Big Dreams

I have big dreams for my little family. My older group - Kris, Kelsey, Elesha, and Kaleb - are all out of the house and pretty well on their ways. But for the three still at home - Klaryssia, Kameron, and Kobi - I have dreams.

The older kids all had pretty "typical" kid lives. Kris and Kelsey were involved in sports. Kris (Rain) played basketball and football through high school, both in school and on Colorado's version of AAU. He had a football and basketball scholarship for college. Kelsey did club gymnastics for many years, then switched to competitive and school cheering through her Senior year.

They went to dances, roller skated, and hung out with friends. We traveled all over Colorado, Nevada, and California for various tournaments and competitions - for both of them. In short, despite the decidely non-traditional family I built around them (the "original Rainwaters), I managed to give them a pretty well-rounded, fun upbringing. And they are really great young adults. I'm beyond proud of them.

But, these younger three haven't had those opportunities.

Most of their lives have been wrapped around Kameron and his intense medical needs. Months and months of their childhoods have been spent in waiting for Kam and me to go into the hospital; get out of the hospital; heal up from the last hospital visit; get ready for the next hospital visit.

Therapies, getting school arranged, getting medications (you'd be surprised how much time the whole prescription process can eat up); then just the regular stuff of regular life: laundry, grocery shopping, meal preparation and eating, keeping up on housework, homework (for Kobi), blah blah blah!

They haven't had too many opportunities for things like going to the Y to swim. Just heading down to the mall to walk around, or going for a family drive on a Sunday after church and maybe stopping off for fish and chips...or for after-school activities like the school carnival, or neighborhood movie night.

I'd like to enroll Kobi in martial arts classes, or drama. Definitely drama. Klaryssia could go to the Special programs they have for Special young adults at our local parks and rec department.

They are getting older, and I feel like the window I have for helping create childhood memories and experiences is slipping away for them. We spend most of our non-school/non-medical appointment time at home. Mostly because it's just so darned hard to get out. Things like helping Kam on and off a toilet take time - and when you are out, using a public restroom isn't the easiest - but it is possible.

But the biggest barrier is really the transportation. To be able to just lower a ramp, wheel him into a van, and strap everyone up and go? That sounds like a dream to me.

I can't wait. Thanks to everyone helping make this happen - thanks for caring,

Kathy, Kam, Kobi, and Klaryssia

Weather

My Meteorology teacher asked us to share our most memorable weather event. This is the story I told:

I've been around a few years, so I've experienced a lot of weather. I've also moved several times - from Northern California, to Seattle, to Colorado Springs, and back to Seattle.

Of course, the weather is much different in each of those places, but I must say, Colorado Springs had some serious weather. It could go from a summer snow storm (a late snow in June, one year), to like 90 the next day. The snow would literally steam off the roads under a clear, sunny sky. Thunderstorms, tornadoes, crazy! Actually, it was pretty awesome. From the inside of a safe, dry, warm, place.

But, my most memorable weather event was a snow storm we had in 2002. My family and I lived in a big ranch house out in the country on 12 acres just north of the Springs. Our elevation out there was about 7,300 feet, so our climate was a little different than our neighbors just 5 miles south.
This storm hit hard - temps dropped to around 15 degrees during the day, white-out snow, and it was a wet snow, so everything it landed on froze. Including our power lines.

Uncharacteristically, this storm lasted for a few days, and on the second day, we lost power. Now, this wouldn't be a big deal, we had 2 fireplaces and food, and could cook on top of the Franklin Stove; but I had a foster child, Kenny (now Kameron, my son) who was on a ventilator.

We had two car batteries

acting as a back up to keep him breathing, but they were only good for around 12 hours. At 8 hours w/no power, I started to worry. The storm showed no sign of letting up, and the clock was ticking.

Thankfully, we had a Hello Kitty plug-in phone (Kelsey's) that worked, so I called our local fire department. They offered to bring a generator out to the house, but when they attempted to get it to us, they weren't able to get up our driveway. Our 1/2 mile long dirt road was completely blocked by at least four feet of snow, which was still falling, blowing, and drifting.

I told them I'd walk out to get it. Right. Out I waded into the deepest snow I'd ever seen, sinking up to my hips, eventually crawling on top of it, to try to reach the firemen out there. I lost all sense of direction, and after about thirty minutes, realized I would never make it. I decided to turn back to the house.

I couldn't figure out where it was.

