Day 11: Loving on Lifesavers

Sometimes, you meet people that you like. And then that's it. But sometimes, you meet people that you adore and they make you a cutting board and then five years later you find yourself somehow inside the most sacred places of their lives and you stop and realize what a privilege it is to be there. Today was one of those times and Pap and Meenkin are those people. (Okay, they are actually Pat and Megan, but Jay doesn't know that and his way is so much cuter.)

I won't tell Pap and Meenkin's whole story, because it is not mine to tell... but the important bits are that they are amazing parents to two unbelievably adorable baby girls, Morgan and Zoey, who came into the world at 27 weeks, weighing little more than 2 pounds a piece. These little ladies came onto the scene with plenty of challenges ahead, but even more spirit, and they continue to blow me away with their progress. (And their cuteness.) Pap and Meenkin have advocated for their baby girls, they have spent 5 weeks of long days in the NICU making sure their daughters have the best possible care. They are fighting for their girls, and their girls are fighting too. And somehow, I got the honor of laying eyes on these precious little wonders today. And then I fell in love.

They are already smarter and more attractive than all the other babies. And the love was obviously mutual, I could tell that they think I am wildly hilarious and was pretty much their favorite visitor, including future visitors. So I guess I'm just generally their favorite person. It was all very flattering.

For Day 11, I was spoiled to be able to spend a whole day with Megan, laughing a lot, but mostly crying on our nailpolish and desserts. But after that, we went to the NICU to deliver some special thank you's that my kids made for the nursing staff who work around the clock to help Morgan and Zoey get bigger and stronger every day.

This isn't just a NICU thing, Pat insists on always wearing that mask. JK he has a cold.

In honor of Morgan and Zoey, here are some #AdamsActs that you could consider doing!

-make donations to your local Ronald McDonald House

-thank/encourage NICU nurses

-donate restaurant gift cards to families with a child in the hospital

-donate blood

-get vaccinated against pertussis to protect all newborns

-bring groceries or a meal 

-pray for Morgan and Zoey

We first met Pat and Megan through their own act of kindness toward us. They reached out to us, and they supported our adoption and our family, and their act of kindness is how our friendship first began. Tom refers to this as the "butterfly effect of kindness" (but he says it using his movie trailer voice-over voice.) It is how one act of kindness toward another can ripple out to make significant, life-altering waves. Sometimes it takes a few years to see the waves roll in, and sometimes we never get to see the fruit of our acts at all, but whether we get to see the outcome or not, we truly believe that God is using the ripple of each and every act of kindness to create waves... and sometimes, if you're really lucky, the waves will mean friendship with really special people and their little angel babies.

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."

Psalm 139;13-16

Happy birthday Meenkin... you are a wonderful mommy!

Days 9 & 10: Baggage Ahead

Y'all are about to get all my stuff.

Ya know that really heavy baggage you don't really ever want people to know about? Yeah, that's the kind of stuff I mean.

When I went to bed last night with a thousand things racing through my head that needed to be done before the wedding this Friday, I prayed that I could keep these acts of kindness (and more importantly an attitude of kindness) in the forefront of my mind today. I really hate that feeling when you realize that you have gotten so wrapped up in what is urgent, that you have lost sight of what is important. So, I prayed for perspective and the ability to keep my eye on the goal: to glorify God with every thought, word and deed.

Then I woke up this morning. 

I wish I could start this story with "it was just one of those really rough days when..." but when you are raising a child who comes from some sort of trauma, basically every day is "just one of those really rough days when..."  I don't care what the "hard place" is that a child comes from, whether it be foster care, an alcohol saturated uterus, or just a really sensitive spirit struggling to cope in a harsh world, some kids are fighting through life more than others, and raising them is really, really hard.

Our beautiful, talented friends, Brandi and Danny Ebersole, have been an integral part in helping us tell our family's story by creating the video below. It was very hard for us to share at first, but we have come to the realization that shame and silence further isolate struggling families and nobody was going to benefit from our silence. You can see what I'm talking about here:

Rough stuff right? Well, when I went to bed last night, I prayed for God to be glorified through my personal agenda . When I woke up to His agenda it was not fun. My day was much less productive and much more painful than what I had planned for myself, and I spent a bit less time on the "urgent" things from my to-do list, and a little more time on the important things. 

