spring cleaning?

sometimes i wonder why i feel things so much.

like when i was spanked as a toddler at a church picnic and sobbed and wailed and (obviously) never forgot it-

or how angry i was that one time on vacation when a nearby diner was rude to my waiter that i felt compelled to point out to said diner that, in fact, they WERE quite rude and really should not have done that. before you go feeling bad for the waiter for really ruining his chances of a tip, i left a twenty on the table when we left, just in case, and also just 'cause i felt bad for him-

also the catch, ache, as if there's an actual fault line that is splitting in the middle of my heart, when my husband's kindness and true love is actually admitted, for an illuminating second, into my Guarded Self. it's an actual physical experience, and i don't remember ever not experiencing it, although i do know that it originated from pain. (sometimes i think that word should almost be under the category of onomotapeia. can't explain it. i just do.).

here's a quote that i've loved for years, might explain it more eloquently and succinctly.

"The hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes. The heart of a hurt child can shrink so that forever afterward it is hard and pitted as the seed of a peach. Or, again, the heart of such a child may fester and swell until it is misery to carry within the body, easily chafed and hurt by the most ordinary things."

-- Carson Smith McCullers

this week i began a journey into the life of Ashley Rhodes-Courter, a fellow adoptee, through the chapters of her book, "Three Little Words".

**can i interject myself? well, i am. and i am interjecting to give a warning: what you are about to read may not be all smiles and cookies and friends and whimsical anecdotes. 'cause well, that's not all my life is about, and it's not all that i experience, or have experienced. just to clarify. we may be digging a little deeper today. ok!**

so anyway this book has hit me hard and i suppose the most obvious reason for that is my common denominator with Ashley of adoption. since this wet, heavy, wool blanket (read: depression) entered my life almost half a year ago, i've taken it upon myself to wipe some very secure (and comfortable, i might add) cobwebs from the corners and corridors in my brain and, well, try to breathe through it. breathe through what? you're confused. many people my age (27, almost 28, oh well) have no trouble - moreover, delight in conjuring up their most memorable moments from childhood. My husband's fondest is of trying to drown his little baby brother with a can of 7-up. (the writer in me wanted to list a few of the cliche stories parents tell over and over but n's own original is so good i think it stands well on its own). ha. see but i am someone who has a few childhood stories to relate which are far from "cliche" and hang out more in the Sordid, Inappropriate, Jail-Worthy category.

**interjection #2: i know i could just go buy a $5 Hello Kitty diary at Wal-mart to get this stuff out. i'm aware. but i type much more quickly than i write by hand, and plus, i may be getting to something a bit more sunshine-y or at the very least "cloudy with a slight chance of rain". which is much better, than, say, a tornado, which happens to be my third greatest fear in life.

so to quickly synopsize the first five years of my life: drunk/high mom. drunk/high dad. brawls in and out of trailer. children's services saves the day (or, as some, myself included, might interpret it - Jesus) and shuttles my blond pigtails and saucer-sized brown eyes over to the set of foster parents who (unbeknownst to all three of us at the time) would eventually be my forever family, plus one brother who was born soon after my adoption at the age of five. does that about cover it? well, i kinda was hoping so, for quite awhile....sorta missed the irony when i began repeating my mother's mistakes after hitting the big 21....then miss e., babe #1 came along, and i sobered up almost in an instant. focusing on raising her while working full-time was a great time-spender and i happily busied every last little wrinkle in my head with details, friends, baby, boyfriend turned husband, quitting smoking, cooking/baking, social networking, working out, coffee-making, UNTIL baby #2 - mr. r. - came along and

i

crashed.

(that whole depression thing)

that was five months ago. so here i am today. like i said, cobweb dusting - which, as my mother can tell you, i'm terrible at even in the literal sense.

i had a conversation yesterday with the very dear, down to earth, just plain cool mom of the teenage baby-sitter who watches Rory for me some mornings (incidentally, said teenager is just as cool and i consider her a friend and feel lucky to know her). i had stopped in with hot coffee from the 'bux and was talking to Miss K about this book, this "Three Little Words" book that she had lent me, and telling her how i had been affected by it (read: bawled for an hour straight the night before at 10:30 PM), and her mom happened in on our conversation, and i'm SO glad she did because i truly believe that her next words were meant for me.

she said, "you know, awhile back i struggled with something, and i've found it's so interesting; almost imperative to go back to your childhood to get to where it all started and figure it out," (she paused then, being the outwardly seemingly naturally optimistic - and not annoyingly so - lady that she is, and not wanting to suggest we go muddling around in mucky memories forever) "but what i've found, that's really cool that you can do, is kind of get yourself back to that place, and get Jesus to meet you there, and help heal the broken parts, and" (well, she said more, but personally for me i'm not even CLOSE to the "moving on" part so my subconscious just sort of said, 'thank you, that's more than enough for now, we'll work on that 'til next session'.

but i can't shake the thought - the possibility - the exquisite notion that i - or any of us, because i do know that i'm far from the only one - could hold out a grown-up hand, mine a bit more wrinkled and dry for the wear of espresso machines and hand-washing dishes, and watch the lines fade, the fingers transform back to kool-aid stained pudgy members, and ask my daddy between heaving sobs for a band-aid.

so - a heavenly band-aid. that's my new mission. might be more apropos on my heart rather than my hand. i've embraced this song this week that speaks volumes to where i'm at these days. maybe where you're at too? ya might not be there today, but you could be next week, or next year, or in five. might wanna bookmark it.

(i'd even suggest that you start the song, then minimize the screen or even turn away from the computer to fully capture the beauty and simplicity of the melody and lyrics)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_4g8_e16dc&feature=PlayList&p=B96A76E5288AF79E&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=46

-Changed Woman