The snow was falling fast and blowing sideways, and I couldn't even see a nearby tree for a landmark. For the first time, I genuinely panicked, and understood how people could get trapped by snowstorms just feet away from their homes and die.

So, I'm sitting there, trying not to freak out, desperately praying and asking for some kind of break in the storm so I could head back to the house, when all of a sudden, I see a dark shape slowly moving through the snow in front of me. It was my 15 year old son, coming out to help.

I've never been so glad to see anyone. We were both covered in frozen snow and freezing - for real - but together, we got back to the house.

After I called the fire department, and let them know we couldn't get out to the street, they contacted the county Search and Rescue team, who sent out a snow cat to pick up my little Kameron and his nurse. They took them out and got him to a hospital, where he stayed, safe and snug, until the storm cleared, our power was restored, and we were unburied enough to go retrieve him.

That was probably my most memorable weather event. I must say I'm glad to be back in rainy, "boring", Seattle. The weather here is very well-behaved. Usually. Of course, there was that time...

Breaking the Silence

Hi again - yes, I am back...no promises about tomorrow, though!

I'm in school, working away at my BA in English. I think both my older kids will graduate before me, I am ALMOST a junior. But, I'm totally fine with that. The following is an exercise I did for my Creative Writing class. I have Kris's permission to share.

Back in the late ‘80s, I lived in the basement half of a house split into two apartments with my son, Kristopher. He was a baby then, and we were separated from his dad, my husband, for a bunch of reasons not important to this story. The apartment was the best I could afford. It was on Henderson Avenue South in Seattle, just off Rainier Avenue, one block east of Chubby and Tubby, home of the famous $5.98 Christmas tree. The house was built around World War II, and the sunshine yellow paint job appeared to be at least that old. It had moss-tinged white trim and a sloping gray roof that was missing shingles. The yellow was a selling point for me.

A scraggly string of dusty gardenia bushes limped along the west side of the house where our kitchen window and front door looked out onto a dirt alley which was all that separated us from the open carport space under the Asian market that faced Rainier. I remember feeding my son in his high chair and looking out at dope fiends shooting each other up under the shelter of that carport, and finding abandoned, bent needles lying in our front yard.

The apartment itself was in decent shape. At least the front door closed and locked, and the air gap under it wasn’t too bad. One towel shoved under it did the trick, except on the coldest nights. The windows facing south looked out on a lumpy, overgrown, tired yard that had one tree in it. I think it was an apple, but no fruit ever grew on it - at least not during our time living there. The yard was the other selling point for me. For some reason, I thought my infant son needed a yard, way before he could even walk.

The number seven Metro bus stopped right on the corner of Henderson and Rainier, which was convenient, because I worked downtown, and Kris’s daycare was there, too. I remember the two of us, all bundled up against the cold and dark of the Northwest mornings, baby gear packed into a diaper bag, work shoes jammed into a book bag, both hanging on the handle of the stroller by plastic baby Boomerang Links in cheerful primary colors. My son, tucked in securely under a layer of blankets and wearing a puffy jacket, would ride crammed up against the crossbar of the stroller and would kick his heels in joy against the foot rests as we bumped up the dirt alley – me praying we’d miss early shift of die-hard junkies - to catch the 5:00 am bus, Mondays through Fridays.

I would drop him off at his daycare at the First United Methodist Church on the corner of Marion and 5th Avenue, then walk the five blocks north and two blocks east to my office at the old One Union Square Building, where my work day at the brokerage firm began at 6:30am. At lunch time, I’d reverse the route to go play with him and feed him, then power walk back to the office. I never needed a gym membership, back then.

One time I remember best was his first birthday. He was born two days after New Year’s, and it fell on the first work day back from the Holiday weekend, this particular year. It was traditional to bring a birthday cake into the daycare center to share with the group. But we had no money for a bakery cake. Actually, we had no money for a cake mix. I decided to bake a cake from scratch. No, two cakes: one for home and one for the daycare.

I began with a search for my one and only cookbook, the Red Betty Crocker one. There weren’t too many places to search in that small apartment, and I finally found it in an unpacked box in the storage space under my bed. My son joined the search, crawling along on the floor behind me, and climbing up on my back and hitting me in the head with a toy truck while I rummaged through the box. After I found it, I around on my stomach and opened the book right there, on the musty smelling carpet in the middle of the bedroom floor, Kristopher banging away next to me. “What’s it going to take, little man? Do we have the stuff?” On to the kitchen we went to find out.

