Livin' La Vida Poor Folks: Adventures Below the Poverty Line

I have struggled to write lately.  I wouldn't call it "Writer's Block," per se.  If I had to call it something, it would be more like "Writer's Depression" or, more accurately, it would be something like "Writer's Life Circumstances are Sure to Cause Reader's Depression, So She is Doing You A Solid By Keeping All This Crap to Herself."  I'm talking that kind of writer's block.

 I love you, and I want to spare you from (what might be contagious) stress, so I have held off writing for a bit, but I can't go on like this any more.  I must  selfishly spill my guts  creatively release my experiences so others can  laugh at my misery  pray for us.

It has officially been 7 months since my husband was laid off.

I sort of hate writing about our Adventures of Unemployment (which you can catch up on here and here) because I have learned a lot about men during this time.  I have learned, for example, that men do not like losing their jobs.  It does something weird to a man.  It makes him doubt himself in ways that are totally unrelated to budget cuts at work.  I have learned that even the most emotionally stable man will try to usurp an otherwise-claimed position in the family as "sensitive, basket case who takes everything personally."  (It has been hard to hold my ground in this particular area, but I have served as resident Crazy Person for ten years in this family, and I was not about to pass the torch over because of a job he didn't even like.)  There is only room for one person  per marriage to be "El Sensitivo" as we call it, and that is - and shall always remain - me.  (Nice try though, babe.  You gave me a run for my money, but ain't nobody got baggage like your unstable wife.  The torch is mine.)

All that to say... I hate to write so publicly about something that makes my husband feel so small, and causes him so much pain.  So, before you read on, I ask you to raise your right hand and solemnly promise to shut up and go away if you are a judgmental b-hole who thinks that this couldn't happen to anyone, even the most strapping, manliest of providers.   And will you swear to understand that I am not dogging on my man, nor feeling sorry for myself (even though I totally do), nor that I am looking for a handout?  And will you also swear to leave me only nice comments, and maybe fine candies on my doorstep?

You do?  Good, then here's the scoop.  The past seven months have been absolutely craptastic.  Don't get me wrong, there were good parts too:

• We have learned how to live on less.  (But let's be honest, with 5 kids - two of which came with insane adoption expenses - we were already pretty good at living on less.  
• We were able to get some home projects done, because my manly provider is not only totally employable, he is also handy with... whatever tools one would use to be handy.
• We discovered that our efforts to raise kids who are neither spoiled nor entitled has paid off.  In fact, Marlie's reaction to us tightening our financial belts?  "It's not like you were buying us stuff when daddy did have a job, we can't even tell!"
• We have been so blessed and cared for by people during this time, it borders on ridiculous.  People have sent us on an anniversary getaway, given gift cards for gas or groceries, let us borrow a vacuum when ours broke down, offered the use of cars when ours broke down, taped an envelope full of cash to our door and ran away, given us toys to give the kids for Christmas and birthdays (which, according to Marlie's comment, is an entirely new experience for them altogether.)  It has been humbling and humiliating and also a greater relief than I could possibly tell you. 
• We have grown in our faith, learning to trust God to provide, and learning that He often does that through the people He has surrounded us with. 
• Despite all the stress and an exorbitant amount of time spent together, we find that we still like each other.

So, it hasn't been 100% craptastic... but enough percent for me to be done with this season.  After 7 months of imagining that moment when Tom got a job offer, an offer finally came.  Now, before I go on, I feel obligated to explain how thankful we are for the opportunity, and that I know that Tom is going to do very well in this new position, and I understand that when one switches professions, one might have to start at the  very bottom of the heap  ground floor and work his way up.  But, here's how it all went down... we get the call with the unofficial offer, and I sob.  And I sob.  And I don't stop sobbing for 24 hours.  I'm like a large babychild just sobbing for a day straight.  It is a miracle that nobody slapped me.  

I just had this vision that, after all this time, God would handsomely reward us with an income that would allow our family of 7 to move to a house with a second bathroom.  Instead, it would be just enough to buy one half-bathroom.  

No, not a house.  JUST the half-bath.  Standing alone.  In a field.

