Parenting is an Act of Faith

When people find out I have seven kids, the first thing they ask is whether I’m Mormon, or Catholic. In this valley, that’s a fair question. When I answer that I’m Pentecostal, the second thing I hear is, “You have seven kids? But… you look thin/great/fantastic/terrific/[insert flattering adjective here]!” and – let’s face it – I do.

I’m fond of saying that after I gave birth to my son, I got the rest of my kids the old-fashioned way. And by “old-fashioned,” I mean OLD… like, Biblical times old.

I have four full-time step-children. “Full-time” means I have them about 300 days per year, with time off for good behavior. Last year, when my step-kids’ birth mom got angry at me, she refused to take her summer visitation, blessing me with an extra 30 days with the kids. I suppose “time off for good behavior” is in the eye of the birth certificate holder, in my case.

Speaking of good behavior, how hard would it have been to be Joseph, the original step-parent extraordinaire? Step-parenting is hard, even when you aren’t raising a messiah. I hear, “You’re not my mother” or “My mom is better than you” often enough that it makes me want to perforate my eardrums. I also get my fair share of “When my MOM hears about this, she’s gonna be real mad at you.”

Poor Joseph. Can you imagine? If the Son of God, said to me, “My dad is gonna be REAL MAD when he hears about this,” it would put the fear of…

Well, let’s just say it would alleviate any shortage of fiber in my diet.

Joseph probably never got to tell any of the standard parenting white lies, either. He probably never said to Jesus, at the marketplace, “I agree. That truly IS the most amazing piece of useless trinket garbage I’ve ever seen. I would totally buy it for you, but I forgot my wallet, and I don’t think they take debit cards. Next time, I promise!”

No, raising a messiah probably doesn’t lend itself to what I, for one, see as untruths necessary for my parental sanity.

My youngest two kids are adopted. Adoption is a tough parenting path to navigate. There are questions adoptive parents need to ask themselves, like: Should we tell our child he or she is adopted? Should our child have a relationship with his or her birth family, if the family is known and desires such an arrangement? And how much should we tell our child about his or her family heritage, if it is known?

It is vitally important that you get the answers to these questions right. One particular adoptee – perhaps the most famous adoptee of all – did not know he was adopted. He didn’t have a relationship with his birth family or learn his first family’s heritage while he was growing up, though I will step out in faith and say his adoptive parents did NOT know where the boy originally came from. The fact that he grew to adulthood is proof enough of that, because his adoptive dad had a serious penchant for killing babies in this kid’s family tree.

I’m speaking, of course, about Moses. Moses’s adoptive father, while possibly being a decent or even doting parent to Moses, was a snarly, angry bigot who decimated anyone who dared to challenge his position or authority.

The story of Moses teaches adoptive parents that you shouldn’t adopt if you have a tendency to kill people. Otherwise, your sweet little adopted kid will grow up, find his birth family, and came after his adoptive family… with the wrath of God following him.

Are you Mormon? Catholic? The slightly edgier Pentecostal? Maybe you’re a Jew or pagan. Heck, you may be agnostic or atheist. It doesn’t matter. Parenting is an act of faith, no matter how you get your kids. You do the best you can and hope – pray – that your kids will turn out okay and not kill you in your sleep.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/paullew/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Bad Gratitude Monday (Wednesday Back-to-School Edition!)

Whew! I know you darlings didn't actually expect me to post Bad Gratitude Monday on MONDAY this week (or any other week, for that matter - it's rarely posted on Monday)! So much to do, so much to buy, so much to stress over...

Melody Beattie has a wonderful quote about gratitude, and it's very fitting today:


Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.

Amazing, isn't it? This week has been tough. Really tough. However, I have endless gratitude for:

1. Court dates. We've received a (tentative) date for finalization of Curlytop and Snugglebug's adoptions. We're hoping that everything goes as planned, and we finalize on September 22nd. I know many have been praying for our family, and for resolution of the adoption. Looks like it's finally coming!