“Eggs, flour, butter (well, Crisco should be fine), vanilla (imitation), baking powder, salt, sugar, and milk. Check. We’re on baby! Oops, what about pans?” More rummaging around turned up some old aluminum lasagna pans. “This will work,” I told him. More banging of the truck, accompanied by giggles and drool bubbles. “I’m going to mix both in one bowl, to save time.” An hour later, after much measuring and mixing – by hand, no mixer back then – the first lopsided pan went into the oven. While we waited, we played, Kris blowing bubbles and laughing while I made car sounds, stopping every so often for a tickle break.

Outside, across the alley, a group of junkies huddled together against the January cold and shared needles.

In our little house, we shared warm Bisquick-tasting birthday cake, and celebrated our first year together.

What a Beautiful Day

I can't express how terrific Kris and Kami's wedding was. God just covered all the proceedings with grace.

First of all, the weather. Colorado Springs is known for its crazy weather. In the Summer, a typical day is hot (mid to high 80s), with break around noon - 3pm for a massive thunderstorm (spectacular killer lightning), followed by more hot.

All the days preceding the day of the rehearsal were like this. In fact, the great rains helped green up everything. Truly, Colorado Springs is fabulous when it is green. The concern for the wedding was that several important things were scheduled for outdoors. The rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, first of all, and then the actual wedding. It would be kind of a serious drag if it rained on either of those events.

But, even though the day before the rehearsal followed the typical pattern, rehearsal day itself went without an angry cloud showing over Pikes Peak.



The Gazebo

The Boyz

The Gurlz, Pastor Mike, the Groom

The Ringbearer - very official

and well, you know:

The day got pretty warm - maybe low 80s - but it wasn't too hot, and the rehearsal dinner went so well. I was concerned, because my new daughter-in-law has a HUGE extended family. There were like thirty million of them here for the wedding. Our family is more modest in size. We had nine. Total, including the groom. Five of those were me and my other children. Three grandparents. No cousins, aunts, uncles, great-grandparents. . .

It was kind of nice meeting all these other people. Strange, but nice. We definitely had a different look going on, most of Kami's fam is from the Iowa and Nebraska region. And, let's say it, they are a little on the pale side. But they welcomed our motley krew with much grace.

So the weather was terrific, and we had more food than even all the families and groomsmen could eat. That was good, too, since the groomsmen were staying with us at Miss Patty's unofficial B&B. Lots of leftovers to go around.

The Day dawned beautifully. . .

Kami scheduled it for 11am, before it got hot, and there was a gentle breeze blowing.

The gazebo on Aspen Lake in Fox Run Park had space for all the immediate family members, guests sat on big stone steps on the east side of the structure, and Pastor Mike was plugged into an amp so everyone could hear.






The boyz were lookin' sharp:









Although, the bride was definitely looking better!






My baby wasn't lookin' too bad, either!










And the gurlz cleaned up pretty well!














Kelly (Kami's mom) and I started crying almost immediately, and actually held hands through a lot of it. The bride was beautiful, the groom (who hadn't seen the dress or his bride before the ceremony), was absolutely beaming the entire day.

Pastor Mike kept the service short, but with wonderful words of encouragement and exhortation from Philippians 2:3-8, emphasizing verses 3 and 4:

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.

He reminded Kris and Kami that they had to keep God first, and each other next - before any other relationships. Guess that includes moms. Sigh.

Then, the parents (Jim and Kelly, Kami's mom and dad, and me) went up for a parental blessing and prayer.

Kris and Kami exchanged vows and rings. Everyone was crying - except Kris and Pastor Mike, I think.

I couldn't have imagined a better day. For any of us.

For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.

- Genesis 2:24

You know, as hard as it's been for me to let him go, I don't think I've ever been prouder. He has grown up to be a very special man, with a tender yet strong heart, and, considering how often I prayed for him and worried about how to raise a son on my own, I have to look at what God has done and thank Him. Profusely.

We made it this far, now it's up to Kris and Kami to carry on their branch of our fledgling family tree, by God's grace and for His glory.

To Boldy Go Where No Man Has Gone Before

If you follow my blog at all, you probably know that I have a 22 year-old son - impossible to believe that someone so young-spirited as I would have such an old son, yet it's true. I might have mentioned that he is getting married. As of this posting, the big event is in EIGHT days in Black Forest, Colorado. We lived there for twelve years while he was growing up, and that's where he met the lovely Princess, Kami:

You can see the attraction, no?

