The Misguided Sainthood of Mrs. Kleiner

AGE TWO

2006-04-24T15:26:00.000-07:00

This is what hapens to your keyboard when you alow your todler to play at your desk. Stuf gets spiled in your keys and sudenly no key wil push down more than once and you can't use your backspace buton to erase.

Other than that, it's a suny lovely day. And I have the image of my swet destroyer-picking forget-me-nots and runing them to me in the sunshine. Life is god. (not as in diety but as in realy awesome ).

SHOT THROUGH THE HEART

2006-04-20T09:07:00.000-07:00

I took Nor in for what I suspected was an ear infection yesterday. I was wrong.

But guess what? While you're here why don't you catch up on all her vaccinations? You know you're behind right? (insert snide, condescending voice of annoyingly skinny pediatrician here)

I tried to explain that I had discussed it with my regular ped; that I had done research; that I had a plan and wasn't an ignoramus...but in the end I felt like an idiot and had them done. I was planning on doing them--I just wasn't prepared for them that day. You see, I need more preparation than Nor does. She just needs a few Dora stickers and a sucker and she's good to go. Me, I need a valium, or shot...of tequila or something. NONE of which I'm allowed to have. So I went cold turkey and let the nurse go for it.

It broke my heart. And last night when she was crying and saying her "pokey's hurt" it broke again. But today she is fine. She's munching on cereal and watching Dora and all is well. We have both mended.

I can't stop thinking about my niece. She's due to be born some time at the end of June. She does not have a name yet, but she is already causing quite a stir. You see, her heart is broken too. But there may not be a way to mend it.

I can't wait to meet her and yet she is so safe where she is I'd be fine if she stayed there indefinitley. My brother and my Jenny are handling themselves so beautifully it hurts to watch. I feel like a total idiot around them (saying all the wrong things, having too many oppinions, being a dummy most of the time) --but mostly it's because my grief and loss over this little girl is staggering. I look at her brother and I try to imagine her little face. I pray every second for a miracle. And I trust that she is created in the image of God and for His purposes. But my heart is still breaking.

I have never been good at dealing with grief. I think I've mentioned that before. I want to do it right this time. But I can't even handle watching Nor get shots. Let alone what lays ahead for this baby girl.

I need you God. I need your strength. I need your wisdom. I need anything you can send my way.

17 and COUNTING

2006-04-14T22:43:00.000-07:00

I had an ultrasound today. I even got a picture of baby Skeletor. Everything looks great. In fact, it was so real looking it blew my mind. I might actually have a baby at the end of this all. Thanks to you all for your support and love and for letting me BE. The last few weeks have been rough for many reasons, but it's amazing to have such dear friends to share it with.

Tonight we had a Good Friday service at church. I have not prepared for Easter in any spiritual, lenten, holy sort of way. At all. There WAS a trip to Costco and some plastic grass and candy was purchased this week--but I have not even thought about the death of Christ in any significant way this season. Even stranger--I was not moved in any way during the service tonight. I feel totally removed from the persecution and sacrifice of Christ. I am entrenched in my own world and the suffering I see around me. Sad. And tomorrow we have soccer, Easter preparations (the running around kind), cleaning the house and cooking. I should go now and read my Bible and try to engage in some way--but what I want to do is finish watching Capote. Hrghmph!

When did my soul shrivel up and die? When did I stop weaping at the thought of the cross? When did Easter become so little to me? What the hell is wrong with me?

FEAR

2006-04-05T20:34:00.000-07:00

I stopped puking five days ago. Five terrifying days ago. Why so scary? Because I fear this is the beginning of the end. Even worse, I had a fairly optimistic midwife appointment yesterday. Which feels more dooming than encouraging.

I am almost 16 weeks pregnant after 6 years of infertility and several miscarriages (only one of noteworthy length). When I lost my first baby, I was 17 weeks and had finally stopped puking.

Get the connection?

I have such mixed feelings about this process. I want to protect my kids, my joe, my friends (who are my family) and yet I am dying inside everyday. I have been the picture of upbeat and smiley. And yet--every kind word, every congratulations, every blind-faith-of-course-God-will-let-THIS-baby-live sentiment is slowly killing me. Why do I have to be the one to remind people not to get too excited-- that there are no fucking guarantees in life?