The offer puts us in a slightly worse financial position than we have been in while on unemployment.  Rochester, NY is not exactly a booming metropolis right now (thank you digital age for making Kodak perpetually wet itself for the last 10 years), soooo... ground floor jobs with a great company are actually really hard to come by.  Still, it was not the grand moment I was waiting for, where I pictured an invisible fan blowing literal hundred dollar bills around Tom as he told me the good news.  After admitting that, it is suddenly clear why God ignored that particular wish.  

So, here we are.  Ground floor.  And now that the sobbing has slowed to spontaneous waves, I am finding that this isn't the worst place to be.  Tom has some personality tests to take before the official offer and negotiations take place, but no matter how tight things get, I really do know that we will be fine.  It will take a little time for Tom to work his way up the ladder and get some commission going, but in the meantime, God does provide, sometimes in very humbling and even humiliating ways... but until that fan is blowing Benjamins around Tom's head, we shall live below the poverty line with as much faith and finesse and gratitude as we can fit in a houseless half-bath.

No More "No Problem"

As long as it has taken me to get myself together to post an update, it took significantly less time to be slammed back into reality when we returned home from our trip to Jamaica.  For those of you who didn't know we went, and are wondering how we could possibly be so negligent as to take a trip to paradise while we have no income, you can read that back story here.  Coming home from paradise was sort of like getting sprayed in the face with pepper spray.

I say that figuratively, of course, but I also mean that literally... but more on that later.

Jamaica was perfection.  We had no idea how much we needed that time away, but when we found ourselves in bed asleep by 8:30 on the first night, we realized how exhausted we have been.  I realized that in the past nine months we brought home our fifth child - and a number of unexpected medical concerns we had not anticipated - and although that was a huge adjustment, we changed almost nothing.  We did not slow down, we did not adjust our lifestyle to make room for the countless appointments with specialists, or for physical and speech therapy, or for learning sign language.  We didn't stop serving at church or volunteering at schools, we haven't cleared our schedule in any way.  

In fact, that is pretty true of the last ten years.  We had Annalee five weeks after our wedding, and that kicked off the whirlwind of a life we now consider normal.

So, when we collapsed into our bed that first night in Jamaica, we slept like elderly people.  

Our time consisted of eating and lounging and basking in the kind of sunlight that never quite reaches all the way to the frozen tundra of upstate New York.  We experienced the energizing effects of sleep, coffee while it is still hot, uninterrupted conversation, and massive amounts of all natural, equator-style Vitaman D.  Jamaica is a natural anti-depressant.

This was actually our view.  This really happened.  Places like this exist.

I cam back comparing everything to the idyllic time we had in Jamaica.

"Babies don't gag on their own hearing aids in Jamaica!"

or

"Jamaica would never make us pay bills!"

or

"I would never drop one thousand brussel sprouts in the parking lot in Jamaica!"

or

"I never had pepper spray in my eyeballs in Jamaica!"

You get the point.  We miss Jamaica.

Don't get me wrong... we had our troubles in Jamaica too.  I would drop brussel sprouts in Jamaica, because no matter where I am or what I am holding, I spill/drop/ruin it.  In fact, I spilled my coffee every single morning in Jamaica.  The difference was that I was a slob in JAMAICA!  Not only did the spilling continue as normal, but so did my general absent-mindedness.  I left my phone by the pool, thinking Tom had it, and when I came back (hours later) to look for it... it was already being sold on the Jamaican black market.  But, I was a an absent-minded victim-who-kinda-had-it-coming in JAMAICA!  The bad luck wasn't just me, Tom had his own absent-minded trouble.

Like when he lost his precious baby.

His precious baby is his I-Pod that he got for free 100 years ago.  It was the first one Apple ever made.  It is like the Model T of I-Pods and he got it for free by signing up for a ridiculous amount of junk mail.  He loves it, it is precious to him, and it is the size of an actual human baby, and it is full of music he considers a "variety" despite the fact that it is 90 giggawatts of identical sounding songs.