You know, they say men marry women who are a lot like their moms. Wouldn't you agree that Kami and I could be twins?

Of course, you would.

I looked even more like her when I was in my late teens - early twenties. Well, except for the perfect hair. I think I was sporting the "natural" look then. . .that's code for never cut it, hop out of the shower, fluff up your hair and let it air dry. Which sounds a lot like what I do now. Hummmmm.

Kami spent much of her life playing softball. In fact, she had a softball scholarship to the same JuCo my son was attending on a basketball scholarship. See, more common ground. Well, but I never completed any sports, unless you count smoking behind the backstop on the baseball field as a sport. Or seeing how many classes you could skip and still get a decent GPA. I bet I'd have gone to State on that.

She was raised by two awesome parents who are still together and has two younger sisters who are adorable and nice, and has a huge extended family. Let's see. I am adopted and my adoptive parents divorced when I was eleven. I lived with my mom, who never remarried, and my only sibling is an older brother who lives somewhere in the mountains of Northern California and I haven't seen or heard from in something like ten years. Kris's dad and I divorced when he was three, and I haven't remarried. We have eight family members coming to the wedding, nine if you count the groom, and six of those are my children and me.

Okay, so maybe we aren't so similar. But is that a bad thing? She's adorable, and sweet, and kind-hearted, and let's face it: Pretty darned cute.

Kris loves her, and I know he intends to stick with her until "death do them part". That's just how he's wired. Yay for him, and for her.

I can choose to look at the brokenness he's come from and feel inadequate to guide him through the inevitable struggles any marriage goes through (because he's a pioneer in our family in this staying married thing), or I can look at how great his heart is, how real I know he is, and how he really is resting in God's hands - nothing I can do will change that for them.

He is kind of the Lewis or Clark of our motley Krew. I couldn't have picked a better trail blazer if I'd ordered him from Amazon.com.

All my love, blessings, and prayers are with you both.
-- Mom

Feeling like a Lumberjack

In Matthew chapter 7 verses 1 through 5, Jesus says:

“Judge not, that you be not judged. 2 For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you. 3 Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? 4 Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? 5 You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye. ESV

I have to say that this passage has been popping into my head a lot lately. I've been working on what originally was to be a memoir, but may be morphing into a series of essays on my perspective of life - kind of reflections on what I think I'm learning and where I've been.

As I'm considering and praying about what I'd like to say, God is showing me some more opportunities for growth (as we Christians like to say). One specific place is in my judgmental heart. Christians tend to bristle and get a little defensive when people say we are hypocrites and judgmental. But see above? Jesus was calling the religious folks of the day hypocrites. And this teaching is preserved in our Bible for those of us who care to hear today. Since I am a follower of Christ - albeit a lame one - that means this message is for me. I really do want to honor Jesus and walk well, so that means I should be listening up here.

I digress. The specific place I'm feeling like a log-toting hypocrite has to do with two of my sons: Kameron and Kristopher.

Kristopher is my first-born. He is now twenty-two, totally gorgeous (I can say that, it's true), and getting married next month. He is an amazing young man, and it blows me away to think I somehow (with a GREAT deal of God's grace poured out on us) raised this guy.

Kameron, as you may know, is one of my unholy terrors. He is one of three little boys I have at home right now. Andrew, the youngest, is a foster son, and due to return to his mom soon. Kameron is nine, and Kobi is nine (today). They are my adopted sons. I've had Kam since he was a year old and on a ventilator. He was born three months early.

Now, at this point in the story, I usually make sure to mention that Kam was born three months early because his biological (what a clinical word) mother was smoking crack on New Year's Day 2000, and Kam came too soon. He was born with a lot of problems, not the least of which was a massive brain hemorrhage and horribly under-developed lungs. The mom was found unfit and the rest is a story for another day.

Okay, here's the log part. When I was pregnant with Kristopher, I was a different person. I in fact, used a variety of street drugs, including crack. All this while working in a stock brokerage firm as licensed assistant to several Vice Presidents. Kind of a double-life. Now, to my credit (if you can call it that), while I was carrying Kris, I backed off drugs, mostly. And I mostly didn't drink. Mostly. Except of course for the little celebrating I did on New Years Day 1987. Crack and Champagne. Kris was born two days later, almost three weeks early, and thankfully, he was okay.