I know that people think that God owes it to me. That he did a miracle and of course it will all work out. That somehow because we have adopted kids we are being rewarded with a bio kid.* I think that's crap. I know God's involved, but he could just as easily be seeing how much I can take. . . How much I will trust Him. . . How will I handle suffering this time around. It's all for his glory. Whether I have a baby or not at the end.

And that scares the shit out of me.

Please being praying for me and this baby. Please don't expect me to be happy OR morbidly apprehensive the next time we meet. Just allow me to be whatever I am. I need to be able to BE without worrying about how you will react.

* By the way--this line of thinking and comments leads me to believe that some people view a bio child as superior to an adopted child. BUT I DON'T FEEL THAT WAY. My kids are a blessing and the joy of my life.

FACE OF COURAGE

2006-03-10T23:27:00.000-08:00

I haven't written in a long time. Life has been busy. There is a lot going on. But the amazing thing is I am not overwhelmed. I have peace in my life for the first time in a long time. More about that later.

We had dinner tonight with an old friend. She returned to Seattle a few months ago after a long banishment to eastern washington. She looks amazing. Her children are as gorgeous and fresh and creative as ususal. Her hospitality is as comfortable and welcoming as always. Her home is a place of refuge.

You would never know from looking at her that her husbnad of ten years left her and their four children for a younger woman. I don't know all the details. I don't need to. She has been chronicling her journey on her own blog and I will read that tomorrow when I have more time.

For tonight I want to remember her face. Her beauty. Her courage. As we left her warm and cozy house I was reminded that our strength and peace does NOT come from our circumstances--but in the sheer faith that God is good. That He will provide and heal us. I was reminded that there is incredible beauty in suffering as it shapes us and refines us. I know she must be so scared and lonely--I am not making light of that in any way. I guess I just see suffering so much differently these days.

It's not the enemy it once was.

Back to Lacey. She is beautiful and courageous and I love her.

RAGE AGAINST THE...

2005-10-05T20:55:00.000-07:00

My name is Alecia and I have a rage problem.

I come from a long line of ragers.

My Dad breaks wild horses for a living. He is an intense human being. Very gifted and handsome. And he gets pissed really easy. When he fights he forgets how much he loves you. He comes to kick ass. His rage is quick and furious. And when he's done, he's done. He forgets and expects everyone to move on. I'm a lot like him.

My Mom is equally rageful, she's just the silent bitter type. Though I remember her losing it on me several times when I was a willful, smartassed kid. She suffered in silence most of her life. Her motto is "we will endeavor to persevere". Very martyrish. Very co-dependent. She remembers things forever, and struggles with bitterness. I'm a lot like her.

My dad's mama, grandma Wanita was the poster child for rage. She led a hard life married to an amiable alcoholic, supporting four children in impoverished Oklahoma. Think Grapes of Wrath. Legend has it that my deadbeat grandpa came home one night after getting his drink on and passed out on the bed. She was so pissed, she wrapped him in the bedsheets like a mummy--and then beat the shit out of him with the handle of a broom.

Her next husband disagreed with her scoring during shuffle board. She took the puck and pistol whipped him with it. In front of everyone. Their marriage only lasted a few years.

She was beautiful when she was young. But hard living and anger took it's toll. She wore her rage like a mask. You could see every line of anger. Every grievance. Every bitterness etched in her worn out face. In ways, I am a lot like her.

I had an epiphany tonight about my anger. Even though my episodes of freaking out on people have slowed down--and are usually centered around my hormonal peak each month--I still rage. My rage has gone underground. Instead of cussing someone out, I do it inside. I develop justifications for my irritations, and frustrations and deem them exceptable because I've been sinned against. To most people I seem to have it together. But I rage against my daughter, random strangers, and internally I always respond first with anger.

I'm the worst combination of my parents. When I sin--I forget immediately like my father. When I'm sinned against--I remember forever like my mother.

I want the redemption of Christ to flood my life and change me from the core. I want to die to my rage and the selfishness that drives it. I want my anger to be the righteous kind. When I'm an old lady I want my face to be etched with love and faithfulness and wisdom.

