Waste Your Time on Me

Yesterday I had to go to the post office to get stamps.  The place was a zoo and I had to wait in line behind four people which doesn’t normally happen in Smalltown, USA at 2:30pm.  I was already running behind but I waited patiently.  As I was standing in line, I saw a little old lady come in with who must have been either her daughter or her care giver.  She was all bundled up, even though it was a balmy 60 degrees in southwest Virginia yesterday.  She had a stack of Christmas cards in her hand secured with a rubber band.  I watched her meticulously place the stack of cards in the outgoing mail slot.

As she turned around and walked back out, it made me think of the tradition of Christmas card exchanging. 

According to THIS article I found, it seems that the idea of Christmas cards go all the way back to the middle ages. 

Who knew? 

In the 1800’s, hand-made cards were the trend and were made by hand and exchanged by hand.  So many cards were exchanged in 1822, that sixteen extra mailmen had to be hired.  According to a couple of my friends who work for the USPS currently, they need to take a page out of THAT book and hire some help for our poor postal workers today!  Ok, off that soapbox for now.  Ahem.   

A few more years passed and in 1875, Christmas cards were being mass produced and that’s the way most of us grew up participating in the Christmas card exchanges—buying boxes of mass produced cards, taking them home, signing them, perhaps writing a note inside and then hand addressing each and every one for friends and family. 

Christmas card exchanging has been declining since the 70’s when making a long distance call became reasonable.  Since then, we have ushered in the subsequent decades with one new fancy schmancy new form of communication after another. 

So is Christmas card exchanging obsolete in our digital age?  Twenty years ago, a lot of my friends and family only heard from me once a year when they received that Christmas card.  Today, there’s a good chance they know what I cooked burnt for dinner last night.  Times are a changing’!  I can send a 'Merry Christmas' email, Facebook message, tweet, blog, Instagram, text…well you get the picture (no pun intended.)

So why waste your time?

Because that’s the whole point people!  It’s nice to receive a piece of paper from somebody who wasted their time on you!

It’s nice to stop for a half hour in our busy lives and sit down with a box of paper cards and that ole quill and hand write something to someone to let them know that they are thought of. 

We do a Christmas Card exchange at our church each year.  I have thought this was very silly in the past.  Most of these people we see every Sunday, after all.  A couple of years ago, someone in our church took the time to sit down and write a personal note to everyone in our church—a note specifically for that person or family to let them know what they have meant to her faith walk.  It was inspiring and humbling and just right down awesome.

So this is my point…
Umm yes, I do actually have one.

I don’t care if you are pro-Christmas card or anti-Christmas card.  I don’t care if you think it’s a treasured tradition that must be carried on or an archaic caveman ritual that is obsolete. 

Social  media gets its fair share of bashing, but the truth of the matter is that I am far more connected to my friends and family today than I EVER have been in the past.  And to me, that makes sending an archaic, cavewoman Christmas card via snail mail all the sweeter to me.

However you decide to send your Christmas greetings this year, just be sure to waste spend your time telling your friends and family what they mean to you.  I promise it won't be a waste.  

Merry Christmas!  Flicker on!

~A

Expectations

ex·pec·ta·tion

ekspekˈtāSHən

noun

1.  a strong belief that something will happen or be the case in the future.

"reality had not lived up to expectations"

synonyms: supposition, assumption, presumption, conjecture, surmise, calculation, prediction, hope

"her expectations were unrealistic"

anticipation, expectancy, eagerness, excitement, suspense

"tense with expectation"

Expectations. 

Last Friday was my anniversary.  Well technically it was “our” anniversary.  Sixteen years.  Husband wanted to take me to dinner but after no sitter, three kids at three different locations for sports practices, when I left the last practice at 8 pm starving and exhausted, I decided McDonald’s drive thru would really be the best bet at that particular moment.  He was disappointed and thought I didn’t want to spend time with him.  Truthfully I didn’t.  It wasn’t personal though.  I didn't want to spend time with ANYBODY.  I didn't even want to be awake.  I really just couldn’t fathom getting into anything other than something fleece with an elastic waist at that point in time.  We decided we’d have a re-do when things settled down.  I suggested the following weekend.  I was looking forward to it this time.  I had the cutest little black dress picked out for a dinner that I wouldn’t order through a drive through window and one in which I wouldn't have to answer that horrifying question, "would you like fries with that?"