Harper needed me. He needed me to walk him through his emotions, to name them and define them. It takes a lot of time to do that with him. All day long. And I'll be honest, I am really weary. 

And as frustrating as it was to see hours of my day just evaporate when I have such an extensive to-do list, I had to stop and recall my prayer the night before. I prayed that I would glorify the God who adopted us, who calls us His children, for no other reason than because he loves us and it pleases him to do so. How foolish to think that there was an act of kindness more important to complete than struggling through this hard place with my boy. 

For Day 9, we gave someone a washing machine. Long story.

Day 10, I spent time today encouraging a couple moms who are in the trenches with their boys with various special needs. I had a long conversation with a newish friend, I wrote a letter to a friend of a friend, and sent some encouraging words to other moms that I know could use it. Again I find myself wanting to qualify this with "I know it wasn't much, but..." but, nothing. Some moms get calls from their child's teacher daily to discuss the problem de jour. Some moms get pushed down the stairs when their child is angry. Some moms spend all day and night changing feeding tubes. Some moms have been hospitalized with depression and/or exhaustion. Some moms have to call the police to restrain their child during a rage. Some moms feel really, really alone.

So, it's a great kindness indeed to let someone know that they are not alone. To be reminded that the God who sees, and knows, and cares, is walking ahead of us, and beside us, and around us is truly a comfort on this road with a traumatized child. I cannot imagine a better picture of the gospel, than adoption. The fact that God chose us and made us his own, and he loves us and forgives us even as we abuse his grace. He is the ultimate Father and he has taken every harsh word, every fist shaken at him, every hurt and betrayal, and he has loved us anyway. It is my hope that we will remember this redeeming love and that, we too, will love those who are hurting, and forgive those who betray, and lay our lives down for our enemies and those who harm us... perhaps even though they are sometimes our children.  

Day 8: Feast of the Meats

During my childhood, my mother  told me a minimum of 3 million times that "a mother's job is to embarrass her child." Let's just say she did her job very well. I have to admit, though, that it was not nearly as bad for me as it was for my two older, more sensible sisters, Kristin and BethAnn. It was as if the two of them were simply born more mature and socially aware than my mom, and therefore had an innate understanding of how ridiculous her shenanigans were.

She would dance when nobody wanted her to. She would wear inappropriate earrings. (Yes, earrings can be inappropriate. Just ask her tiny Santas dangling from her ears at Christmastime - wearing nothing but strategically placed Santa hats.) She loved The Artist Formerly Known as Prince while he was still The Artist Known as Prince, and would belt out all his songs at volumes so loud she damaged her own hearing. And while the other moms were sending homemade cookies to camp, she was mailing us actual garbage.

Now that I am a mother, I can really appreciate all of those quirky little things about my mother. Oh, wait... no I can't. Those things are all still terribly embarrassing, Sandi. However, I do catch myself being a lot more like her than I had ever intended. Sure, I haven't actually mailed garbage to the children, yet... but it sounds like something I might consider.

I am that mom who comes to school for "Colonial Days"only to discover that none of the other volunteers remembered to dress like this:

What you see there on the bottom right corner? Embarrassment.

I am that mom who dresses up for Halloween. And I mean... I dress up.

And I make the whole family participate.

I know it's hard to tell, but behind those hand-bent wire rim glasses, and crooked Santa beards... the children are mortified. 

I am my mother. Hurricane Sandi the II.

Honestly, it's a miracle that any of them speak to me. But they do! They even seem to enjoy me most of the time! They ask me to stop dancing, they beg of me never to sing in public, and they roll their eyes when I arrive at their school in a wedding gown for some reason... but they also sort of secretly love it. 

I haven't ruined them, which is a good thing. They still tolerate me, and they have fully embraced #AdamsActs even though some of the things we do are outside their comfort zone. 

For Day #8, I want to share a few things that happened just today.