RETREAT

2005-09-30T22:44:00.000-07:00

The kids and I spoke tonight at a retreat for couples applying to adopt through Antioch Adoptions. I've done that a couple of times and always loved it. One time I took only Tonesha with me. There were 14 couples there that night and only 2 were interested in older child adoption (meaning over age 2). By the time Tonesha was done working the crowd--7 families were open to older kids. She is the spokesmodel for adorable kids everywhere.

Tonight was great. It was also hard. I've never spoken quite as frankly about my journey in front of my kids. Of course, they were mostly drooling and rolling around on the ground acting like clowns. When we got to the car, Bret said, "That was the most amazing speech I've ever heard." Seems like sharing your journey makes the "wisdom" you try to impart more poignant! Duh. I know that as a disciplship principle but had not made the connection to my mothering until tonight. I can be a real dolt sometimes.

It seemed like the couples were more informed about the huge need for older kid adoption. But you know some are also conflicted. I know the desire for a baby is strong. It should be. God gave us the desire. But he also calls us to master our desires--not be subject to them. We have to die to our desire. Die to our perfect picture life. Die to ourselves until all we have left is a desire to follow and glorify Him. My desire almost consumed me. I raged against God for a long time. I had finally died, repented and was being rebuilt when we welcomed our baby Nor home.

I know that's a lot like telling a single woman that when she stops looking for a husband, God will provide her with one. Remember that? I spent a lot of time pretending like I wasn't looking, too. It's not something you can fake. God's got that whole all-knowing thing going on.

Back to the retreat. It was amazing to meet some people who really want to make a difference. I know each face represents much pain and loss. Each couple has traveled a road both unique and similar to my own. All are hoping for a brighter future. I'm encouraged by the number interested in the foster-adopt program. Foster care is brutal. For a child, being removed from their home is terrible. No matter how abusive and disfunctional. It is devastating. But even worse than that--is never having their own family again. We have to do more to get these kids into homes. We need to open our minds to a life beyond two kids and a dog. To open our hearts to those who are the most vunerable. To open our arms to a child (or 2, or 3, or 4, or 5...).

To those of you reading because you met me there tonight...Thank you for stopping by. I thank God for you and I will pray. Pray that you will die to yourself. Pray that God will transform you through the renewing of your mind. Pray that your hope will not be for naught. I will pray that God will fill your home. Thank you for your courage.

CYCLES OF THE MOON

2005-09-01T22:23:00.000-07:00

Damn. I sound like a nut job. You'd never know I'm actually funny by this blog.

Oh Lord of the stars and moon. Please bring my period. If you can manage the seasons, the origins of waves, the life of a gnat, surely you can do something about this hormonal angst I am in.

I'm going to do my part. Lay in bed, watch a sad movie and eat some icecream. Stay away from other humans. I'll try not to post until it passes. You all have your own hormones to deal with.

SHAME

2005-09-01T21:37:00.000-07:00

My mother is a lovely woman in many ways. But one horrible thing I learned from her is the shame game. Masterful manipulation. All ways of parenting that I abhorred when they were happening TO me but somehow I can't stop myself from DOING.

My big kid is just that. Big and little. She's stuck in limbo land of pre womanhood. You remember that time? The earth's axis resting fatefully on your emotional whims?!? Some of you/us still live that way. On top of this the girl has more powerful hormones than I do so her cycle directly triggers my own. We end up with about a week of pure hormonal hell. She's a jerk and I'm a bigger jerk because when she's a jerk, I'm a jerk back AND excuse myself because I have the power.

She just came to apologize and while I let her, I used the opportunity to ream her. To rub it in. To masterfully manipulate. I hate myself. So now I have a vice grib headache, throbbing ovaries AND no soul.

I really want God to transform this part of my life. I want to be healed from this cycle of anger. To act like an adult and not be so defensive when I'm sinned against. I want to be able to humbly correct my daughter as she needs it, allow the Holy Spirit to convince her of her sin and then offer forgivenesss. No strings attached. Lovingly. You know?? The way God does with me.

As much as this pains the private/prideful side of myself, I am going to be as honest about this crap as I can. I need to be held accountable by the people that love us both. Because if I can't allow God's love to change me, how do I expect her to change. Will-power and discipline will not make her love and depend on God. Neither will being shamed by her mother.

MOZART VON KLEINER

2005-08-31T17:00:00.000-07:00

Today is the one year anniversary of the hardest decision of my life.