Then allergy and sinus season crept in and at the eleventh hour, husband decides that there is no way he can sit through a dinner without getting up sixteen times to hack up a lung and/or blow his snout, so he backs out this time.

Sigh. 

Expectations.  He had them the week before and I had them this week.  What good are they?  Why do we do that to ourselves?  To our children?  Are they just a set up for failure and disappointment?

Just look up there ^ at the definition and the examples.  It looks like whoever wrote the definition had been burned as well.  “reality had not lived up to expectations”; “her expectations were unrealistic.”  Maybe the author of this particular dictionary was sitting at home in her jammies with a box of tissues and a bottle of Zyrtec on her lap on a Saturday night as well.

As I began to think about how often I had set myself up for greatness and how often I had failed to attain those things, I began thinking about the expectations we set for ourselves and our children and whether this is a healthy thing.

Are expectations worthwhile?  Are they healthy or unhealthy?  My dad set the highest expectations for me.  Always.  I was to be an honor roll student at all times.  Anything else was unacceptable.  “C’s are average and you are not average” was drilled into me from the time I can remember.  Two times in my life I brought home a “C” on my report card; once in the sixth grade and once in high school.  The first time I went to the bathroom of the elementary school and cried my eyes out.  I thought I was literally going to throw up in the tiny grade school bathroom.  I was going to disappoint my dad when I brought that report card home and it was unfathomable to me.  I hated that feeling.  I hated that feeling SO much that I have set those unrealistic expectations onto my own children—even saying those SAME words—“C’s are average and you are not average.”  Am I setting my children up to spend some time hovered over the porcelain god in between classes at school or am I setting them up for success?  I really can’t answer that question.  I hope those expectations are healthy. 

We all set expectations for ourselves, for our loved ones, for our children.  And I think we do this not because we cannot accept failure from ourselves or our loved ones—we all are human after all.  No, I think we set these expectations in an effort to let those we love know that they are important and capable and loved. 

I don't think hope should be listed as a synonym for expectation.  It isn’t HOPE.  It’s far MORE than hope.  I don’t HOPE that my children will succeed.  No, no, no.  I am far too confident in their abilities and their character than to HOPE that they will be learners and thinkers and doers and changers of the world.  I EXPECT it.  I expect it because I have watched them for 15, 11 and 8 years.  To not expect it would surely save us all disappointment down the road when they screw up.  And they WILL screw up.  All of them.  They will bring home a C.  Or a D or even an F.  They will not make a team that they want very desperately to make.  They will make a bad decision that will infuriate me and disappoint me to my core.  Chances are they will not get accepted into that college they want to go to so bad and they may not get that ONE job that they so desperately wanted.

My hope is that the expectations that I have set for them will always cause them to work hard for what they want in life and when they don’t, I hope those expectations will ultimately lead them back to the safe place where they know they are loved and cherished—not because of their successes or failures—but because of who they are.

Expectations have caused me a lot of grief over the years.  They have caused me lots of tears and stress and pressure on myself that I could’ve surely avoided. 

Those expecations have also instilled those little voices inside of me that said “look over that material one more time,” “follow your shot,” “do not give up,” and “you’ve got this baby.” 

Life fills you with voices that tell you that you CAN'T do it.  Having someone in your life believing in you…hoping for you…EXPECTING of you…that gives you a voice to tell those other voices to shut the front door. 

Expect greatness.  From yourself and from others :)  Start today.  

And maybe after football, basketball, cross country, allergy season, and underwater basket-weaving, I'll get that non-drive-thru anniversary dinner ;)

~lightningbug

Just a mom...

