Tag Archives: home

Don’t knock, won’t answer.

Posted on
25

I grew up at the end of sandy tire tracks that were connected to a few miles of dirt road. If someone drove up on my parent’s property, they were either invited, lost, or doing something illegal.

Now Drew and I live in this cutesy little neighborhood that seems the perfect place for solicitors. And I don’t like strangers. And I don’t like strangers knocking at my door when I am at home not interested in being bothered.

When I was home with a fever I told the lady from the newspaper that we didn’t read the newspaper. No, we weren’t interested in the deal where we could get a few days free and all the amazing coupons, and (when pushed) “No thanks, I think it’s best to save the trees.”

Just recently, I told the lady selling meat that we weren’t eating meat. Which was mostly true. We actually weren’t buying it, but who wants to go to the trouble of defending their household decisions to some uninvited stranger?

The ladies from the church down the street come by sometime, too. So I tell them I know Jesus and am married to one of the pastors in town.

Yes, it’s almost always ladies, and they are about to make me the mean old woman in the house on the corner who shuts the door in their face. They’ve already made me the person who will sit quietly and not answer the door.

Did you catch that? If it’s quiet in the house and they can’t see in my front window (yes, they’ll glance in), then I won’t answer the door.

Just the other day, I asked Drew if we could get a “no solicitors” sign. I’m not sure if they actually exist, so I’ve got a few home-made ideas:

“No solicitors.”

“No solicitors please.”

“Don’t knock, won’t answer.”

“If we don’t know you, we didn’t invite you, and you aren’t delivering a package, then you’re trespassing.”

“Do you want to find out if we own a gun?”

Any tips or advice? What do you do?

down in my marrow

Posted on
18

The A/C remained broken. The windows were open. The unseasonably-warm pre-Thanksgiving night wrinsed clean but not so cool by 4am rain.

With each blink of my eyes, I begged the cold air back into the room. And my mind danced over the day’s scenes of waking and journaling and meeting and planning and laughing. And another story about kids who may or may not need parents. We hear these stories often, someone telling us about some kid somewhere or something. Often hypothetical. And often just out of reach.

Like her second-hand mention of those “little blonde girls” that might need a home someday.

I stood in the sun and said without thought: “Well, we’ll take ‘em!”

As always, I dismissed any potential for potential. It’s easier that way. It’s always that way. I placed that mention on the shelf with the others that have come to nothing. My friend and I returned to the casual work of our hands and casual talk about life. Casual. And so the conversation moved on.

But at 4am my mind returned to that warm mid-afternoon moment and then reached back four years to the Wednesday we found out we were pregnant.

Remembering how I shook with fear.

And the Thursday after.

Remembering how I shook with love.

Never have I felt so convinced of anything in my life: I was maternal to the marrow in my bones. That little life inside me birthed a fierce and fiery mama-love in my heart.

It was overtaking.

And I wondered if that maternal instinct will rebirth in me over babies born by another woman… Will I have that same burning “If you hurt them I will kill you” feeling like I had in those days of pregnancy? Will I be so certain to give my life for the sake of theirs? Is that same warm love still down in my marrow, waiting for a reason to be pulsed through every inch of my body?

I tell myself it will, I will, I will, it is. I tell myself that at the handing over of those little lives into the blankets of our hands, I will be so taken with love that I won’t be able to stand myself.

I tell myself that they will be mine and I will be theirs and I will love them with an unquenchable love. I tell myself. And I listen to the rain some more. And I push the covers aside and push away the truth that I won’t really know until that day comes.

Adoption Update: Waiting to wait.

Posted on
19

The room was light and safe and full of friends. We were surrounded by good music and sugary things and fun ideas. I was in a beautifully outgoing mood, feeling socially inspired, probably because the whole house buzzed with ladies that I know and love and respect. And we were there to celebrate the first birthday of a dream come true.

“Waiting to wait.” That’s what my friend said when asked what’s going on in the adoption process. She was answering for her family, but I ditto’d her answer as mine as well. Kinda cool that we have friends who are doing this State adoption thing right alongside us. I felt so very not alone.

Waiting.

The word greeted me like an old familiar friend stepping into the kitchen. Waiting has been my word all along, reaching all the way back to our infertility story. (Read it backwards here.)

And now, we’re waiting on December to deliver a letter saying something like “Hey Thompsons! We think y’all are awesome and we’re going to put you on the Potential Parent list and we’ll let you know if any kids come through who are in need of a loving home.”

And then we’ll wait some more, until the call when the case-worker says there are kids in the system who need a home and are we interested in finding out more about them.

Well, we don’t have to just sit on our hands and wait. We can do a few things in the meantime. We might go to a “matching event” where we get to meet DFCS case workers from other counties who have kids that are waiting as well. Or there’s this website we can go on to see if any kids are waiting, look at their pictures and profiles and all that. (Can you imagine!?)

Or we could get a call one day, from someone somewhere who knows a young woman who is looking for a family for her unborn/newborn child. There are OB/GYNs in the area who have us on their mental list. There are public workers who do as well. And then there are friends who know. And we can rally the troops in a matter of hours and have diapers and formula and onesies ready. Thatisnotaproblem.

Let me say this with unmistakable clarity: We are open to a private adoption.

And I want you to know this because… well, you might just hear about a girl out there… and The Thompsons might cross your mind… And the words might come out of your mouth: “Hey. I know a nice family on the other side of the country who would make great parents for that unborn one.”

Who knows, we might all be waiting to hear from you.

Thank you for supporting us in this process. I can’t wait for us all to see where this is going.

What’s on my mind. What’s on your mind?

Posted on
15

I’ve missed out on a bit of sleep lately. Not because of worry, or fear, or anything. It just happens sometimes.

And this week was one of those times.

And, when everything else is quiet and my mind has nothing but space to fill, I start thinking about kids. Kids who are old enough to know that the adults caring for them are not their parents and might not care for them forever. Kids who wonder who they’re supposed to call mom & dad. Who have feelings and favorite colors.

Or I think about those who will be born into a world they can’t understand. And who won’t be able to process their first few months of life. Who’s hearts are beating quickly and quietly, and might soon face a breaking.  Who have fingernails and faces.

Then I think about buckets of Favorite Color paint. And skinned knees. And endless bowls of Kraft Mac&Cheese, and tiny shoe laces, and hugs that say “I am yours and you are mine, no matter what the other kids say.”

And then I try to stop thinking. I try to open my eyes and return to reality and remind myself that there will be months of ups and downs and frustrations and questions before …

before the unexpected happens. And the expected happens. And it all happens.

That’s what’s on my mind.

What’s on your mind this week?