Also, we received a notice from the prosecutor that Tattooed Necklace Guy is going to trial in October. Creepy Lurker Dude was arrested, and we'll wait to see when his trial is. Read the back-story here. I'll keep you posted. Thank you to all who have prayed for justice. It is arriving, slowly but surely. Continue to pray that these monsters will not be allowed to "work the system" and escape consequence.

2. My amazing kids. Like most families with seven kids, we are always on a tight budget, and, like many blended families, we have been able to share many expenses with our kids' non-custodial parents. This year, however, the bio mom of four of our kids decided to refuse to contribute to expenses for school supplies and clothing because - well, I don't know why. She is frequently bitter and angry, and I can't explain most of the things she does. In any event, our budget for half of the kids' needs certainly wasn't going to cover everything they needed.

When we explained to the kids that we had planned to purchase half of their clothing and supplies, and now that money was going to have to cover everything, it was heart-wrenching. I felt terrible about having to tell the kids that we were going to have to scale back our lists.

Know what their response was? They went into their rooms, did inventories, and came back and said things like, "My friend gave me this skirt because it doesn't fit her, but it's practically new. I can wear this to school," or "My backpack from last year is in pretty good shape. I don't mind using it for a while," or "I have the dress shoes you got me over the summer, so I really only need one pair of street shoes," and "It's okay. We have more than a lot of people. It's just stuff."

Can I tell you, readers, that I found a quiet, private place to bawl my eyes out? Even though things have been emotionally strained in the Wright household as of late, these are the kids that I remember choosing to spend a December collecting cups of dried soups, small bars of soap, mini-bottles of mouthwash and packaged cheese and crackers, which they assembled into care packages. On Christmas Eve, we took the packages into downtown Seattle and handed them out to homeless people. Seeing my kids blessing others who were less fortunate and praying with them is a sight I don't remember often enough. How could I ever be cross with such generous kids?

3. Provision. We live in a rural area, and between us and civilization is a bridge. Beebe Bridge is old and beautiful, but Monday it looked like this:
A semi truck hauling apples made an abrupt turn on the bridge for some reason and broke through the side of the bridge. The cab of the truck snapped off and fell into the Columbia River. The driver, a 48 year-old woman from Olympia, was seat belted in. Her body was recovered hours later. Her driving partner, a male, is presumed dead and his body has not yet been recovered from the river, despite extensive searches of the water and shoreline. Please pray for the families of these victims, and that the body of the second victim is recovered soon.

The bridge has sustained considerable damage. It's sagging and it's not clear how long it will be closed. What that means for us is that in order to get to Chelan, our "town," we have to drive all the way to Wenatchee and up the west side of the Columbia - about an hour and a half, one way.

Now, I can miss my belly dance classes for a few weeks, and I can do my shopping in Wenatchee, but my kids go to school in Chelan. Driving six hours to get them to and from school (three hours round-trip, twice a day) is not in our gas or time budget, to say the least. Fortunately, the school district has stepped up to help kids in our area get to school. The buses are running an hour earlier each morning and returning an hour later each afternoon, but they ARE running, and getting our kids to school.

4. Being able to make a difference. I remember seeing the events of 9/11/01 on television as I woke and prepared for the day. I watched as news crews reported on the horrific sight, even as the crashes kept happening. I remember thinking, hoping, praying that I was still asleep - that it couldn't be real. "This is the United States," I kept crying. "How can this happen?"

That night, we joined hundreds of others in lighting candles and leaving flowers and written prayers at the International Fountain in the Seattle Center. The entire place was awash with flickers of candlelight, and the sound of quiet sobs was the only noise.

September 11, 2002 we returned to the fountain. There were noticeably fewer people, but organizers had mulched the flowers left the previous year and made packets of mulch and bulb flowers to send home with those who returned. We planted our bulbs the next day. Our dog dug them up and ate them. I was devastated.

In 2003, even fewer people went to the fountain. Our kids were saddened that theirs were some of the only candles lit. By 2004, the tradition was pretty much abandoned, though we stopped by and said a prayer. We moved in 2005.

Since then, our remembrance of 9/11 has been pretty much a quiet, private one. This year, I'm publicly doing something to help keep the memory of those lost in the tragedy alive. I hope you'll help.