August 31, 2004 was the day we decided to put our dog down. I could barely stand the void that I felt once he was gone. I raised him from a puppy. That dog brought life to our home when I was so stricken with grief I could barely function. We picked him up the weekend I was supposed to have given birth, the weekend of my grandfather's funeral. So you see there was a connection between he and I.

A connection that was never quite the same after we adopted 3 kids and my attentions became divided. He was loved and he loved greatly. But he also became aggresive. He nipped at my son in the face and then finally he bit a foster child who was provoking him. In the face. Blood everywhere. Terrifying night. I would have killed him with my hands that night if I wasn't holding a scared, bleeding little boy.

I begged my Dad to come and get him. To take care of it the way we country folk do. In the woods. Never to return. But my dad couldn't come that night. There was a blizzard. And then he didn't. I felt let down and hurt by my unmet need. My need was deeper than the dog. I needed my Dad to take care of me. To do the unthinkable.

So we waited. We knew we needed to do something, but we were so to devasted by any of the options. We tried to find a place for him to live. But we had to be honest about what had happened. Then we were distracted when our baby Nor came home a few months later. I was in heaven. I didn't want to confuse the joy with grief. But it nagged at the back of my head.

And then came the wake up call. We couldn't get our foster license renewed and keep Nor with Mo in the house. The state refused all of our attempts. We tried one last time to find a new home for him and moved him to a friend's kennel while we tried. I never saw him again. I didn't want to see him there.

August 31st. I called my dad and begged him to take Mo for a little while until we could find a place for him. My dad was unwilling to take on the responsibiltiy. Something about homeowners insurance, rottweilers being of the devil, and his new girlfriend. I freaked out on him. Eight months of disappointment and sadness came blaring out. It got ugly. I wanted to be protected from the pain and responsibilty. To have the men in my life be strong and wise for me when my heart was dying. In the end Joe made the decision and Joe carried it out. I love him for that in a way I can't even express.

I want to think that someday I will learn how to grieve better. To embrace the pain while it's happening so that I can let it go. I've grieved many things in the last decade and none of them well. I tend to run. To vacate. To empty myself of any emotion to avoid the pain. But the pain always finds you. You can never really be free until you go through it. Experience it and trust that God will be enough in the midst of it. I will tell you if I ever figure that all out.

But here's to Mo for many years of love, protection, and faithfulness. I still miss you, you big ox.

BOWLING FOR TENDERNESS

2005-08-27T11:13:00.000-07:00

I have a daughter who will be 13 in January.

I can barely comprehend that statement.

I remember the moment I saw her face. We were in the playland of McDonald's and my husband and I had just driven the longest 20 miles of my life. It was familiar. I had seen pictures of the kids and I had even eaten at that McDonald's before--in 1994 on my way to work with in Mexico with orphans. But the feeling was new to me. Intense and instantaneous. Even with her Dad it was a gradual, building kind of love.

The sight of her light brown hair and eyes the color of Godiva sent a shiver through my body. Love flooded my chest. She had an impish smile and a deep sadness in her eyes. I knew there was a sparkle hidden deep. I knew she was mine.

I have seen that sparkle many times over the last four years. Every time we go to a pumpkin patch and she looks for the biggest pumpkin. Flipping rocks at the ocean and searching for creatures. The night she met her baby sister. Standing in line at the Hollywood Hotel Tower of Terror with her Dad knowing she would be in the front row. Meeting Emmylou. She has life in her eyes again.

I wish I could say I always love the sparkle. Sometimes it is accompanied by great mischief and irritated siblings. I get frustrated by her lack of control and tendency to go over the edge. I forget that she is 12 and only beginning to know herself.

We have a deep and often terrifying relationship. I have failed her with my impatience and anger. I am usually quick to repent but I hate myself for hurting her. I want to be enough for her. To bring healing and help her forget her life before. I'm finally realizing how unfair that it. For both of us. She will never forget--and neither will I. We are both wounded by the events that got us here. And yet, in her I see God's redemption so clearly I almost believe it for myself.

Last night we hung out with new friends and bowled. I watched her teenaged angst turn to sparkle as she forgot herself and rolled the ball. She is so devastatingly beautiful. At age 12 I had a bad perm, new glasses and a shaker knit sweater in teal green. She is light.