When Tom shook the sand out of his towel, absent-mindedly, you can imagine his shock when he realized that his precious baby was sailing in slow-motion through the air into the deep end of the swimming pool, headphones and all.  I have never seen him move so quickly or methodically.  He scrambled with the purpose and precision of an EMT with his eyes steadied on his precious baby.  He checked the buttons, looking for a pulse... when finding nothing, he proceeded to perform CPR.  The mouth-to-earphone jack resusitation looked exactly as it would if it were an actual living thing.  He pressed his mouth to any possible opening where water could have leaked in, he sucked water out, he spat, he put his ear to it to listen, then he used his finger tips to gently press on it's little Apple chest.  He repeated this scene until I had to pull him away, and calmly explain to his that it was over.  It was too late.

He, naturally, could not accept this.  He spent days, baking it in the hot Jamaican sun, inside a bag of uncooked rice, convinced that this would create the most absorbing ecosystem in which to dry out his precious baby. He refused to even attempt to plug it in until he was sure it was thoroughly dried out, and when he finally gathered the courage to charge it up and powere it on... there was nothing but the faintest error message, and no other sign of life.

Tom wept.

That last part was a lie.  But, it was still very traumatic for him.  Almost as traumatic as having to leave Jamaica and come back to real life.

We came back to snow.  We came back to the news that Tom, sadly, did not get the job we were hoping for at RIT.  And, inexplicably, we came back to 8 different versions of why we discovered a can of pepper spray in Harper's backpack, (which got all over my face.)

It was blow after blow.  And it burned, both our hearts, and our eyes, nose and throat.

None of this would happen in Jamaica, it's true, but we also came back to a lot of good things and those, too, would not be in Jamaica.  My sweet girls, and their  almost clear  fair, fair skin... that would never survive in Jamaica.  And my darling boys... does Jamaica make high quality hearing aids to gag on?  Is Jamaican pepper spray as potent and as readily available for six year old boys as, apparently, it needs to be for my son?  I doubt it.  I don't think Jamaica has all of that to offer.

Sure, for now, Rochester is the land of gray skies and unemployment, but... it's also home.  And I have faith that God has us here for a purpose, and once I regain the use of my pepper-riddled eyes, I will be able to look around and see that my wild and crazy life, is just a different kind of paradise.

Honeymooners.

I am sitting at the airport, about to board a plane for my honeymoon. I know that makes zero sense because we have been married for ten whole years this month, but I am not making this up.

Some friends and family all pitched in to surprise us with an anniversary getaway.  Apparently the original plan was to send us away for a few days, maybe even get us some place far away enough to take a flight!  Well... Thanks to the overwhelming generosity of our wonderful friends, sisters, brothers, parents, and family, we are going to JAMAICA for a whole week!  

I mean...

A) we named our second-born Marlie, a more feminine spelling of Marley, as in Bob Marley, as in "ya mon."   So this is pretty much a dream come true.

B) we did not really have a honeymoon.  For those that don't know this already, our Annalee was born five weeks after our wedding.  (It is a little depressing when you can't travel too far for your honeymoon because you have to stay close to your gynecologist.) So, you get the point.  It was winter, I was large and in charge, and our few days in Niagara Falls... Not hot.

C) we have had a wild ten years.  Five kids - 3 horrific pregnancies, 2 emotional adoptions, we've lost loved ones, we've moved five times, bought our first home, and fought about whether or not burning said home down is really the best way to declutter.  The past year alone we have had a failed adoption placement, a successful adoption placement, many unforeseen challenges with Jay's health and development, and that seems like a good time for Tom to get laid off.

After all that, then the 31 Days of Kindness (which are wonderfully challenging, but also draining and exhausting) we are ready for a getaway.  We would NEVER, ever take a trip like this - even if Tom still had his job - but we had certainly resolved that our 10th anniversary would have to be celebrated on year eleven or twelve.  So this whole thing has totally blown us away.  

But, when the islands call, you go.

Unless you abide by Tom's traveling motto, which is more like, "When the islands call... you panic."  Or "...you print out TSA toiletrie guidelines, then panic."

The Lord knew that he could use a little Jamaica in his life.  And so we're off, with nothing but our bathing a suits and sunscreen (meticulously measured into 3.4 ounce increments) and I think it's gonna do us nothing but good.

