Day 30: Peaches, and Pits

Can you guys even believe that tomorrow is the last day of October? I can't help but feel the crippling self-doubt that tries to creep in at the end of this kind of project. It's so easy to harass myself with criticism and accusations that I didn't do enough, or that I wasn't as consistent as I wanted to be, or that I offended someone on accident, or that even if I did do some good things, I didn't always have that cheerful heart I had hoped to have by now. On the other hand, I feel absolutely exhausted. I feel physically and emotionally drained... so the pride side of me spits back its own ugly accusations, that I have done plenty, too much in fact, and I shall never be kind again, and I need a vacation, nay I deserve a vacation. And then I realize what a sick, sick woman I am, and that's when I decide to stop all the  maniacal  internal dialogue and just show you a picture of this peach.

This was Day 30. I delivered this enormous peach to my daughter's fifth grade teacher, who's adorable baby girl is named Georgia, and is lovingly referred to as "The Peach." So, after searching high and low for an infant size peach costume, he was desperate. And since we are in the business of making frivolous, fruit-related dreams come true... we stepped in and made this adorable little Georgia peach. I painted some upholstery fabric so that it would not only look like a peach, but feel like one too. (Okay, it was a crusty-fuzz after all the paint, but be quiet and just love my peach.)

Then we made a little stem-blossom headband.

Look at all that gorgeous fuzz!

I will post pictures on my business FB page (Piccadilly Rose) once there is a baby stuffed in that thing, because you will throw up on yourself when you see how adorable she looks in it. 

So, delivering that bad mamma jamma was one part, but the second part of #AdamsActs has been in the making since the end of September. I have been trying to organize a team of people to serve my friend's mom who lost her husband of 35 years, suddenly and tragically, just 6 months ago. 

She and her husband lived in their dream house (that he built for her) and together they raised two children who would grow up to devote their lives to full-time ministry. And although this sweet woman, and her children, have had their lives turned upside down by the loss of such a wonderful man, their grief has not taken everything from them. Even in the midst of despair and anguish, their grief has not won. They have a hope in something beyond this life, and they know that one day, they will see and touch and hold this man once again, but when that times comes, he will be in his perfect form, because he has been seen and touched and held by his Healing Father.

And as this woman waits for the moment of that reunion, she is bravely facing this new chapter of her life with such grace. She is beginning this new adventure in a new home, in a new town. That is a lot of new! And while she is looking forward to being closer to her beautiful grandchildren, she is undoubtedly overwhelmed at the task of making this new house feel like home, especially when her husband was a gifted craftsman who built and created such beauty in their home. So, I have been putting together a small group of people to go to her new house on Saturday to help make this feel less like a space more like a home. We plan to paint a couple of rooms, and do whatever jobs she finds us fit to do.  

That won't officially happen until November 1st, but since the planning is half the battle, I am using it for half of Day 30. I painted a peach, and then I am going to paint some rooms. One is frivolous and fun and quite adorable if I do say so myself, and the other act (I hope) brightens up more than a house, but my prayer is that this act of love and service will brighten up this new season of life for her. 

Day 29: It happened.

Today, our friend and pastor, returned from a trip to the village of Maramara in Chad, where he went to see how the people are fairing since our church body donated money to provide a well for clean water (as well as the training to repair and maintain the well, independently) and to build a school. (Talk about your Act of Kindness!) We got the privilege of seeing videos of the people of Maramara drinking their clean water and readying themselves to begin school next week! It was amazing.

One thing that David shared that stood out to me was how the people of Maramara recovered from a fire which recently destroyed virtually all of their homes. When asked how they were feeling since the fire, they simply stated that "It happened." For the people Maramara, health is a luxury, and one that has only recently been made available with the arrival of clean drinking water. Conveniences are non-existent. There is zero sense of entitlement. When their village burns, it just burns. It happened, and that is all. Nobody expects otherwise.

Americans do not suffer like that. We talk about how we feel about what happened. We want to know why it happened. And we especially want to know how bad things could happen to good people. We feel that we don't deserve to suffer. We feel entitled to our safe and convenient lives. We don't suffer well do we, us Americans? I know I don't.

Don't get me wrong, I am thankful to live in a community where a woman dying in childbirth is extremely rare and appalling, I am glad that when someone's home burns down, it is recognized as a tragedy. I appreciate that the way my brother's life was taken from him is still shocking. I don't want to live in a world where that stuff just happens and that's that.  Still, I think we could learn from the people of Maramara when we are focusing on our grief, our loss, our idea of stress or inconvenience. We are spoiled, and we are rich, and we don't even realize it. Even our suffering is defined by our expectation that we be spared from such pain. We get so angry and shake our fists at God and demand an explanation, as if the Creator of the Universe owes us anything.

Anyways, I was struck that the people of Maramara expect to suffer, but they probably didn't expect to have clean water. They can rejoice so freely because they see the gifts as gifts, and the suffering, not as a curse, but as part of life, just something that happens. I want to be more like that, where I am so pleasantly surprised that anything good could happen to such pitiful people as us that I see it as a gift, a mercy. I want to feel my grief, and I want to continue to be shocked and saddened when horrible things happen, but shocked because I haven't been desensitized, not because I felt entitled to a comfortable life.

I always dream of doing something big like that, going to Africa and making some big impact. But, the truth is, they don't need me there. They need clean water, and education, and they need their own people to be equipped to lead their people, they don't need me. This is when I wish I was a dental hygienist, or a doctor, so I had some skill that would be useful to a village in Chad. But, alas, I do not. So, until they need tutorials on how to make a fool of yourself in a blog post, I am staying stateside.