This came in the mail for my oldest daughter, Annalee:

The fitting part of being selected as a Kindness Crusader, is that she is being recognized for her kindness, but is also going to be perpetually embarrassed because part of this gig is wearing one of those yellow pinny/jersey things. Poor girl. At least I prepared her well for public humiliation.

This was sent to me by Marlie's teacher:

Harper came home from school and made his sisters' beds  because I forced him to  without being asked.

London (and keep in mind that she is five, and this is self-report data) made all the friends and told so many compliments. She is also full of ideas and suggestions for different #AdamsActs. They are usually very elaborate, but my personal favorite was what she called a "Feast of the Meats" where homeless children are welcome to come and watch Nana's TV while we prepare several meat options to enjoy.

And Jay actually wins Day 8 as he served the poor in the city of Rochester at a soup truck tonight with Grandma. And by "served the poor" I mean he pretended to drive the soup truck. It's a start though.

I am one proud mama. For such an embarrassing mother, these kids are pretty darn sharp! And kind. And someday, I think they will be glad for the generational curse of crazy that passed down through the generations.

Day 7: Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now, Not Even Tom

You guys. We are done with week one.

Since people are googling #AdamsActs to find out why on earth strangers are putting money in their car, I think I should make it easy to get caught up. Here is where you can get started. 

It's been a crazy week! People have donated books to children in lower-income schools, people have donated money to very important charities, people have paid for other's meals and tipped very generously. People have bought coffee, lots and lots of coffee for friends, teachers, colleagues, etc. There have been baked goods, and flowers, and chores done... and it has been awesome. Truly, I mean that in the very literal sense... awesome.

My parents lost their only son. All of the dreams they had for his future were instantly gone. Everything they had envisioned for him, all of the ways they imagined his personality and his gifts impacting this world, were no longer possible. I believe that losing a child has got to be the most acute agony a person can endure, and the only thing that might be worse than that is having that child be forgotten.

For so many of you to participate in #AdamsActs, you have bestowed on my family a gift so immeasurable that I really cannot properly thank you. Every act of kindness spread in memory of Adam is a reminder that their boy, their child, their only son... mattered. He still matters. He is remembered. His life had value. The way he lived his life made an impact. And while they no longer have the simple luxury of dreams for their son's future, that devastating reality is somewhat tempered by the fact that their son has not been forgotten.

That is a kindness to my family, and thank you isn't enough. But, it's also all I've got so, thank you. 

So... Day 7.

After all the mushy stuff I just said, you are probably expecting something pretty sensational. 

 Wrong blog. 

 Tom wouldn't let me do anything good because he is a tyrant. 

 I am sorry to inform you that I blew it.

 I blame the emotional hangover from spilling my guts last night. 

 Tom hates kindness. Can you believe this guy? 

 What blog? I have a blog? 

 Tom promised to guest post tonight, but then flew into a rage and refused to do it. 

 I was trying to feed the homeless but Tom pushed me in a pond. 

Okay, okay... the jig is up. Today was sort of a bust. (Although everything about Tom is totally true. It's okay if you feel bad for me. I feel bad for me all the time.)

I did spend the day working very hard on a number of things for my sister-in-law's wedding which is coming up on the 16th. I am the maid of honor, so I have the typical MOH duties, but I am also making a bunch of stuff, soooo it wasn't like I was just lounging poolside all day.  Unlike Tom. 

But, fortunately, I was saved by the FedEx guy who delivered some fine sipping chocolate that I had ordered for our friends weeks ago. (If you don't know anything about fine sipping chocolate, that's probably a good thing. Don't ever try it because apparently it is a highly addictive substance that leads people to make terrible choices, like buying more fine sipping chocolate.) I have never tried it, because a sipping chocolate addiction feels like something that would be in my genetic makeup... but that didn't stop me from dealing a little sipping chocolate on the side. Just this one time. They can quit any time they want.

After my girls went to bed, I sneaked into their bedroom and put some encouraging notes and Bible verses around their room. They are both struggling with the adjustment to their new school, and making new friends is a challenge, especially for my quieter, more timid one. I took a few pictures of the notes  before Tom ripped them all down  in hopes that they would encourage you too.