Day 31: A Final Tribute

Buckle up guys, a lot's going down in this post.  We've got something for everyone:  Pictures!  Videos!  Environmental hazards!  Take your pick.

For starters, I need to double back to Day 30.  Our friends, Pat and Megan, are getting married this weekend and I made the hair pieces for the bridal party and threw in a few extra pieces too.  This was actually my wedding gift, so I admit that it is a bit of a stretch to call it an Act of Kindness... but so much love went into each piece, and time, aaaand I am adorable and convincing and you will accept this all as sufficient for day 30.

For Day 31, we sent a little something out (a couple bucks leftover on a Dunkin Donuts gift card) into the universe, hopefully to bless a person and not just to entangle a ducklings little flippery-paw thing.  We captured it on video so you could all see our ridiculous costumes, as well as our antics.  I have a little enviro-guilt about this one, so please refrain from chastising me, taking comfort in the fact that I have already done so myself.

From L to R (Jaylen - Was supposed to be London's groom, but he ate his top hat and vomited on his tuxedo. Tom - Groom, Me - Bride, Annalee - Tweedledee, Marlie - Tweedledum, Harper - Spiderman, London - Groomless Bride.)  If you are having a hard time picking up on the theme, that's because there really isn't one.

So, our video is nothing compared to what's next.  The boys from Day 2 have a little something to contribute.  If this doesn't melt your heart, then I will pencil you in for 31 Days of Interventions because you have serious emotional problems  then we can agree to disagree on this one.  Check it out...

It is crazy to me that my brother's short, stolen life continues to impact people to this day.  I cannot even count how many messages I got from people who knew my brother, Adam, and were impacted by his life.  I cannot help but feel that God refused to let Adam's life be lost in vain.  I just imagine God saying "Alright, fine... but good luck trying to stop that kid's legacy."

These 31 Days of Kindness were done in loving memory of my hero and big brother, Adam.  I am so thankful that I got to be his "lil' pinner."

Love, your baby sister

Day 29: The Arctic Skinny Dipping of House Visits

As it gets closer to Halloween, I've discovered that it gets harder and harder to write.  And not just to write, but to pour myself into this project.  Grief can make you feel like you are swimming with your clothes on.  I can feel so heavy, that it requires slow, labored, intentional movements in order to survive.

Even mundane tasks during times like that are exhausting.  And after Day 29, I am reminded how some people feel like that, emotionally or physically, every single day. 

Yesterday, our Act of Kindness was to visit Lexi's grandmother.   This past summer, she had a stroke and has been wheelchair-bound ever since.  The last time I was out visiting her, she was playing with the kids, cooking from scratch and telling funny stories.

This visit was very different, and though she said very little, you could still see that mischievous little grin during playful conversations.  Still, she is now completely dependent upon her children and grandchildren for her daily care, as well as for the managing of her home.

So, Lexi and I took London and Jay on the hour long drive out to the boondiggities to visit the apple farm where grandma lives.  My goal was to give relief to Lexi's aunt, who is now living with grandma indefinitely to care for her.  I have seen my mom diligently care for my great aunt and grandmother, both living with us at different times, and both with Alzheimer's, as well as a close family friend, Carol, who faithfully cared for her mother-in-law in her own home for years.  Seeing it first hand made me aware that caring for elderly family members is certainly one of the most sacrificial labors of love I have seen expressed.

I fear that our visit, while a welcome distraction, probably was not a "break" for either of them.  Let's be honest, any time I show up with my spunky London, really, only her own grandmas are relieved!  London was really just in it for the apples, and Jay, he was in it for the opportunity to scavenge for whatever choking hazards he could find.  

Needless to say, we were useless in the relief department, but I am going to pray that our visit was, if nothing less, a little break from that heavy, swimming-with-clothes-on feeling.  Even if a visit with us is more like the shock of a skinny dip in arctic waters... it broke up the monotony.  And while actual arctic skinny dipping would be horribly dangerous and ill-advised for a rehabilitating stroke-victim, a couple of silly kids is maybe just what the doctor ordered.

Plus, Lodon got those apples after all.

Thanks to me...