Which brings me to Day 29. I went, under the cover of night, to rake leaves for our friends who have a really busy schedule (both work full-time, three kids, etc.) They were talking about how their yard has been overrun with piles of leaves, and I have it on good authority to say that they were not exaggerating.

To save time, I will summarize Day 29's #AdamsActs and what I learned in the process:

• I learned that these friends live on a corner lot. 
• I learned that corner lots are bigger, and that means more leaves, and that means more  work  kindness, so, woohoo! I  hate  heart corner lots.
• I learned that if you are 5' 9", you are too tall to hide behind a limp, quarter-filled leaf bag, and the homeowner will see you crouching like a criminal if they pull into their own driveway.
• I learned that I am exponentially more afraid of pedestrians after 10 pm, than I am before 10 pm.
• I learned that I am slightly more afraid of pedestrians that are smoking than those that are not. (I really, truly did not know I felt this way, and I don't know why that is. Perhaps, deep down, I believe that someone who is willing to completely disregard the collective world-wide opinion that something is horrible for you, is also - just slightly - more capable of ignoring the notion that skewering me with my ancient rake handle is a bad idea. I don't know, maybe it's something else, but this was a new discovery.)
• I learned that damp, dead leaves smell like the breath of a drunken man.
• I learned that they also sometimes smell like poop.
• I learned that when leaves do smell like poop, it's because you are actually smelling poop.
• I learned to always wear gloves when scooping leaves into a bag by hand.
• I learned to always keep baby wipes and hand sanitizer in my car.
• I learned that if it's really dark, you can still see how many leaves there are left, but you can't see your rake.
• I learned that once you lose your rake, you have to go home. Ashamed.
• I learned that even if you aren't a doctor doing important medical missions in Africa, you don't need a PHD in poop-raking to make an impact in your own city.

So there it is, Day 29. It happens. Suffering just happens. Literal and figurative crap happens. Right in the middle of a good thing, there is this heap-o-fecal matter just waiting to get scooped up into your bare hands. That is life. It stinks, but I think I am learning to expect it in this life, knowing that on this side of heaven... we can either focus on the whole corner lot of gifts we have been given, or we can let the one pile of poo rob us of all our joy. I think it's a worthwhile pursuit to just dig in and hope for the best.

The first/worst rake ever made. And bags that promise more than they deliver.

I didn't know I was raking crop circles until just now.

That's like nine bags, son! 

Day 28: Vidglogger

I don't vlog. First of all, I am not mature enough to handle video blogging, and second of all... I think the word vlog sounds dirty and I refuse to say it.

So, tonight we made a vidglog. It's terribly ridiculous. Enjoy.

Day 26: Cider, Santa and Squalor

For Day 26 we delivered cider to some neighbors. This doesn't sound like that big of a deal, because it isn't, but we did make the cider ourselves which I think earns a few extra effort points.

Our friend, Dave, came for dinner and brought over a medieval torture device, that doubles as a vintage cider press. The kids absolutely loved it, and my blood pressure  was  wasn't at all through the roof as the children's precious fingers continually came too close to the finger-remover  spinning gears.

The kids got to make their own cider with this contraption, and it was some seriously good cider too. So, we jarred some up and delivered it to people down the street. I had a nice conversation with the girl, who remembered that I brought her husband some curry last year because all he had eaten that night was potatoes. #worstdinnerinhistory

Every year, I also give myself kindness credit for the amount of time I spend making Halloween costumes.  I spent a lot of years not participating in Halloween. It wasn't because I thought it was dark or evil, or anything like that. Sure, some people take it too far and make it dark and sinister, but to be honest, we grew up making silly costumes and carving pumpkins and hoarding candy under our bed, ya know, like Americans. So, for us, it was never about anything scandalous. We didn't use it as an excuse to dress like prostitutes, or sacrifice animals in satanic rituals. (That's what Thanksgiving was for in the Provencal family.)

Still, as harmless as I found Halloween to be growing up, I felt some loyalty to my brother to sit on the sidelines each year. On the night that Adam was killed, I was dressed as him for Halloween.  I wore his wrestling singlet and warm-ups and had his head gear dangling on my hip, just like he did between matches.  I braided my hair into pigtails, because, obviously, that made me look more like a teenage boy, and I was him. When everyone else dressed up like their favorite super heroes, I dressed like mine. It just so happened that my hero was a 17 year old kid. And truth be told, Adam loved Halloween. He loved to be silly, he loved to laugh and play, and he inexplicably loved hammer pants.

So, right around the time I had kids, I decided that I would let them experience all the fun and shenanigans my sisters and I experienced with my brother when we were kids. Nothing dark or scary, just haphazard and offensive hobo costumes, harmless gender swapping, and juvenile diabetes.

But despite my decision to embrace the fun of Halloween, rather than the sad reminders... I still struggled so much when the holiday actually came around. I just dreaded all the leading up to it. Then I discovered that I could throw myself into making the kids's costumes, and it would help me look forward to the fun, and distract me a little from the grief triggers. It doesn't always work, but hey! we have some pretty fun costumes out of it.  So, here is a little smorgasbord of costumes from Halloweens past.

 Annalee's first Halloween... speaking of gender swapping, we went as boys. Okay, she went as a boy, and apparently I went as a pedophile. (I worked at a preschool at the time and, I kid you not, they would not let me into the building. True story.)

Baby's first sideburns.