When I was pregnant with my first child at the ripe ole age of 20, it was then that I knew that I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.  Maybe it was even before then.  Maybe it was when I was 6 and playing house and caring for my lovies.  Funny how “mothering” is something that seems to be deeply embedded in us.  I’m not sure if it’s genetic or if it’s learned or maybe like most traits and a combination of the two.  People speak of that momentous occasion when baby is delivered and this deep love is found, rainbows and sunshine appear, showtunes erupt and all the world is right.  I’m not so sure I felt all of that in that moment.  I remember delivering my 9 pound, 4.5 ounce baby and being so sore afterwards and wanting to kill all of womankind because nobody…not one.single.woman ever bothered to tell me that carrying that load and then pushing it  from your loins would cause your bones to actually shift and never be the same.  Nobody told me that I wouldn’t be able to walk from my bed to the toilet without feeling like I had been riding a horse across the wild west for a month.  Why all the secrets, ladies???  I could have been preparing myself for that.  Doing some sort of conditioning for the blessed event.

I was exhausted after giving birth.  Completely drained.  Yes, I had this beautiful baby boy with a cone head (thank.you.vacuum.sucker.outer.thingy), golden-jaundiced skin & a wailing cry and OH..DEAR.GAWD. LOOK WHAT IT DID TO MY BODY!  I was stretched, swollen, and pretty much looked like roadkill.  This is soooo not that pretty picture I saw of Demi Moore in the magazine not so long before.  Liar, liar, pants on fire.  And oh sweet Jebus, my boobs.  I was just about positive they were going to explode and truthfully, after the first couple of days of breastfeeding, I was praying that they would.  And then just fall off.

Where was I?  Oh yes…the joys of being a mother.  Ahem.

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows.  It’s not all Fit Pregnancy and Parenting magazine cover material.  Sometimes it’s so brutally real and honest that it hurts.  Physically, mentally, & emotionally. 

I finally made it out of that hospital cell with my half-grown baby boy and then it got real.  I had to figure out how to snap that carseat carrier in the car without dumping him upside down in the floorboard on his head.  I rode in the backseat with him all the way home, his sweet little head falling over as he slumbered.  My swollen, fat head watching him.  I was in love.  While I was reeling from the agony of delivering a baby, I was falling in love with those chubby cheeks and those big blue eyes.

Days lasted forever, nights were way too short…well at least the part of the night where I was actually asleep.  He spit up like the exorcist and I was his human burp cloth.  I smelled of baby poop and vomit.  How my husband could even stand the sight and smell of me causes me to question his sanity.  Baby and I did everything together.  I held him on my lap in the porch swing, I strolled him through the neighborhood, I stamped his little feet in fingerpaint and made sweet little crafts with him.  We made cookies and sang and danced and played.  I was just a mom.

Just a mom.  Two more children would come along and I was “just a mom” to them too…just falling in love with each of them, teaching them their ABC’s and nursery rhymes, bedtime prayers and how to shoot a jump shot.  I was just teaching them to be kind to others and treat people right and to love music and art and be passionate about life.

Just a mom.

That’s what I would embarrassingly say when somebody asked me what I did.

“I’m just a mom.”

Now that my kids are getting a little older and I’ve ventured out and started to do a little more than “just a mom,” I have really begun to realize THE ENORMITY of being "just a mom."

I now realize that I should’ve stood tall with my puked-on shoulders held high and looked them square in the eye and said with complete and total confidence…”Amanda Renee Stover Griffith, human burp cloth, killer of monsters under the bed, tickle monster captain, cookie-baking chef, birthday party planning, hazardous waste managing, lost things finder, broken things fixer, boo-boo kissing, song-singing, kitchen dancing, craft-making, carpooling, sideline cheering, always there, MOM.”

So let me be a lesson to you if you are finding yourself “just being a mom.”  

 There is no more important job to be found.   

Rock it out, superwomen.

~arg

How to locate your birth parents in VA Adoptions...

This is the process I went through in locating birth parents.  
It was relatively simple and I can't believe I waited this long.

1.  Download this Adoptee Application for Disclosure, print and fill it out.

Adoptee Application for Disclosure

2.  Go to your bank and have them notarize the application.  This is usually provided for free at your bank.

3.  Write a letter telling the agency that you wish to have both non-identifying information (medical records) as well as identifying information (Names & phone numbers.)

4.  Mail this to 

Virginia Department of Social Services

ATT:  Jackie Gill

Permanency Program – Adoption Services—11th Floor 
801 East Main Street 
Richmond, Virginia 23219


If you need further clarification, you may call Jackie Gill, Adoption Disclosure 
Specialist at: (804) 726-7526 or e-mail her at jackie.gill@dss.virginia.gov

I emailed and called Jackie, but I never got any responses back from the emails/calls.