Project 2,996 is an online cooperative effort to remember the 2,996 victims of September 11th. Bloggers (or even those who want to participate but don't have a blog) research and write a tribute to an assigned victim. So far, just over 675 people are signed up to write an online memorial.

I truly believe it is an honor to serve the memory of those that were lost. This project is, in my opinion, too important to not take part. Please, if you can spare an hour to research and another hour to write a tribute, sign up here. If you don't have a blog, a page to post on will be provided for you. I am endless grateful to be able to help this effort, and my plea to you is that you'll do the same.

What are YOU grateful for?

Photo credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/atelier_tee/ / CC BY-NC 2.0
GoLakeChelan.com

Daddy Got Lei'd on Father's Day...

...and boy, was he surprised!
The kids made candy leis and "sodas" for Mr. Wright at church for Father's Day. How cute are those?! The leis are mini candies, wrapped in plastic wrap and strung together with ribbon. The sodas are malt glasses, filled with unwrapped chocolates for the "soda" and topped with mini marshmallows and gummy candies for the "whipped cream and sprinkles."

After church, we headed over to my parents' house to wish my dad a happy Father's Day.

Can I insert a plug about step-families here? Can I just say that being a step-parent is infinitely harder than being a biological parent? Anyone who takes on the job is equal parts crazy and wonderful, and I am so grateful for my dad. He did, after all, raise me from a little hellion into a pretty well-adjusted woman after he married my mom.

That's Pepper, The Dude, Snugglebug, Grandpa, GirlWonder, Curlytop and Bandit (the little blurry blurb of action that Curlytop is pushing away). It's tough to get a photo with a ton of kids and two dogs running around.

"The toys at Grandpa's house make noise! Why don't we have toys at home that make noise?!"

"Grandma and Grandpa have a garden. We don't have a garden because Mommy kills plants. She's a vegan, you know... it's savage, seeing her brutally chop up a carrot! Oh, the horror!"

"We helped Grandma harvest her strawberries!"

My mom fed us (because she's amazing) and we piled the kids into the car when the whining started (because we love my parents, and want them to ask us to come back).

During the 45-minute drive home, I called my bio father, who lives three hours away. He was heading out to have dinner with my sister and her in-laws, but said he'd call me when he got back.

This morning, I looked at my missed calls. He called at 8:59 p.m. We were all already zonked out. What a busy day! I'll be giving him a very happy day-after-Father's-Day call today.

Hope your Father's Day was equally busy, and equally blessed!

A Crash Course in Satire and Why Sterilization Doesn’t Work

Someone named Judy Brezina of Carlton, Washington thinks I have no business calling myself a writer. She said as much in her May 14, 2009 letter to the editor of the Lake Chelan Mirror.

I have more than enough publishing credits to claim otherwise, but to each her own opinion. Speaking of which, a Google for “Judy Brezina” revealed a pretty impressive list of publishing credits for her, as well. Of course, they were all enraged letters to the editors of various newspapers, but I’m no snob. They totally count! Perhaps Ms. Brezina should write her own column, although satire and humor are clearly not her strong points.

For those not possessing the extensive vocabulary that Brezina does (“imbecilic,” “ignorant” and “insensitive” are all pretty big words, and nicely alliterative, to boot), the word “satire” is defined by Merriam-Webster’s (Brezina’s dictionary of choice) as: 1: a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn; 2: trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly.

Did my column on Guantanamo Bay and bikinis not hold up the human vice of vanity and the follies of the detainee situation to a high enough standard of ridicule, Ms. Brezina?

Let’s take a look at the “gonzo” definition Brezina plucked from Merriam-Webster’s: 1: idiosyncratically subjective but engagé; 2: bizarre; 3: freewheeling or unconventional especially to the point of outrageousness. Brezina asserts that The Gonzo Mama column fits only the “bizarre” definition. I say she’s not giving me enough credit for living up to my name.

1. “Engagé” sent my spell-check feature into fits. I went back to Merriam-Webster.com to make sure I’d spelled it correctly and—I must admit—to get a proper definition. Ironically, Merriam-Webster failed to locate a definition. Dictionary.com, however, gave me this: (adj.) actively committed, as to a political cause.