Marlie as Jessie from Toy Story 2

l

Danielson and, if memory serves me correctly, I believe I called myself Captain Awesomehook 

The year of all the Santas

Accompanied by Mrs.Clause and an elf.

I feel very strongly about drawing facial hair onto young children whenever possible.

Chick hatching out of an egg was pretty epic. London was afraid of Lebron James apparently.


Two cupcakes and a candle

As much as I preach kindness this month, none of my #AdamsActs would make my brother more proud than the fact that I have become so much like my mother in all her costume-making glory, that I (spoiler alert) sewed a bean bag to a bicycle helmet today for one of our costumes. Absurd and wonderful and truly something that Adam would have appreciated.

Tom's act of kindness, besides continuing to help with all the kids while I continued to recover today from the pink eye of the throat... was dealing with the mess of homemaking Halloween costumes. He secretly loves living  in squalor  with such a fun, creative woman. 

Day 24 & 25: The Better to Slap You With, My Dear

The past couple of days have been a hodgepodge of #AdamsActs. I manhandled the post lady into letting me leave a book of stamps at the counter for anyone who might need a stamp. She kept saying that she didn't think she could do that, and I kept saying that I believed in her and that I knew she could do it. Eventually I said "Thank you, bye! Pay it forward!" And skipped out in the midst of her protests. 

I also gave my mother-in-law a free haircut, which I always do, but when you devote a whole month to kindnesses, you count all the usual stuff too!

Before I de-mudflapped her...

And after

Before

 

So. Now that my mother-in-law looks younger than me, let us move on to the rest of the family.

Annalee volunteered our crafting skills to make a Hallowern costume for her teacher's baby.  

Marlie had to dress as a storybook character for school.  She chose to be Little Red Ridinghood and brought a basket of apples to deliver to teachers and bus drivers. (Though I think her greater act of kindness was looking this adorable in her costume.)

I am in a particularly busy season of life, and in Tom's words have "run myself down to the point of being sick." So now, I can wheeze every time I breathe and bark like a seal every time I cough. I have felt miserable all day and for Tom's #AdamsActs, he has banished me to my bed to rest. I am not the best at staying in bed or being a patient, but he has been quite insistent.

As evidenced above, Tom is very aggressive about his kindness. And he thanks you for your continued prayers for his rage problem.

Day 23: Adopted.

We have an open adoption.

A lot of people think we are crazy.  (We also think we are crazy, but for totally different reasons.)  Actually, maintaining a relationship with our son's birthparents is one of the least crazy things we have ever done. When the alternative is withholding a relationship with people that created him, it seems insane to do anything else. Trust me, I am not being judgemental, I know that there are a million nightmare scenarios where a relationship must be withheld for the child's safety and well-being. But that's not what I am talking about.

I am talking about two people who absolutely adore their child. I am talking about a beautiful, bright, amazing young woman who created a life from scratch, and then birthed absolute perfection. She not only gave him the gift of life, she gave him the gift of a family. And for some reason that blows my mind every single day, she chose us to be that family.

I do not think of choosing open-adoption as some heroic act of mercy like some people think it is. Mercy is when we don't get punished for something, even though we deserve it. I think that is how a lot of people look at it, like birthparents lose their right to be involved if they choose to place their child for adoption.  If I gave birth to a child that I did not feel prepared to parent at the exact moment of their birth, I cannot imagine the pain of receiving a life sentence of separation from my child because of it. I honestly don't feel like we are doing anything remarkable by facilitating a relationship with Jay and his first mommy and daddy... rather, I think we have the privilege of being part of something remarkable.

We fell in love with our son's birthmama, Miss N., the moment we first spoke with her on the phone. She and I have been texting and calling and facetiming and sending pictures and videos... almost daily ever since. Yes it is a huge commitment.  Yes it is time-consuming. Yes it can sometimes be messy and enmeshed (see why I have a low tolerance for that with neighbors!?)  No, it is not easy or convenient to travel to New York City every few months to visit them. Still, it is nothing remarkable on our part.  What she did was remarkable.  She entrusted us with the life of her only son... and we are merely reciprocating the trust and respect she showed us, even though we did nothing to deserve it.  That is called grace.  To give a blessing that someone does not deserve.

Adoption is such a sweet picture of our belief system. We actually believe that we are adopted by God, because he essentially traded in His only son so that we (ie; heinous sinners) could be made His perfect sons and daughters. That is both grace and mercy. He showed us grace in pursuing us though we did nothing to deserve such love... and He showed us mercy by not separating His perfect self from us, even though I sin enough in my sleep to warrant permanent banishment from His perfect presence.  I know how crazy this all sounds... which is why I admitted that texting my baby's birthmom is hardly the craziest thing I do.  I actually believe this Jesus stuff, and I know that makes me wacky to a lot of people.

But, here's the cool part. Because I actually believe this stuff, I get to live with a peace and a reckless abandon that nothing else in this world can give. So, sharing my son with the only other people on this planet who adore him as much as we do, is not that hard in light of my own adoption through the grace and mercy and loving kindness of my God.

Day 22 was a lot of adoption love. I spent time talking with Miss N. and messaging back and forth with birthdad (or "Pop" as Jay calls him). I also spent an absurd amount of time searching online for a very special fox. When Jay was first born, we bought Jay two adorable stuffed woodland creatures. He has a bunny - which represents Miss N.- so she has a matching one. And we got him a fox - which represents Pop. I have been searching for a matching fox for Pop and have planned to give it to him in November when he comes to Rochester for his first visit here.

On the train going to see Jay and Miss N. in the hospital when he was first born.

