all. Loyalty was a non issue. I was an obstacle. I pissed some people off with track (which, not coincidentally, took place during my foster classes and the onset of Rogue’s epilepsy) and was replaced. Period. End of story.
There was no, “What can we do to keep you to stay?” or “What prompted this decision?” or “We’re here to help you in any way possible,” or “The job is yours if you change your mind, even if it’s the day before the season.”
Actually, I did hear that last quote, but it was pretty much "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." It didn’t matter, because the AP who said the job was mine left the next year along with the promise he had made. Those in power remaining simply turned their backs, and did their best to avoid confrontation.
With a guy like me, I initially thought I was hurt because I didn’t get my ego stroked like I expected to (and deserved to). But, as I sit here tonight and think about parenting, I realize I just wanted someone to care. I think maybe that’s why I took it so hard (and continue to take it hard). My co-coach at the time seemed to care the most. She was ultimately powerless to help (although I will never forget she tried.) But I followed my Friendship Script, pissed her off too, and permanently ruined any chances at ever coming back.
(A lot of my conversations with her last year sounded like this: "If you become Dean I'd like to take your spot." Well, she became Dean, and I didn't take her spot. Although I am pleased with the person who did, at least.)
At home my kids are too young to pull me aside and give me a hug, or offer me a moment to say, “Hey Dad, what you and mom did was amazing. I can’t thank you enough for becoming our parents. And, by the way, you were an amazing coach and are a truly remarkable teacher, despite what anyone says…” I’m sure that will happen one day – on many occasions. And I wish I could hear it sooner than later, but that just isn’t how things work.
So much of who we are or how we perceive our lives (good or bad) correlates with how much we care for others and how much we are cared for. This worries me because, according to this equation, my self-perception is dim.
My wife, who I’ve gone on record saying many times before, is my lifeline. I shiver to think of who, what, or where I’d be without her. But she can’t burden the “Care Load” all by herself. No one person can.
So pay it forward, people. Go out and adopt three kids, or whatever, but pay it forward. Tell the person next to you how much you appreciate them. Stand up for them, especially if you’re in a position of power and have the ability to help.
Don’t piss your bed and just assume Mom is going to wash your sheets. Because I pissed my bed a ton, and have been sleeping in it for awhile now.
(While I won't - or try not to - use any names, there has been a great deal of support and compliments sprung my way. Mostly from students, and graduates with a few colleagues thrown in for good measure. I wanted to just recognize them "in general" for taking the burden off my wife, and helping a guy back on his feet. Your texts, letters, and conversations with me says it all. As anyone will agree, it's good to know that we're not alone.)
It’s been over a year now since we’ve had the kids. Fifteen months, to be precise.
When we first decided to foster Team Billings (and eventually adopt them) we were lauded by many as Saints. My wife is always told, by people in her foster licensing class, that there will be a special place in Heaven for us. Which is odd, because I thought Heaven in general was supposed to be special enough.
Anyway, her and I will have the Jesus - V.I.P. Lounge, courtesy the adoption of a sub 5-year old sibling group.
A bold move indeed, to adopt three kids. Remember, I wanted a girl, and my wife wanted a boy, so we settled for two boys and a girl. It hasn’t been easy since. And there isn’t a day that goes by where I’m not envious of parents with only one or two kids. Three complicates things quite a bit. I suppose it’s the equivalent of having one or two kids as a single parent, but however you cut it, three is tough.
But a married couple, with one kid (or even two)? Count your blessings people.
I knew parenting wouldn’t be easy. But most parents have some type of transition period – usually a birth (of a single child) to help ease them into parenthood. As far as Kris and I, two professionals with loads of experience with children, we find ourselves on the ropes daily. We take unbelievable punishment.
I work at a job where it’s take, take, take – question, question, question – teach me, teach me, teach me; and I come home to an environment where it’s take more, take more, take more - question more, question more, question more - teach more, teach more, teach more.