I mailed out my application on Jan 22, 2013.  On Feb 14, 2013, I received a copy of the letter that was sent to the local Dept. of Social Services that handled my adoption, ordering them to conduct a search.  They had eight months to make all reasonable attempts to locate birth parents.

March 14, 2013, I got the call that they had results.  Your birth parents have a right to say yes or no.  They have to have a yes from you and a yes from the birth parent to reconnect.

It was truly that easy and I didn't know it.  

Read here about more information about rights of everyone involved in adoptions in Virginia.

http://www.dss.virginia.gov/files/division/dfs/ap/intro_page/guidance_procedures/adoptiondisclosure.pdf

Good luck if you are searching for your birth parents!  

I know the roller coaster.

~lightning bug

Why Do You Support March of Dimes, anyway?

Last year I had this idea of doing this fun event called   

Bands & Bags for Babies 

to raise money for the March of Dimes. 

Bands=awesome music  

Bags=cornhole

Along with the help of a TON of wonderful people, we had a great event with music, a cornhole tournament, concessions and
RAIN.

Well rain is somewhat of an understatement...  

What we had was a good old fashioned Alleghany County, VA monsoon.  

  

Right in the middle of the event that we had planned 

and poured our hearts into for months.   

But guess what?  

People stuck around and we piled under every canopy we could find 

and through runny mascara,
drenched hair and laughter,

we carried on until after the storm passed.   

It was a fantastic event that raised $1500 for March of Dimes 

and hopefully raised awareness 

of the incredibly positive research funded by March of Dimes.

Let’s take a quiz.   

1.  March of Dimes was founded by whom?

     a)  Teddy Roosevelt

     b)  Dwight D. Eisenhower

     c)  Franklin D. Roosevelt

     d)  John F. Kennedy

Give yourself a round of applause if you chose C. 

The correct answer is Franklin D. Roosevelt. 

FDR’s personal struggle with polio led him to create the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis at a time when polio was on the rise. Better known as the March of Dimes, the foundation established a polio patient aid program and funded research for vaccines developed by Jonas Salk, MD and Albert Sabin, MD. These vaccines effectively ended epidemic polio in the United States.  

http://www.marchofdimes.com/mission/history.html

2.  What is the March of Dimes mission today?

     a)  To prevent polio

     b)  To march with as many dimes in your pockets as you can

     c)  To improve the health of babies by preventing birth defects,
           infant mortality, and premature birth.

     d)  To administer the flu vaccination to toddlers

Welp?  What’s the answer?   

Of course it is C.   

The mission of the March of Dimes today is to improve the health of babies by preventing birth defects, infant mortality, and premature birth.

Why does any of that matter?   

Well of course we know why birth defects and infant mortality is bad, 

but why is premature birth so bad?   

And what exactly IS premature/preterm birth anyway?

Preterm birth is defined as the birth of a baby of 

less than 37 weeks gestational age.   

A normal pregnancy is 40 weeks.   

Each of those precious weeks in utero gives the baby 

a better shot at making it in the world 

with the fewest possible complications. 

Premature and preterm are sometimes used interchangeably, but premature birth is specifically the birth of a baby before the developing organs are mature enough to allow normal postnatal survival. Premature infants are at greater risk for short and long term complications, including disabilities and impediments in growth and mental development. 

Take a look at this article from the Center for Disease Control, paying particular attention to the chart on the page.   

http://www.cdc.gov/features/dsinfantdeaths/index.html

You will see that birth defects and prematurity account for more infant deaths than all the other causes totaled. 

Why do I support March of Dimes?

Well, besides all of these reasons that I just presented, 

I have a reason much closer to my heart.

My best friend is Deana.   

Deana and I have been best friends since the 5^th grade.  

We have been through so many things together.  

From this...

To this...

To this...

To infinity & beyond...

She knows that I sleep with my glasses on 

and I know what her hair looks like in the morning.  

(And it AIN'T pretty)

In the fall of 2004, I called Deana in tears.  I had taken a pregnancy test and I was pregnant!  I was pregnant with my third child.  That wasn’t the plan.  I was going to have two children.  That was it.  I was so ready to put the baby world behind me and move on to the next phase.  Deana and her husband Shannon came down to my house and we sat out on the back porch and I cried and complained and was ungrateful for this beautiful miracle that was growing inside of me.  I was being a complete ungrateful brat.  I didn't realize it at the time, but I was.  