I ran into a little glitch while attempting to get a couple foxes, one for Jay in case Mr. Fox 1.0 has an accident of any kind and one for Pop. Eh hem... the stinkin' fox has been retired! Sooo... instead of ordering that for Pop as an act of kindness, I had to ASK POP to take a train all the way to the Bronx and SEARCH FOR IT AT THE HOSPITAL GIFT SHOP AND BUY IT FOR ME, FOR HIMSELF.

#fail.

So, as much as I had hoped to bless him with a really meaningful, matching woodland fox... instead, I sent him on the world's worst errand. Buuuut... I did send them both some adorable pictures of Jay, and I thanked them both for procreating the world's most adorable child. This is not an opinion, this is a fact. That I will prove to you.............. now.

I enter into evidence, Exhibit A

Photo cred: Me, but that was easy thanks to his DNA.

DNA cred: Pop and Miss N.

Photos by Ebersole Photography

Day 22: I See Your Note & I Raise You A Sheet Pizza

How about another round of applause for Tom's very first guest post!

For those that asked if it was really Tom who wrote the post, I have a few things to say to you:

1) Why would I lie about that?

2) If it was me, pretending to be Tom, the section about how great I was, would have been much, much longer and more detailed.

3) If there are any lingering doubts about the identity of the last post's author, I would encourage you to re-read the portion (approximately 50% of his post) where Tom describes his disgusting lunch with obvious romantic feelings. If you think I am capable of speaking fondly, let alone romantically, about a slice of American Cheese then you are dead to me.

So, it really was him and I am thankful that you all got a little taste of who he is, before he becomes incapacitated from heart disease and other cheesesteak-related health problems. Pray for him, please and thank you.

So, Day 22.

 

We have tried to keep the kids involved in our #AdamsActs, and it is always awesome to hear their suggestions for different acts of kindness we could do. My four year old, London, has notoriously horrible ideas that almost always have to do with chocolate, and somehow she gets the chocolate in the end. Harper's are usually some over the top plan (like to buy a new house/car) and always for Jim, the neighbor who had back surgery. You may recall, during our ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, he challenged Jim.

He did have his first idea that was doable, and not Jim-centric.  He came home with a letter written for our neighbors on the other side of us.  It was adorable, and I will translate it below.

Hello. 

Hello Neighbors, Hope you had a great day! Just wanted to say you're nice and I love when you play football with me. (heart) Harper Next Door

  This goes for both of you.

 Harper brought the letter over to the neighbors, but they were not home. We had tried to bring them an apple crisp a couple days earlier too, but they were not there then either. So, Harper put it in their mailbox and put the little red flag up. I thought it was really cute, but I honestly didn't think about it a second time, until we got this the next day.

They went out and bought Harper an age-appropriate thank you card, and a gift card to get pizza and wings during the next Bills game. Harper practically wept with joy. It was so cool for the kids to see (in such a ridiculously instantaneous way) that when you sew kindness, you reap kindness.  I wish that I could say that they have already learned that lesson, because I am so sweet and pleasant and I always have the good of others right on the forefront of my mind.  But, I would be lying. The truth is, I am the worst. 

I love my neighbors, all of them, I really do.  But before this current set, we had a pretty rough run of neighbors. One potty-mouthed neighbor got so drunk that she peeled out of her driveway, she actually drove her car into her own house, obliterating her new wrap-around porch... if she had gone in the other direction, she would have obliterated me, Marlie and three of her little friends who were all sleeping in a tent in our back yard for Marlie's campout/birthday party. I had a hard time getting close to that one. Still, I acted kindly and I reached out, which you can read about here, but honestly, instead of loving my neighbor, what I really wanted to do, was report her.  

I had neighbors that, during a particularly low point, I remember wanting to hit with a shovel, I can't remember why, but I know for a fact that it was, in no way, an overreaction.  And some of you may remember this post when my elderly neighbor made out with me a little about my Act of Kindness two years ago.

So, you can see that I have tried, that I am still trying.  But, the reality is that I love the neighbors I know, and I am scared to get to know the neighbors I don't know. Maybe it's because we all live so close, but I am always cautious to get enmeshed with new neighbors. So, I am embarrassed to say that Harper did this on his own. Not because of my shining example of kindness... if he was following my example, he'd be pacing around the perimeter with a shovel. He just loves people, and he loves football, and he loves to throw the football with the neighbor.  I love people and I also love keeping a polite distance when I can because otherwise, it just gets messy.  

And as much as I wish I had reminded my children that we are to love our neighbors, even when it gets messy, even if you get enmeshed, even when you get a little frenched by the elderly... in the end, it was my children who reminded me. 

Day 21: All Tom, All the Time. (ATATT - Special Edition)

Disclaimer:  Today’s post will not be witty, deep, or compelling.  You all know that Lara is a beautiful, intelligent, and inspiring woman.  And although I am none of those things, I do get to be married to her and that’s a totally awesome thing to be able to say.  Yeah – this is a cameo.  It’s Tom and this here is a “guest post”.

So I’m not good at this.  If you know me you know I’m a man of few words, and sadly even fewer thoughts.  But I’m still going to give this my best shot.  Lara had a hard day today – nothing catastrophic, but one of those days where, you know… everything just takes longer that it was supposed to, the Salvation Army didn’t have the right shade of blue pants to make a homemade Super Mario costume, there was a lot of driving kids around, and all you want to do is not write about it.  So I’m taking over.  Just for today, though, so don’t start writing in.