The parallel God's been gently reminding me of though, is that in the eight years I've had Kameron, I've harbored a hugely judgmental, critical, holier-than-though attitude toward his mom.

For this I am sincerely sorry. I don't know any of the circumstances of her life, and really, they don't excuse the choices she made. But, obviously, my choices were pretty wrong and horrible, too. It is only by the grace and mercy of God that my son was spared any catastrophic consequences from my - let's call it like it is - sin. For me to constantly put her down and bring up her failure again and again is wrong.

I also need to ask forgiveness of my son for risking his life when I was carrying him; and God's for my hypocrisy.

Alright folks. This is probably enough honesty for today.

Much love, and thanks as always for reading.

The Grand Canyon

I have to say, this has been one of the toughest years of my life. It's not just The Depression (mine, not the country's); or the general upheaval in my life - too convoluted to go into here - but on top of the typical stuff, I have Empty Nest junk, times three.
My older son, Kris, has been working his way out on his own since he graduated high school in 2005, so I'm kind of adjusted to that. But, he did move back home two years ago, leaving Colorado and coming out to Seattle to help keep the family together when Kameron relapsed and was back in the hospital another dozen or so times. Again, that's a long story, and a very sweet one, but essentially, Kris left his close ties to Colorado and a bunch of great friends to come out to Seattle and try to continue his college experience. This selflessness just blows me away.

This year, he moved down to Oregon to finish his degree at Linfield College, and he proposed to his really awesome girlfriend, Kami. I am incredibly happy for them both...but, I have to tell you guys that it's been a very hard adjustment, and I know I'm not quite there yet. It's that whole "leaving" part of "leaving and cleaving". I'm pretty sure it will be much easier for him than me!
Again, I am seriously happy for them both. This is purely my issue here.

Then we have Kelsey, my nineteen year old. She's also insanely sweet and kind of my right hand. Maybe the left one, too. Not only does she help in many and amazing ways, she, like Kris, helps keep my focused and helps me remember to have fun. She started college last Fall. Now, granted the college is like thirty minutes away, and she comes home a lot, but she's really getting her feet under her and starting her life. She has plans. Like going with her dorm friends to Disneyland for a week or something this summer. Like going on a mission trip to Scotland - this June. Like growing up.

And then we have Elesha. Now, I've only had Elesha the last eight years or so, but she grows on you. She and I have been through a lot together, and this year she also moved out into her own place and is taking classes at a local community college...she visits a bunch too, but...none of it's the same, people.So if you look at it clinically, I guess I have reason to be unsettled. These are major changes here, and all of them combined with all kinds of other stuff I've been stuffing for decades helped me into this little valley I find myself in. Actually, it's a pretty deep and long valley. Think Grand Canyon.

I argue with myself that, "Hey, look how proud you should be. Three young adults doing good young adultish stuff". They are on solid ground and I think they all have good heads on their shoulders. I don't mean that they will all be rich and whatever, I'm talking about their character. They have beautiful souls, all three of them. I can not begin to express how very very proud of them I am. They are certainly in better shape then I was at their age.

This parenthood gig stinks. And I have to go through this how many more times?

Personality Inventory

So, some time back, I participated in this personality inventory thing with my older kids. We had to bare the depths of our souls - through multiple choice. I hate those things. Doesn't it seem like they are trying to trick you? They ask the same darned question seven different times in seven different ways and think they have you fooled.

Anyway, one of the questions was are you more: kind, compassionate, thoughtful, or tactful. Something like that. So, being the inquisitive girl that I am, I asked my son, Kris, who I thought knew me better than probably anyone else, how he thought I should answer. I was leaning toward compassionate. Perhaps thoughtful. His response was a little...off-putting.

He said, "Well, you sure aren't tactful".

Whoa there, big fella. What are you talking about? I'm exceedingly tactful, aren't I? I mean, I don't lie about stuff. Don't candy-coat it, you know. But, I'm ah, loving and ah, nice about it...Umm maybe I'm a wee little bit blunt...but ah, crap. Okay, so maybe I'm not tactful. Sometimes.

But what's the big deal? The definition of tact says something about dealing with others with diplomacy, and a delicate and considerate perception of what is appropriate. I'm almost six feet tall. I have a size twelve foot. How darned delicate can I be? And usually I don't have time to try to figure out what's "appropriate".

Who thinks these stupid tests up, anyway?

Next question?