Oh I had it all justified in my head why I could act that way…

What I had forgotten, while wallowing in my own self-pity, is that Deana and Shannon had been trying for a quite some time to get pregnant and they were wishing like crazy that THEY could have a baby.

That baby in my belly was my Wyatt—aka, Papi.  I couldn’t imagine that evening that I could love someone that I thought was such an oopsy so very much.  I couldn’t imagine that life would work out ok.  But it did.   

I had a perfect full-term pregnancy with him and the easiest labor and delivery imaginable.

In the fall of that year, Deana and Shannon got that awesome news that they had been waiting for…wishing for…hoping for.   

They were pregnant!  

But wait…it gets better!   

They were having TWINS!

They were getting doubly blessed!   

A boy and a girl.   

Their prayers had been answered.   

Right up til the time that Deana went into preterm labor…

This is Deana’s story in her own words.  Read on…

Chase and Keely Mitchell entered the world at 26 weeks, March 26th, 2006 weighing in at 1 lb 13 oz and 1 lb 12 oz respectively. Both were considered micro preemies and were placed on oscillators to regulate their breathing. They were hooked up to IVs, breathing tubes, and placed in an incubator. Monitors were hooked up everywhere to make sure their blood pressure, heart rates, and oxygen rates were remaining stable. Numerous tests were taken as our babies tried to survive the first few hours and days of life. Keely Marie had a bad day on day 3, she developed a hole in her lung and they had to place a rod to keep it from deflating. This hole destabilized the pressure in her tiny body and caused Stage 4 brain bleeding on the right side and Stage 3 on the left side. The doctors gave her a grim prognosis and we were with her when she went to heaven on her 5th day on this earth.

Chase was such a little fighter. He was still on IVs for food, on the vent or cpap for oxygen and his PDA wasn't closing on its own. He had a stage 3 brain bleed that continued to evolve. Two weeks after Chase was born, he had to undergo a PDA ligation. This meant returning to the vent for breathing and opening him twice to get to his little heart and close up the hole. He did remarkably well and was alert right after surgery. He made it quickly back to the Cpap and stayed on that for a while. He had to be fed through a feeding tube which ran through his nose. He dealt with apnea all the time, especially after eating. He was in the hospital for a total of 80 days and went home on oxygen, caffeine, and had developed reflux when he ate.

He was a fairly normal 1 year old. He was still under the charts for growth and had about a 3 month gap for motor skills. We fed him protein drinks to fatten him up. Due to the reflux, he didn't keep many meals down.

At SEVEN years old he is over the growth charts. Chase loves to play football and baseball and loves 1st grade! His development is on track as of now, but we still may have to contend with development or learning issues.

Without the research and scientific programs funded by the March of Dimes, Chase may not have survived. I thank God and the doctors, nurses, nurse practitioners, and the March of Dimes for my miracle baby, Chase.

Incredible story, huh?

Deana gave you all of the MEDICAL facts in her story.   

She didn’t tell you about the way she had to meticulously monitor visitors, keep Chase away from as many potentially harmful germs (which meant practically keeping him in a bubble during flu season for quite some time.)  She didn’t tell you how his reflux required her to always travel with a bucket because the sweet pea couldn’t keep anything down.  She didn’t tell you how preparing for two angels and only bringing home one broke her heart in a way that will never, ever be whole again.  She didn’t mention how no parent should ever have to endure fighting with every exhausted ounce of your being for one tiny baby while making funeral arrangements for his twin sister.   

She didn’t mention the tears or the screams of WHY or the way that sometimes she felt like just breathing was the hardest thing in the world to do.

Deana doesn't talk very candidly about those things because they are still so very painful.

Why do I support March of Dimes?

I support the March of Dimes because 

I have had these conversations with my best friend.   

I know her heart and I know how she aches for her Keely.   

Who would she have looked like?  What would her voice have sounded like?   

Would she be a tomboy or a prissy princess?   

All the what-ifs that will never be answered.