I could count this gesture of “guest posting” as my act of kindness, but since I didn't even know that Lara would need this sweet relief (of which I’ve so gallantly offered), my dad and I had already chipped in with our own #AdamsActs today.  We pretty much saved the world.  We gave away 2 cups of hot chocolate that we got for free and didn’t even want and also threw away 1 plastic grocery bag.

Here’s how it all when down.  My dad and I have been trying to spend more time with each other.  This past year, along with this month, have been potent reminders that you just don’t know, well anything.  I’m not talking about my aforementioned lack of original thoughts.  I’m talking about how we don’t know what our circumstances will be tomorrow.  We don’t know if we’ll be healthy, if we’ll be safe, or if we’ll suddenly be forced to miss someone we love because they’re gone.

So my dad and I have decided to hang out more, eat together, and talk about how life is going.  Today, he stopped by MCC (where I work) for lunch.  We put both generations of our wisdom together and chose a community college’s version of “Philly-style pizza”.  Picture a regular piece of cheese pizza lovingly sprinkled with shreds of Steak-Umm.  Then, and this is what gives it the authentic Philly feel – there’s a Kraft single melted on top to pull it all together.  We felt like we were on South Street.  Then, because I was with my dad we had to chase our heartburn with coffee.  We sat back down at our table with our coffee, when the woman working at the stand yelled, “Your 2 hot chocolates are ready!”  We stopped talking.  “She’s looking right at me.”, he said to me in a low voice, barely moving his lips.  We both froze - like in Jurassic Park when Dr. Ian Malcolm’s only chance of not being eaten by the T-Rex is to remain absolutely motionless.  “Hey, you in the green sweatshirt!  Come get your hot chocolates!” I will say that if he had been on the island of Jurassic Park, his green sweatshirt might have blended in with the large tropical ferns and we would have been spared from the T-Rex barista.  But nope.  We told her we didn’t order them, but she wasn’t having it.  We were taking them.  At this point all of the surrounding tables were watching our little scenario play out and enjoying the show.  So, we decided to give away the hot chocolates as an act of kindness.  We were rejected by the first table.  So, that felt great.  However, another student overheard our offer and said he’d take them.  We handed over the hot chocolate, then told them to smile for the picture.  We explained nothing.  My dad just said, “Smile”, took the picture, then said “Acts of Kindness!” in a really cheerful voice.  It was great.  We considered going back and explaining what just happened, but ultimately resolved to go ahead and keep it awkward forever.

The second act of kindness we bestowed upon the students of MCC was to pick up a plastic grocery bag and throw it out.  This opportunity presented itself after this kid, sitting within arm’s reach of the trash can, reached out and tried to throw it in.  The dude didn’t even ball it up first.  What?  You know how far you can throw an un-balled-up plastic bag?  I’ll tell you.  Approximately 1 inch.  So after the young man’s 1 inch toss didn’t do the job, he watched it slowly float and land beside the trash can.  Then, he just left it there.  Here’s my dad gettin’ the job done.

 

Lara always finishes her posts with an amazing one-liner.  I have to tell you that I’ve been staring at the screen for at least 12 minutes trying to come up with one, but it’s not going to happen.  So, I’m out.

*drops mic

Day 19: Random Acts Of Poor Circulation

My big brother, Adam, was known for making people feel special, like they mattered.  When someone felt small, or invisible, he would take the time to get to know them, have a conversation, reach out. He was the kind of kid who would take the time to walk a mile in someone else's shoes.  And part of honoring his memory and trying to share his legacy with others, would be doing just that.

But, I must warn you... if you are going to walk a mile in another man's shoes, you might wanna steer clear of the guy from Day 19.

Yes, it's true, walking a mile in his proverbial shoes would not be fun.  He was clearly homeless, pushing all his belongings in a shopping cart, and he was not properly dressed for the cold, rainy evening.  So, yes, walking a mile in his life, would be hard, if not miserable. But, I mean, literally, you don't want to get assigned to walking in his actual shoes.  I know you would be very uncomfortable walking in his shoes.  I know this, because I bought them. And they are accidentally, a size 6. 

Sooo... if I had to pick one of the most horrifyingly sad sights, it would be someone on a cold, wet city street with bare feet. I am always cold, and I quit when it's cold, and I hate being cold and being cold hurts my feelings. So when I see someone with their poor, cold grubbies just hanging out in the elements, it physically pains me.  For Day 19, I wanted to buy a decent pair of men's boots that were used (read affordable) but still in very good shape, would be warm and also waterproof.

I went to the thrift shop and found only one good pair of boots.  The whole bottom foot part was rubber and one full piece,  so there was no place for cracks to form or for water/snow to leak in.  I picked them up and looked at the bottom and saw they were a size 9. (Wait for it...)

When I got home and showed Tom the boots, he remarked that they looked really small, and I agreed that 9 is on the smaller size for most men's shoes, but that they were the only good pair, and they weren't that cheap, even at a thrift store... so, we would just have to find a guy with not-huge feet.

Then, I packed up some dinner to share with someone, including homemade white chicken chili, jalapeno cornbread,  fruit and some chocolate. (The chocolate was London's  demand  suggestion.)

We loaded all the kids in the car and set off to find someone who met the following criteria:

1) Must be homeless.

2) Feet must be smaller than average.

3) Feet must be exposed to the elements.

Well, if you found this criteria to be quite specific, you won't believe how narrow our pool of recipients became when I looked at the inside tag and saw that they accidentally printed the size 9 upside down.

 

NO they didn't. That's a 6.  I bought a pair of doll shoes for a homeless man. 