Day 6: Jesus & Johnny Cash

When I first started doing #AdamsActs, four years ago now, I didn't really know what I was getting myself into. I think my goal was to create a more positive outlet for my grief than, well, spiraling into clinical depression. I didn't really realize it at the time, but what I really needed was the opportunity to process my grief as an adult for, probably, the first time. My oldest daughter, Annalee, just started middle school. She is the exact same age that I was when Adam was killed. I cannot imagine her enduring the traumas that I endured at her age. I cannot imagine her calling family friends to inform them of such a tragic event. I cannot picture her standing in front of a court room, asking a judge for the maximum penalty for her sibling's killer. I cannot bear to imagine her private grief, her guilt for surviving when her sibling did not.

I can't believe that I did those things. And honestly, I can't believe that it took me this long to realize that inside, I was still grieving like a middle schooler. When you always feel a thing, it's hard to identify that thing as dysfunctional. And the "thing" I always felt was this crushing, devastating belief that I should have been the one to go. That God made a mistake, and it was me who should have died. Adam was so good. 

There was a scene in the movie Walk the Line about the life of Johnny Cash, where he and June Carter are talking about Johnny's older brother, Jack, who died from an accident with a table saw. In the scene, Johnny is just coming to after detoxing from a long-battled addiction to various pills and narcotics. He sees that June is by his side, despite everything he has done to make a mess of his life. He looks at her and says, "You're an angel." And the rest goes like this:

June: No, I'm not

Johnny: You've been there with me.

June: I had a friend who needed help. You're my friend.

Johnny: But I've done so many bad things.

June: You've done a few, that's true.

Johnny: My Daddy's right. It should have been me on that saw. Jack was so good. He would have done so many good things. What have I done? Just hurt everybody I know. I know I've hurt you. I'm nothin'.

June: You're not nothin'. You are not nothin'. You're a good man, and God has given you a second chance to make things right, John. This is your chance, honey.

I love that scene. I love it, because I know what it's like to look at all your sins and your flaws and to think, "I shoulda been the one on that saw." I could not help but see my life, my worth, my circumstances through this lens of loss and guilt and grief. It was this notch that had been cut out of my world... and I could not see or hear beyond what was missing. When something so big and central is lost at such a formative time in one's life, it frames everything else and perspective gets lost. That is what it was like for me all these years, except I didn't know it. 

So, when I started focusing my grief outward, and really letting God's promises of healing and redemption take root inward... I healed in a way that I never had as a girl. I've done some bad things, that's true. But, there is nothing better than the moment when June Carter tells Johnny Cash that God's second chances are bigger than the things he done wrong. 

Now, Day 6.

Jay and I had an appointment with the audiologist because he lost one of his hearing aids. It's a big deal, not being able to hear everything everyone else takes for granted. So, the hearing aids are a huge gift, and so are the people who make it possible for him to hear. For my first act of kindness, I give you this video of the first time our son could hear everything for the first time. It's had over 170k views. Because it's precious. Expect to sob...

Okay, don't these people deserve some treats!?

We thought so too.

Jay was super excited!

But, mostly because he thought we were going to eat those treats for dinner at the audiologist's office. He was less excited when I explained those were not his dinner.

Apart from one weak moment when he didn't like the ear mold goop, and said that the audiologist "breaked him," he did awesome, got fitted for his new, neon yellow ear molds and had his hearing re-tested and his hearing aid re-programmed as a result. 

The interesting thing about Jay's hearing loss is that she referred to it as "notch hearing loss." This means that most of his hearing is in the normal range to mild hearing loss, but at a certain frequency, there is this notch that just sort of cuts out for him. Within that notch, are several common speech sounds and multiple every day things that he cannot hear. It is the strangest thing to see one's child respond during a test to a barely audible whisper at one frequency, but not even register a louder sound of a different frequency. It's like an auditory blind spot. 

Doing these acts of kindness, publicly grieving and re-processing Adam's death as an adult has been a lot like getting hearing aids for the first time. It's as if I discovered this "notch," a child's grief that won't ever go away, but needed to be redefined and reprogrammed in order to function properly. It was my Johnny Cash moment, where I had an opportunity to keep hating myself and hurting people... or I could accept that God's grace really was sufficient. And so I did, and so it is.