In a lot of ways we are a single couple fending for ourselves. The bulk of our blood and old friends are across the country. So it’s not like the kids can spend the night at Grandma’s house while mom and dad take a breather (which we often need to do). That can’t happen here.
At ages three, four, and five – they’re at a crucial stage in their lives. And I caught myself today saying to my wife how unappreciative, spoiled, and greedy our children have become (or already were). Neither of us can believe this, though, since the only thing we feel like we do all day long is yell at them and count down from five.
My mom always says to me that she would watch me and my brother at night as we slept, and she would feel so bad – she would feel like such a terrible parent – because all she did all day was yell, yell, yell.
I reassure her that – while I certainly remember her temper – I don’t remember seeing it all the time. I remember the good, like any kid will. And there was a lot of good.
Despite these words from my own mother, I can’t help but feel guilty about the way I treat them: I certainly don’t abuse them. Well, not in the physical sense. But, like my mother, my temper is short and quick. I feel unappreciated, both at home and at work - and that only contributes to the distress.
With school it’s a simple matter of feeling betrayed or left out to dry at a time when I had expended all I had to help those around me. I felt like, after that 2009 season, I had nothing left. That’s why I walked away from track following my early (untimely) departure from cross country. However, there were no pick-me-ups, I was merely pushed aside without the courtesy of being notified or consulted with.
It was all logistics: I impeded on their employment plans – they needed Coach X for season Y and that was it. The hire was made, and with it promises were broken. You know, anything I did prior to me quitting cross country and backing out of track usurped all. Loyalty was a non issue. I was an obstacle. I pissed some people off with track (which, not coincidentally, took place during my foster classes and the onset of Rogue’s epilepsy) and was replaced. Period. End of story.
There was no, “What can we do to keep you to stay?” or “What prompted this decision?” or “We’re here to help you in any way possible,” or “The job is yours if you change your mind, even if it’s the day before the season.”
Actually, I did hear that last quote, but it was pretty much "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." It didn’t matter, because the AP who said the job was mine left the next year along with the promise he had made. Those in power remaining simply turned their backs, and did their best to avoid confrontation.
With a guy like me, I initially thought I was hurt because I didn’t get my ego stroked like I expected to (and deserved to). But, as I sit here tonight and think about parenting, I realize I just wanted someone to care. I think maybe that’s why I took it so hard (and continue to take it hard). My co-coach at the time seemed to care the most. She was ultimately powerless to help (although I will never forget she tried.) But I followed my Friendship Script, pissed her off too, and permanently ruined any chances at ever coming back.
(A lot of my conversations with her last year sounded like this: "If you become Dean I'd like to take your spot." Well, she became Dean, and I didn't take her spot. Although I am pleased with the person who did, at least.)
At home my kids are too young to pull me aside and give me a hug, or offer me a moment to say, “Hey Dad, what you and mom did was amazing. I can’t thank you enough for becoming our parents. And, by the way, you were an amazing coach and are a truly remarkable teacher, despite what anyone says…” I’m sure that will happen one day – on many occasions. And I wish I could hear it sooner than later, but that just isn’t how things work.
So much of who we are or how we perceive our lives (good or bad) correlates with how much we care for others and how much we are cared for. This worries me because, according to this equation, my self-perception is dim.
My wife, who I’ve gone on record saying many times before, is my lifeline. I shiver to think of who, what, or where I’d be without her. But she can’t burden the “Care Load” all by herself. No one person can.
So pay it forward, people. Go out and adopt three kids, or whatever, but pay it forward. Tell the person next to you how much you appreciate them. Stand up for them, especially if you’re in a position of power and have the ability to help.
Don’t piss your bed and just assume Mom is going to wash your sheets. Because I pissed my bed a ton, and have been sleeping in it for awhile now.
(While I won't - or try not to - use any names, there has been a great deal of support and compliments sprung my way. Mostly from students, and graduates with a few colleagues thrown in for good measure. I wanted to just recognize them "in general" for taking the burden off my wife, and helping a guy back on his feet. Your texts, letters, and conversations with me says it all. As anyone will agree, it's good to know that we're not alone.)