Operation Shoe the Shoeless, Criteria 2.0:

1) Must be homeless.

2) Must be the petite-est man alive.

3) Must be willing/able to curl his tiny feet up and stuff them into these child-size boots. 

And now I had to find the match to that absurd new criteria, in a city full of people who, apparently, are always committed to wearing shoes because I couldn't find anyone with their toes just out and about. And I certainly didn't see any grown men walking atop dainty, feminine feet which had been bound since birth to prevent normal growth.  

I did find a reeeeeally short fella who did not have good shoes, and figured this would be the closest possible match. I approached, introduced myself and said "I happen to have a decent pair of warm, winter boots, but they are quite small, like a men's size 6... you wouldn't happen to want or need those would you?"

His response?  "Oh yeah, sure, that's just my size!"

No. No, sir, it's not.

Still, he heartily accepted the minuscule boots, which I am certain are going to be ill-fitting, and thanked me multiple times as if I had given him, I don't know, something saaaay... useful and adult-sized. It was kind of a fail moment for me, but he seemed to truly believe that these boots would fit him, and I hope they do.  I hope that when he sat down at night, and slipped his delicate little toddler feet into Polly Pocket's boots, that it was a Cinderella moment. No jamming or tugging or forceful shoving, no step-sisters screeching "Then I'll make it fit!" Instead, just a quiet, magical moment where the he and the grand duke exchange a knowing glance as his foot slips effortlessly into the tiniest boots ever made. And when that moment takes place, I hope he feels loved, and I hope he feels like he matters.  I hope, for that moment, he does not feel invisible. And even though his feet are just a precious baby whisper at the bottom of each leg, I hope that feeling seen meant he did not feel small.  

These are the boot

Day 18: Mustache Madness

Day 18 was a date nigt.

This does not happen super often. We have an awesome community of people who love us and are willing to help with babysitting, but the reality is that we need to save our willing friends and family for things like parent-teacher conferences, or mandatory meetings that we both have to attend, or  emotional problems emergencies that aren't my fault. The other reality is that we have chosen to just blow right past the average/reasonable family size and make it impossible to do things like "swap kids with friends so we can take turns going on dates."  

A) Nobody wants to swap their two kids for our five. 

or

B) The people who wouldn't feel like they are getting the raw end of the deal, are people who think being a family of seven is normal, and I don't trust those crazies.

So, a date night is kind of a big deal.  We decided to incorporate our #AdamsActs into our date.  A couple next to us overheard us order a really good dessert, and the guy joked that we would have to let them know how it was. Well, sir, it was very good.  Like, so good, that one might get excited and hit said guy in the arm to tell him how good it was. How embarrassing for one, should one love dessert enough to forget about appropriate social boundaries, like not hitting, or, like not touching strangers during their date, or, like not touching strangers ever.  Once  my  Tom's dessert haze lifted, we decided that we should order that same dessert and have it sent to that couple's table. In part to be kind, and in part to make him forget  that  I struck him  about the stresses of everyday life.

So, we had dessert ordered and paid for and we left a note for them to enjoy the dessert and to follow along for the month if they'd like. I also wanted to leave a "Sensational Mustache Message" for our waiter, who had clearly taken the sweet, sweet time necessary to have waxed his mustache tips, and put them in curlers before his shift. Tom felt that doling out mustache awards would not be deemed an acceptable act of kindness, but this comes from that guy down there, who sat down to dinner with a bald face and grew that amount of facial hair before our drinks had even arrived.  He grows a full - lumberjack edition - beard overnight... so he can't really appreciate how hard it is for some  less Italian  men to grow such a fine, curly moustachio. 

Day 16/17: Beauties and the Sweets

My favorite #AdamsActs are the ones where people have big reactions to small kindnesses.  Day 16 was definitely one of those days.

We handed out candy bars with little notes on them.  Once again, I had plans for how it would all go down.  And in keeping with the theme of my whole life, nothing went as I anticipated.

I envisioned bringing treats to a bunch of guys working road construction, and it would make them feel appreciated, and loved and encouraged, and then they would finish the roads faster.  For those of you who live anywhere besides upstate NY, you may not understand.  But, Rochester has two seasons... Winter/Dry Nasal Cavities - 9 months out of the year.  Construction/Humidity/Mosquitos - the other 3 months.

It's basically paradise. 

So, you can imagine my surprise when I couldn't find a single road construction worker. I can't express the melancholy I experienced when I realized that my clever construction-oriented pun would likely go to waste.  

When we couldn't find a construction crew, we changed plans. By that I mean that I made the kids hand them out to strangers. 

Annalee (left) was okay with it, Marlie (right) was not so sure.  The first recipient was just getting off of work and seemed really happy with the unexpected gift, then totally zoned out and stared at me for a long time. We finally realized that we knew each other.  This woman had been my very first client in Rochester.  When I was first starting my little business, I met a hairstylist named Wendy who, for some reason, really believed in me. She bought a ton of my stuff, she encouraged me, she took me to different salons and shops to meet other small business owners who might be interested in carrying my products.  She introduced me to some really important connections, and that led to my first account at a local store, and also the confidence to keep going with my fake business!  I was able to thank her again, and tell my girls about how Wendy had shown me such kindness when I really needed it.  It was actually a cool, full-circle moment for me.  

The second recipient was a guy who seemed totally normal, until we gave him the candy bar.  He looked at us in a bit of shock, and said "Oh my goodness REALLY!?" then held out the candy bar in front of his own face and proceeded to hunch and sway with relief, the way someone would if they were on day 30 in the dessert and could finally see a watering hole up ahead. I guess that guy really needed a Hershey bar. It got, even Marlie, pumped up for the next giveaway. 