It's not really about me, it's not really about doing for others, it's not even really about Adam. It's about the God Adam loved. It's about his Jesus, it's about my Jesus.  It has been a lot of things, but a big part of it is confessing the sin of unbelief. I have claimed to have faith in a God that I believed made a mistake. I did not trust and I did not let him lead. Not when it came to this notch of pain... the blindspot in my faith. 

June told Johnny that "you can't walk no line." And that's what this is about, deciding not to walk the line any more. 

"How well I have learned that there is no fence to sit on between heaven and hell. There is a deep, wide gulf, a chasm, and in that chasm is no place for any man." - Johnny Cash

Day 4 & 5: A Gentleman and a Holler

So, I forgot to mention that sometimes it's hard for me to post on the weekends because I have hundreds of children. I assure you, though, that I am doing my daily #AdamsActs and feel perpetually nauseated until the blog is updated. If that helps.

Day 4 was a fun one for Marlie and I because it was our last night away so we went out for dinner. When you have five kids and only one income, dinners out are a huge treat! Shoot, ordering pizza is a treat in our house... so she and I both were excited. Finding something open wasn't easy, because where we were staying is a bit more rural and spread out than we are used to. So we went to the only restaurant in town. 

I knew that a generous tip for the server would be the easiest and most obvious act of kindness for the day, although I was tempted to bring homemade brownies to the alpaca farm across the street from where we were staying.

In light of recent legalization efforts around the country, however, I figured most people would Just Say No to questionable brownies from strangers. So, we went with the generous tip plan as originally intended. 

Our server was very friendly and did an excellent job. He remarked on how well-mannered Marlie was and he even brought her a complimentary piece of birthday pie. It was all very sweet. (He and the pie.) He mentioned that he had only been working there for a couple weeks and was just returning to the area and didn't have a car. We joked about how it is not exactly a great commuter town. I refrained from suggesting he try to rent an alpaca to ride and instead decided to make a very small contribution to his car fund, to write him a little note and then let his manager know what a great job he had done waiting on us. 

I wasn't sure how much to tip at first, but when I got the bill for a little over $17, I knew my answer. Adam was 17 when he passed away, 17 was his soccer number... AP #17 was worn on his teammates jerseys, warm-ups and cleats for years. It was my soccer number and my sister's soccer number and it is now my nephew's jersey number. My nephew, Adam, name after his uncle. So, the $17 tip on the $17 bill was a no brainer.

For Day 5, me and this stud tried to be neighborly and bring in everyone's garbage cans. 

My youngest son, Jay, was quite the gentleman, responsible for the recycling bins. He took the job very seriously, as you can tell by the fishy face.

It felt a little trespass-y I'm not gonna lie. But, we pushed through those social norms and just did it. It went fine, unless the house did not have any recycling bins... In that case, Jay would stop in horror and shout "I not a gemmamin!" And then this happened.

Face down. Sobbing.

And maybe a little rolling.

But as long as the house had recycling bins to tote, he was back to being a perfect gemmamin.

I am blown away by the creativity and hard work so many people have been putting into #AdamsActs! I am truly so thankful and pleased I was able to boss so many of you guys into being kind. No seriously though, you guys are amazing and you deserve the gift of this epic flums up.

Day 3: Uncle #AdamsActs

Oh, hey there Day 3.

If you are just now joining us, well, then... a plague on both your houses. No, I'm kidding. Welcome. For your convenience, here are Days 1 and 2 so you can catch up.

No seriously, read those posts. We'll wait.

Okay, great. Now that we're all caught up and on the same page, let's talk Day 3.

As I mentioned, Marlie and I are out of town for her coming of age chats. We have discussed all the necessary topics and early reports suggest that she is experiencing "pure disgust." I think my job here is done. #momfail

In addition to our planned act of kindness for the day, a couple also fell into our lap. Maybe "fell" into our lap isn't the right expression. These ones waddled across our path. Despite the road rage behind me, I came to a complete stop to allow approximately all of the brown peacock babies in North America to safely cross the road. It took a while because they kept coming, but I considered it an act of kindness. (And a bit of the adult version of my passive aggression I displayed in 8th Grade Earth Science.)