I support the March of Dimes, because when I look at Chase, it still amazes me.

He wouldn’t be here today without the research funded by the March of Dimes.

Chase and his sister Izzy at a March of Dimes event!

I support the March of Dimes to honor Chase and to remember Keely.

I support March of Dimes with the hope that the research funded by this incredible organization will keep somebody’s best friend or sister or daughter from EVER having to endure such a painful loss and a trying journey.

Will you join me in supporting March of Dimes?

I know money is tight for everybody these days.  

I'm right there with you.  

What about a dime a day?  

You can do a dime a day, right?  

Get yourself a mason jar, a sandwich baggy...anything.  

Today is April 4.  Put 1 dime in it every day from now until September 4.  

You will have $15.

And come out and listen to some great music 
and play cornhole at the 2^nd Annual Bands and Bags for Babies on June 22 at the Wiley Pavilion!

And get your friends and family together 
and walk with us on Sep. 21!  Bring your $15 that you saved!  

Can I count on you?

UPDATE:  3rd Annual Bands & Bags for Babies to be held at Wiley Pavilion June 14, 2014!  
See you there!

Go over and "like" these pages on Facebook so you can stay informed on the cool things that are happening!

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Bands-Bags-for-Babies/235505593230559?fref=ts

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Alleghany-March-for-Babies/203022813175590?fref=ts 

Papaw

Papaw.

What do you think of when you say Papaw, Grandpa, Granddad?

Isn’t that amazing?

That feeling right there…the one that just made you smile and gave you warm fuzzies…isn’t that the most amazing feeling?  Grandparents. 

No other love that I have ever experienced is so rich and unconditional and encompassing as the love of a grandparent.  It’s truly the closest thing on earth to the love of God.

Perhaps that’s one of the beautiful reasons grandparents exist…

My Papaw has been through a lot in the last 13 or so years.  His body was so tired, but his mind stayed sharp as a tack and his love and faith never wavered. 

I didn’t make it over to see him before he passed during the night last night.  I am full of regret and I’m angry with myself for not being there…to hold his hand or to say I love you one more time.  We talked on the phone Sunday and I don’t even think I told him I loved him then because we were interrupted by hospital personnel and had to quickly get off the phone.  Right now I’m letting that guilt and anger escape me, however.  Papaw and I knew where we stood with each other.  To me, he hung the moon.  To him, I was the reason for the sun to shine.  And that’s how we lived life.  No conditions.  We just loved. 

Papaw isn’t my biological grandfather.  I am adopted.  Lots of psychological studies use adopted children to study the many effects of nature versus nurture.  Of everyone in my family, my Papaw and I were more alike than anybody.  He was quieter than me, but we shared the same silly tendencies.  He was the jokester, just like me.  He loved to laugh and he loved children more than anything else.  He was caring and kind and generous.  He made sure Momaw called me every day. 

I blame him 100% for my hatred of surprises and my love for opening Christmas presents on Christmas Eve because it was just too long to wait until Christmas morning. 

The memories I have with Papaw…to be blessed with 35 years of memories of your grandfather is a true blessing.  

I remember taking walks with Papaw and getting chestnuts from the chestnut tree.  I remember throwing rocks in the creek.  I remember sneaking in the garden and pulling up all the green onions when they were barely through the ground.  He thought it was hilarious.

I remember him taking me to the old Kingston school and letting me drive all through the school yard when I was only 13 or 14 years old. 

I remember standing with him in front of Lacy’s Lights with Christmas anticipation in my eyes.

I remember him worrying himself to death when Momaw was in the hospital.  Their love set the bar so high for me…not a perfect love…they bickered almost every day of their lives, but a true love…a love that would endure for so many years through so many battles. 

Papaw was in WWII but never spoke a word about the war…that is, until Riley discovered a love for American History and began to pick his brain.  Papaw shared with Riley things that he hadn’t shared with anyone.

Papaw was the epitome of the “strong, silent type" but he had a heart full of love and absolute goodness.  No granddaughter and no great-grandchildren have ever been loved more.

My heart has never hurt more than it hurts at this moment, but I can’t dismiss the fact that Papaw is in my heart.  He’s a huge part of Amanda and that remains constant and unchanging.

Nurture wins this battle.  And love wins the war.