Fortunately, most of the messages applied to anyone working.  We decided to go through the Tim Horton's drive through, not order anything, and just give the candy bars to whoever was taking orders.  I forgot that they take your order first, and then you drive up to the window... so we just blew past the voice on the intercom and pulled up as close to the car in front of us and waited our turn.  I did not want to try to explain to the person over the speaker that we didn't want something "to go" but that we had something "to stay" because they would have thought it was a bomb. 

When we got to the window, I explained briefly what we were doing and why, and told her that she deserved a little something and could pass one along to whoever was working hard too.  She said "Ohhh, you're making me feel so special!" I asked if she wanted her picture taken for the blog and she held this adorable pose for a ridiculously long time because I couldn't get my camera to open.  She was a good sport, I was sweating profusely, but we got the picture and I think it made her night. It definitely made mine.

Now... what to do with that very specific rhyme "You deserve a treat, for fixing our street!" when you cannot actually locate someone who is currently fixing the street???  We considered giving it to a police officer since they, too, fix up our streets, in their own way.  But, similar to the construction workers, the police apparently leave the streets of Rochester to their own devices at night.  So, we found a manhole under repair and threw a candy bar on one of those huge, orange barrels  that I one time hit with my car on accident. 

I'm sure a raccoon found it ten minutes later and was really blessed.

For Day 17, I put to use that small business I mentioned earlier. Basically I upcycle fabric/jewelry/buttons/andwhateverchotchkyicanfind and make unique accessories.  I mostly do headbands, bridal headpieces, and a lot of costuming for dance/theatre productions.  I absolutely love doing it, and it pays huge money.  Okay, that is a lie, but I do love doing it!  

I decided to gift some of my creations.  I put together a variety of styles (sort of like these) for my friend Nancy and her two little girls. 

We were having dinner there, and I brought a bunch of headbands for her to choose from.  Nancy's five year old was apparently very excited and enjoyed going through the different styles, and the baby could care less because she is only 4 months old.  But, she looked adorable... as you can see here:

My last #AdamsActs for Day 17 was to finish up a Halloween piece for my step-mom, Jean. Her Frozen-themed costume was, admittedly, a little understated.

Really Grandma Neen, that's the best ya got?

So, we needed to jazz it up... I decided that she needed something epic. I almost made her a tutu, but, thought better of it and decided on this instead...

That should snazz up a t-shirt, no?

So there you have Day 17.  Every little girl needs to feel beautiful with hairbows, and while it may not seem like an act of kindness to make one's step-mother a huge ice queen tiara, I swear it was by her request and was made with nothing but love and kindness in mind.  

Day 15: A Cornucopia of Kindness

We are about half way y'all.

I can't believe it!  If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you have two choices

a) catch up on Day 1 and all the days thereafter, and catch the kindness!

or

 b)  a plague on both your houses.
 b) hate kindness.
 b) be the worst.

Okay, maybe you only have the one option.

Great, now that all the rookies have been properly  threatened  encouraged, let us take a look at some of the #AdamsActs we've seen so far this month. Thought we could all use some fresh ideas!

Deliver a pumpkin bread to a neighbor like Colin - also, start looking this awesome in your glasses.

Leave candy and messages on windshields like my adorable nieces and nephews.


Provide poop bags and doggie refreshments for deadbeat pet owners in your neighborhood!

Provide gift cards to eat chocolate for ladies during that  unstable  special time of the month!

Get your kids to part with some toys, and donate them!

Bring snacks to work, and  humiliate  bless your co-workers by documenting it.

Leave notes of encouragement in places where moms need them most (playgrounds, public changing tables, the pediatrician's office, etc.) *I had to provide my own photo for this because my sister Kristin and her friend did this, but didn't post it publicly... (I got the loud mouth in the family, she got the looks.  What can ya do?) But I imagined it looked something like this...
Except that there is a nice note pinned to that kid's khakis.

Mend something special that got torn.

Paint a rock of reminder.

Bring toys to a shelter.

Treat someone to a train ride.

Donate sick days for someone who needs them (terminal illness, maternity leave, emergency)

Use a penny to ride a mechanical pony, leave a penny for another child to ride, like my niece!





So many great ideas!  My #AdamsActs for Day 15 was buying a snickers for the checkout lady at the grocery store... and sharing all these great ideas with you!

Happy kindnessing!  

Unless you opted for the plague.

Day 14: Geriatric vs. Gentleman's Club

So, yesterday was rough wasn't it guys? Can you believe how all of us had that mental breakdown?

Oh wait, was that just me??

Well, we are due for some jokes about old people are we not?  I am totally kidding, but not really because this is going to get playfully offensive.

For Day 14, I spent the day with some friends (named Erica and Erika respectively) and we made homemade applesauce to share with others. The Eric/kas and I peeled, chopped and simmered until we had enough cinnamony mush to feed any and all people who have outlived their teeth.

We had grand plans of delivering the applesauce, still warm, to a nursing home where we would have the children hand out homemade cards and people would spring up, miraculously, out of their wheelchairs and would twirl and celebrate like school children.

So many things that I just wrote did not happen. Including all of it. Well, the applesauce was warm at one point, but other than that... none of our plans came together. It's probably all for the best because can you imagine how disgusting it would be to see people twirling in those loose, flowing gowns with the back just open and flapping in the breeze?  Just not seeing anyone's ancient buns makes me consider Day 14 a moderate success.