If those birds waddled into our path, this one fell. Or more accurately flew. Into the window. And then died.

I would normally pretend I didn't see the tiny bird corpse because I wouldn't want to touch it, but after all my internal preaching to the guy with the road rage about how birds deserve kindness too, I felt obligated to give this poor little thing a proper burial. Plus, our friends were so gracious and generous to let us stay in their cabin, that I really felt terrible leaving dead things around. 

Once I got close enough to pick it up for it's proper burial, I panicked and just sort of flung it off the deck with a toilet paper tube. It was truly my personal best, though I can understand why that seems hard to believe. It was really gross and I am pretty sure I got the bird flu from the whole interaction. But I did technically remove the bird. So I am giving myself at least one point for that. 

Then, this beauty and I spent some time altering her flower girl dress, and then got to work on our intended #AdamsActs.


Our friend Joe (who allowed us to stay here) and his new fiance, Katie, are very dear friends of ours. They literally got engaged a week ago, and we failed in a major way in the engagement gift department. But Joe and Katie wouldn't even want gifts. They care more about quality time and good conversation. So, we thought that a fun way to bless them would be to make a Date Night jar (which is filled with creative ideas for dates) and a Deep Thoughts jar (which is filled with questions they can ask each other to grow them closer together.) This might sound cheesy, but trust me, it is right up their alley.

Marlie brought a lot to the table with her date night suggestions...

\



Ahh yes, knitting. A beloved dating favorite!

And just to be as obnoxious as possible at all times, I threw in a few twists... like letting Joe's youngest son select their date attire. It should keep their relationship interesting!



When I was a little girl, my brother would put me in a figure four and would force me to say "I love you Uncle Adam." I don't know why he always said Uncle Adam, because he was just my brother not my uncle... but he would demand that I say exactly that. I would giggle and say "Okay, okay I will say it!" and I would proceed to say "I love you..." (insert dramatic, giggly pause) "...AUNT Adam!" And he would yell "ehhhh, wrong answer!" right in my ear, then straighten his leg causing me to laugh even harder, partly in pain, and fear that my femur would snap, but mostly in sheer delight at our little game.

As I sat with Marlie tonight, writing down silly things and deep things and all the things in between, I told her how much her Uncle Adam loved games and being silly and how he would have loved this. And I caught myself...

Uncle Adam.

You would think it would feel strange saying Uncle Adam because he never got to meet a single one of his 13 nieces and nephews. But it's not. Because even as a 15, 16, 17 year old kid... he went by Uncle Adam. And it breaks my heart a little every time they say "Uncle Adam" because they won't ever know their Uncle, but it is such a sweet gift to have heard him say it, to call himself by that name so many times. It's those small things that I remember, and it really is the small acts of kindness and silliness that he would have loved.

It's okay if these #AdamsActs are small or silly. It's okay if it's just a friendly smile or a good old fashioned, out-loud compliment... It's okay if it turns out that you can't do the proper bird burial. Sometimes just a toilet paper tube and some ice breaker questions are enough for now. I think that sometimes it's the littlest things that matter.

"I love you Uncle Adam..."

Day Two: Reunions, Tips and a Toddler Takes Notes

Welcome to Day 2.

Based on the 7,100+ hits on yesterday's post (which you can find here if you are  a deadbeat  just joining in) I think it's fair to assume that some of you reading this are strangers. There is a fairly good chance that at least 83% of those hits are my mother... but even so, I don't know that many people, so it's safe to assume that at least some of you do not know who I am.

I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Lara and I miiiiight be a bit of an over-sharer. #shockingiknow 

I live with my family in New York. (Upstate, not the cool NY.) My husband and I have five children. We are a colorful, adoptive family, so some of my babes came to me via adoption, and some are biological. My husband, Tom, borders on sainthood at all times, so you may find me playfully abusing him a little bit, because you simply cannot have two saints in one marriage. That'd just be obnoxious. We just moved to a new house a week and a half ago, so life is a little hectic, always, but especially while we don't have laundry hook-ups yet, and all seven of us are still living out of boxes. I am going to need all of you to set your expectations of me to a nice, low standard, and let's just go ahead and accept that my not harming any of the children during this crazy season will likely be my greatest act of kindness. 