She is also clumsy and silly and managed to get a gutter ball while using bumpers. On the next lane. But she was so sweet last night. So tender. I forgave myself for a few frames and forgot all the work, all the prayers, all the investment of love at first sight. She sat on my lap and my chest was flooded again.

DAY FOUR

2005-07-15T14:53:00.000-07:00

I now know why God couldn't rest till the 7th Day. Too much noise, too much to do.

So I told you I'd report.

DAY FOUR
I retreat to my aforementioned stripey mat of love. I sit thinking about writing, about the sound of rain, about my kids, about the french toast rotting in my stomach. I can not clear my mind in any sense. It turns out I am being watched the whole time. The kids are in post sleep over mode complete with back to back movies, trampoline slumber, and much sugar. So I'm trying to achieve mind focus and intentional breathing and the kids + friends are holed up on the couch observing me thru a crack in the blinds as if I am a strange specimen not oft seen in suburbia.

I gave up after about 5 minutes. I felt too creepy. Here's what was going down inside the house... Kid2 (the one from day one) announces, "We can do ANYTHING we WANT as long as we DON'T bother Mom." Pause. The tall red headed kid asks, "Can we eat the licorice?" "I don't know, we should probably ask my Mom." replies Kid2.

Enjoy the Silence...

2005-07-15T14:07:00.000-07:00

So, I've decided I need some balance in my life. Which is a enormous understatement. But I decided to start with noise. With four of my own kids, about 20 kids that I love and visit often and many lively friends my life is very loud. So I have attempted this week to enjoy TEN minutes of silence a day. Meditating, praying, breathing. Being quiet. I thought I'd start small and be successful. Here's how that's working for me:

DAY ONE:
I retreat to the back patio. I sit comfortably on the new Target rug I got for a deal... see I have a problem with focus...and begin to breath. Nothing too weird. Just quiet and breathing. About 3-4 minutes in I hear a snicker and slight guffaw come from Kid2. She's standing with branded smartassness across her face, fingers in Buddha poise--mocking me. "Ohmmm. Ohmmm. Ohmm." Where the hell did she learn that? "What ARE you doing?" she quips. I calmly tell her I'm breathing. And I'd like it to remain quiet so I can breath in peace. She bounces away laughing. Another 1-2 minutes of quiet breathing, trying to get her smirk out of my head. Kid2 returns with Kid4--who is 18 months and is not quiet in any way. End of quiet breathing.

DAY TWO:
Most of the peeps are gone. Just Kid4 (asleep) and Kid3 who was caressing his new Anakin toy with devotion and awe. So I slip outside to lay on the trampoline and read my new book ARMCHAIR MYSTIC. It's a perfect weather cocktail, warm but cool, slight breeze rustling the trees overhead and calming me into a slow breathing pattern. I hear a tip toe approach and open my eyes to see Kiddo3 at the edge of the tramp with arms full of action figures. I inquire about his presence and motive. He returns, "I just want to be by you". I've been breathing for about 3 minutes at this point so the oxygen causes me to agree "As long as you are quiet. Mom needs some quiet time." We have an agreement and he lays next to me quietly for another 3-4 minutes. He slips off and runs into the house. I hear him come back. This time he has a bowl of potato chips. Crunch. End of quiet breathing.

DAY THREE:
I thought fuck it. There are 13 kids at my house. Be a realist.

DAY FOUR:
I'll let you know how it goes.

Frickin Sick Day

2005-05-12T14:16:00.000-07:00

My 10 y-old daughter woke up with the fever, crabby, body pain. So she stayed home from school. When I went to take my son to school, I had left the lights on so my vehicle didn't start. After much swearing and an immediate headache I called both schools to say "the Kleiner kids are on hiatus today" and went inside the house to a day filled with army men noises, sappy ass Disney movies that make me want to die, and a baby off kilter from all the excitement.

But oh blessed Lord, you have made provisions for your humble and sarcastic servant and preordained from the beginning of the month that tonight I shall wear lipstick, wash my hair and leave the Kleiner chaos for drinks with my girls. The Pink Door--7pm. I'm even going to class it up a bit and forgo the usual Jack n Coke for something girly and delisch...any ideas?

Thank you Miss Charin for being our designated driver.