Still, we had a lot of applesauce on hand. and we were not going to let this cutie's hard work peeling apples go to waste!



So, Erika got in touch with a woman in the neighborhood who has lived in Rochester since colonial times. This woman, Marian, is 91 years old, lives alone and is blind. I don't know what a P.C. term for "shut-in" is, but she's a (insert less offensive term.)

Or so we thought...

We brought our children (twelve of them between the three of us) to meet the first woman God ever created.  And let me tell you, ain't nothing shut in about Miss Marian. This old whippersnapper gave the children quite the  inappropriate  education.  I knew it was gonna get crazy when she opened with the fact that ladies are more likely to get urinary tract infections than men.  This tidbit was followed by the history of shootings in the area, as well as the rise and fall of a "night club" which she suspected was a "front for some other operation."  When Marian and her outraged squad of neighborhood watchwomen tried to crack the case, the "good looking black man" who owned the  Gentleman's  night club assured them that the only thing that people were doing behind the smoke and mirrors was exercise.  Well sir, you can't push that kinda crap past Miss Marian, no matter how fine she thinks you are. Marian and the gang had him run outta town quicker than you can say "they used to leave the urine samples in the milk drop box."

No, seriously, she actually said all of this. In front of the children.

So, as you can see, lives have been changed.  Our children will never be the same.

I dedicate this post to Tom, because I will probably end up being an old, inappropriate whippersnapper myself someday. I'm already feeling bad about your future.
Happy Almost Anniversary...

Day 13: All Things New

For Day 13, I did a potpourri of kindnesses. I bought some donuts for friends and their kids, and also for Tom, but  I ate his before I even pulled out of the parking lot  it got stale and it wouldn't have been safe for him to eat. Or find out about until he reads this. 

 #RandomActsOfGluttonyAndSelfishness

In less embarrassing news, I also left dollar bills in the little free libraries that have been popping up around Rochester.  If you haven't seen them, then this would be an awesome #AdamsActs to do!  They are basically a teeny tiny micro-library on a pole.  Think dollhouse-library-lollipop set up in people's yards or at parks or playgrounds. 

 It's such a cool way for people to borrow books or even take a book to keep, and also to donate books that they are done with or have an extra copy of. We love it.  It was a simple and small thing, but I love that it is the opposite of the regular library, where you go to check out a free book and have to pay a fine because  I  Tom checks out too many books  50 to be exact  and  I  he forgets to return them.  He lets stuff like that slide all the time  I tolerate it because I'm in it for the cheese platters.  So this #AdamsActs was fun... get a free book, but also a free dollar! Which is much better than getting no dollars, and a significant improvement on paying dollars.

A few close friends and family members have expressed concern for me in the past two weeks.  The people who know me best have noticed that this year the 31 Days of Kindness (#AdamsActs) seems to be harder for me than the past two years.  There is truth to that, and I wasn't really sure why that was, until today.

I'm going to tell you the truth.

The truth is that I want to do right by you guys.  Each day I want to have a grandiose act of kindness that inspires you all who are participating, and I want it to matter, and I want to share stories about who Adam was, and I want people to understand that his life was worth remembering and honoring.

Doing this for the third year in a row has taken its toll on me, and not for all of the obvious reasons: being busy with five little ones, running my own little business from home, having a limited budget to work with, trying to have the energy to be so emotionally vulnerable, and so publicly, etc. Sure, those things can be challenging.  But, that is not why this year has been so much harder.  Today I realized that I am struggling, because I have used up my Adam stories. You see, I don't have any fresh stories, because I don't get any fresh stories.  Because he is gone.  It makes me so immeasurably sad to write this down, that I will never, ever get new memories with Adam.

And the pressure of trying to share him with you all, when there was so little time with him to begin with, has felt overwhelming to me.

So. I am all done.

No, I'm certainly not done with #AdamsActs.  I will never stop trying to impact this world in meaningful ways as Adam would have, had he been given that opportunity.  I will never stop trying to keep his memory alive.  I will never shut up about this Jesus, who became my leader and my forgiver, because of a conversation I had with Adam in a maroon Pontiac 6000 when I was just a little girl.  I will never forget how my faith in that God got really real, really fast when those concepts, heaven and eternity, were no longer some "off in the distance" kind of notion... but was my 17 year old brother's new reality.

So no.  I am not done with all this. But (and I have to say this only for my own sake), I am all done with the pressure I am putting on myself for each day to be something new.  A man with a gun robbed my family of the luxury of new. What I have of my brother are the old, (and the cherished) memories.  There are few of them, and they are sacred and precious and I will share them because I think his life mattered, and it was too short, and as with any valuable and limited resource... we have to preserve it, and pool it together to see it's true beauty.

So, that's that. I am going to repeat myself guys.  Forever and ever Amen.  And I am going to be fine with that, because I don't want death to win.  I want his life to win, and in order for that to happen, I am gonna have to get repetitive up in here.  If I don't get new memories with Adam, then I am going to make memories that he would be proud of.  If my husband and children can't know him, then they will know his legacy.  If I cannot call him up and invite him over for dinner, then I will share my dinner someone who doesn't have one.  If I cannot see his face, or remember his voice, or watch him run just one more time... then I will spend my Octobers, and hopefully all the months of all my years here being a friendly face, using my voice to speak the truth in love, and I will run until I cross the finish line and finally get to meet my brother and my Jesus, and they will welcome me to a place where, in fact, I will get my new.  

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. And he who was seated on the throne said, 'Behold, I am making all things new.'" Revelation 21:4-5