Now that I have introduced myself and crushed any lofty expectations... let's talk Day 2.

I had a few ideas up my sleeve for today, but I settled on a surprise reunion between my two older girls (Annalee -11 and Marlie -10) and their favorite teachers from their former school. When we moved, we left some really fantastic teachers behind and I wanted to bring the girls by to say hello and that we miss and appreciate them.

Both of my parents were public educators and at one point or another, so were both of my sisters, my brother-in-law, my step-sister and step-brother and step-mom. It goes without saying that I have a healthy respect for what teachers have to do on a daily basis. Teaching is often a thankless job, and I gave some of my teachers a serious run for their money. 

In 8th grade, I refused to take notes in Earth Science because I believed myself to have a somewhat remarkable auditory memory. However, note taking was required and my teacher refused to change the overhead slides until everyone had taken thorough notes. I acquiesced, however, I did so in the most irritating way possible. I did take notes. With my left hand. It took me approximately one thousand minutes to write a barely legible sentence. I remember, quite clearly, realizing that I could technically obey, but still punish him for making me do the thing I did not want to do. So, I took my sweet time, writing like an enormous toddler.

And my teacher did not hit me with a bat.

If I could go back in time and hit that passive-aggressive version of myself with a bat, I would. Since that is not an option, I have resolved to work very hard to build good relationships with my children's teachers, since I sort of owe it to public educators for my generally bad behavior.

We had grand plans to show up with coffee and donuts, but we found out that they had an assembly scheduled so we had to high tail it over there sans treats in order to see them. Still, the teachers and students that we saw agreed that bringing my two sweet girls for a visit was treat enough.

After popping in to see the teachers, Marlie and I left for our Double Digit Getaway. This is a tradition I started in order to force myself to have my Claire Huxtable mom moment with each of my girls.

(Tom can do the guy thing, and I don't want to know anything about any of it, Because, no. Because, gross.) But for the girls, the tradition goes like this: I give each girl an invitation on the exact birthminute of their tenth birthday. This is the moment they hit the double digits, going from 9 to 10. We schedule a weekend away to discuss all the things that are about to go down in the double digits. It is a lot to cover, ya know... everything that happens between ages 10 and 99. So, we talk body stuff, we talk birds and bees stuff, we talk modesty stuff, we talk boy stuff, we talk Jesus-and-daddy-are-the-only-men-you-really-need kind of stuff. I am pretty terrible at it because I am a middle school boy at heart and anatomically correct verbiage either grosses me out or makes me giggle uncontrollably. It's a problem, Still, it is a great kindness to give a child one-on-one time when they have four other siblings vying for my attention.

Even if you make them learn about periods.

We were at least able to give the waitress a generous tip when we got Marlie some hot cocoa. (Chocolate is a big part of a girl surviving the Double Digits, so this felt like it tied in nicely.)

And for my final #AdamsActs for Day 2. I would like to publicly apologize to all my teachers and coaches for being a giant pain much of the time, but specifically to my 8th grade Earth Science teacher.

Mr. Holwerda, I am so sorry. I think you and I both know that I am not left-handed. I am sorry for my behavior and I thank you very much for never hitting me with a bat. 

So, that's that, Day two. I cannot thank you all enough for joining my family and so many others who are sprinkling kindness confetti around the globe in memory of my brother Adam. He was a phenomenal student and, incidentally, could actually write very nicely with both his right and left hands. I often grapple with this feeling of survivor's guilt, like if Adam had lived he would have done so many more important and astounding things than I have done with my life. But, as I see the impact his legacy of kindness is making here in the US, but also in India, Ghana, Japan, France, Australia, Germany, etc. I can't help but be overcome with gratitude. For though Adam's life was cut short, you all have helped me to do something important and astounding. Nothing can bring him back, but for those that loved and knew my brother... this sure does make it feel like a part of him never left.