I promise I have more substance to me than this...I wil write something glowing and heavenly as soon as the alcohol from this evening wears off. Though that does remind me of the term "drunk-dialing" from my Alaska drinking days. I'll try to avoid drunk-blogging and save us all the embarrassment.

Mother's Day Observation

2005-05-11T16:23:00.000-07:00

here's what I shared during church liturgy on mom's day 2005:

I'm Alecia Kleiner. Deviating from our typical liturgy this week, I'm not bringing a poem, or lovely piece of Motherly prose--but rather an observation.

Being a mother is terrifying.
Writing about being a mother is terrifying.
Standing here sharing what I've written about being a mother is so terrifying I may die and miss Brunch.

There are many misty eyes stories of my journey to motherhood. But if I cry today, it's over for me. I'll be banned from speaking at church--a big Scarlett Letter P for Pentacostal on my chest.
So I'm not even going down that road today.

My observation is that the business of motherhood is NOISY.

The physical auditory assault is real. Ask anyone who's ever ridden in my van. It's part hip-hop, part beauty, part conflict, part laughter, part infantile assertion--pure madness. But more than the physical NOISE, it's the cultural, spiritual and personal noise that threatens my sanity daily. Sometimes I feel like a borderline schizophrenic. Voices and images flooding my mind. The beautiful, primal act of mothering is often reduced to this in my head...( imagine loud, distorted, guitar ramblings with me yelling over the top...)

AM I ENOUGH. WILL I LOVE THEM ENOUGH. WILL THEY LOVE ME BACK? CAN I FORGIVE MY OWN MOTHER? WILL VACCINES KILL THEM? IS PUBLIC SCHOOL GOING TO RUIN THEM? THEY'LL BE LIFELONG UNDERACHIEVERS. DID I HOLD HER TOO MUCH? NOT ENOUGH? WILL SHE ATTACH? WILL SHE KNOW HOW MUCH I WANTED HER? FAMILY BED, BABY BED, WRONG PRESCHOOL, WRONG COLLEGE..WE ARE ALL GOING TO NEED VERY EXPENSIVE, INVASIVE THERAPY.

Am I alone? This mothering business bring out the kooks and their oppinions. Everyone has a theory and a 5 step plan to parenting bliss. Amazon had over 65,000 hits for parenting--over 17, 000 for mothering alone. Some of my favorite titles are:
-Perfect Madness: Motherhood in th Age of Anxiety
-The Mommy Myth: The idealization of motherhood and how it undermines women
-Buddha Mom
-Confessions of a Slacker Mom
-Mothering by Heart
-Mothering against all odds
-Natural Mothering
-Mothering Ourselves
-Good Enough Mother?
-The Impossibility of Motherhood
-Primal Mothering in a Modern World
and my personal favorite:
-Medieval Mothering

Even if you don't read, you can NOT escape the voices...your mom, your grandma, your husband, the news, Oprah, magazines, Nancy Wilson (of Idaho, not Heart) your college professors, each other. As women, and mom's we are some of the loudest and strongest influences on each other. And the things we choose to say to and about each other are terrible.

We have the teaching part down:
"When mine was little, I helped him sleep by..."
"My vast research shows that vaccines are of the devil..."
"Here's my detailed spreadsheet of my grocery store and each items cost..."

We have the rebuke part down:
"I'd never let my child drink..."
"Your child crys every week in the nursery, is something wrong?"
"You let your child drink THAT?"

It's the ENCOURAGEENT part that we suck at. Loving each other enough to be quiet. To allow the other person to just BE. Without judgement and superiority. I'm firmly convinced that as mom's we secretly like it when another mom is losing her grip. It makes us feel better about ourselves. Sick but true. I may be about to lose my mind, but at least I only have five piles of laundry and I know where all MY kids are.

So today, in honor of Mother's Day--we will repent. How's that for warm & fuzzy? Please pray with me:

Lord God, We have sinned against You and each other. Some of us do not value the role of mother enough and WE REPENT. Some of us value the role too highly and WE REPENT. WE REPENT of the ways we speak for YOU--making methods out of your righteous principles. WE REPENT for not loving each other. WE REPENT for not trusting YOU fully and for not being quiet and still so we can hear YOUR voice. Thank you Lord for your forgiveness that floods us today. Thank you for your gracious redemption. Amen

2005-05-11T16:21:00.000-07:00

Do I look like a saint?