What’s my cause? Drawing attention to human rights issues. Denouncing the laissez faire attitude of those who think the activities at Gitmo are of no concern. Shining a spotlight on societal standards which pressure women to fit an unrealistic ideal. It’s all in my piece, and it’s too bad Brezina lacks an appreciation for the satirical delivery. Make no mistake – I am serious about human rights. I don’t wear diamonds. I seek out fair trade companies. I cried when Converse was acquired by Nike, and I’m holding on to my circa 1990 Chuck Taylors until they disintegrate.

2. “Bizarre?” I plead no contest.

3. “Freewheeling or unconventional… to the point of outrageousness.” Excuse me, Ms. Brezina—are you not outraged?

Perhaps it’s inaccurate to say Ms. Brezina suggested I should be sterilized, but that’s the implication I took from her statement “…we should be extremely careful about overpopulation. Ms. Wright seems to be very proud of her ability to procreate. Personally, I don't think it's such a hot commodity. That's why God gave us the brains to control ourselves.”

Of all the barbs contained in Ms. Brezina’s letter, that particular statement incited the fiercest responses from The Gonzo Mama’s fans. The supportive replies flooded my inbox, popped up on Facebook, and planted themselves on both TheGonzoMama.com and LakeChelanMirror.com.

Most leaving comments denouncing Brezina’s letter are people who actually read my column – a credential Brezina herself clearly cannot claim. That’s why my regular readers were able to cry foul on her statement: They know that I gave birth to only one child.

I am, in fact, very proud of my ability to “procreate.” That is, the ability that allowed me to birth my son almost fifteen years ago. I’m proud, too, of surviving cervical cancer and other health issues that make my birthing another child a medical improbability. Does Ms. Brezina mean to vilify me for producing a single child?

I am equally proud of my four stepchildren, to whom I have been the full-time mother for about nine years. Ms. Brezina, do you begrudge those four children the benefit of a consistent mother? Should I have refused to marry their father—who had a vasectomy even before we met—because it would make me the mother of five children and subject to snide comments about “overpopulation?”

Know what else I am proud of? I am proud of my two youngest children; two beautiful little girls with special needs that we are adopting through the Department of Social and Health Services (DSHS).

Come to think of it, a certain level of population control could arise from the abolition of DSHS. With DSHS no longer in the picture, children would remain in homes where they were subjected to abuse and neglect, and we’d see a rise in child death rates as a result. Is this what you were getting at, Ms. Brezina? Should I stop adopting children who have been removed from dangerous homes? Am I failing to do my part for population control because I provide a safe, loving home for children who don’t have one?

I suppose you’re right, though, Judy. God actually didn’t give me the brains to control myself. When a child needs a mother, I just can’t seem to say, “No.”

Frankly, I think striving to give children a better life IS a pretty hot commodity.

Photo art by Gonzo Jenny

Bad Gratitude Monday (Don't Jump!)

Bad Gratitude Monday comes this week from Washington, D.C. during our annual trip for the National Association of REALTORS Mid-Year meeting!

I have a lot to be grateful for today!

1. Our plane landed safely!
2.Our suite is beautiful!
3. I know I've finally arrived as a print columnist, because my editor called today to inform me that I received my first piece of hate mail!

The writer basically said I have no writing skills, I'm not funny, and I should be sterilized! Actually, she said I seemed pretty proud of my ability to procreate, that overpopulation was a problem, and "That’s why God gave us the brains to control ourselves."

Hmmm... does anyone else think that this brainy control fanatic has never read The Gonzo Mama before? I mean, if she had, surely she would know that I gave birth to one child (would she begrudge me that?), am the mother to four stepchildren who have a largely unavailable biological mother, and am the adoptive mom to two babies whose parents cannot take care of them. Right?

Granted, this woman was writing in response to my satirical piece on Gitmo, and I told my editor that I anticipated the hate mail would start flowing in, but this woman REALLY HATES ME!

Why am I excited about this? Everyone claims to hate Perez Hilton, but someone is reading and watching him... otherwise, no one would even know he was around to hate.

Am I right?

Enough about me... what are YOU grateful for?