September 15, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

My Bean

We are just coming back from an epic (I don’t use that term lightly) week and I have many posts coming regarding that, but for now I thought I should celebrate my Binyam WHO TURNED 7 ON AUGUST 31! Can’t even believe he’s 7.

This guy who has a threshold for crazy shenanigans from animals and humans alike.

The guy who goes by “Bean” at school because he got tired of trying to get other people to say his name properly.

The one who his teachers love for his huge smile and willingness to go with the flow.

My babe who loves chocolate more than anything else in this world.

Only thing that could compete with chocolate in his eyes are his siblings and cousins. Those people? Yeah he’d do anything for them.

It’s always so fascinating to me that whenever I talk to people who know our family they usually say something like, “I love all of your kids but that Bean has a special place in my heart.” Of course I can guess the reasons for that, but at the heart of it all is simply-his heart.

He is light, love, joy and cotton candy goodness. His authentic giggle will have your sides splitting. Because he didn’t walk for his first 3 years of life (he was born with club feet) almost every time he runs I get a bit choked up. He also didn’t talk much his first 3 years so when I hear him in one of his rare monologues with his siblings I can’t help but believe in miracles.

Being the mommy to a boy like Bean is so very humbling because he’s a constant reminder that most of the shit we moms tend to dwell on just. doesn’t. matter. Do you love me? Will you take care of me? Will everything be ok? Then nothing else matters.

I love him, I am beyond grateful for him and I will spend my days trying to earn this gift that was given to me.

Love you Bean, happy birthday buddy.

August 21, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

Where it all started for me

You guys ever watch those, “Who do you think you are?” shows where celebrities go on a quest to find out what their ancestors were up to? I’ve always secretly geeked out on those, not because it’s celebrities but because I’ve always had this really weird fascination with the past.

In my case, I’m pretty lucky to have grandparents on my mom’s side still alive and still willing and able to tell me stories about growing up. Though I could honestly say I would sit and listen to them all day, their generation is often more keen on letting the past go and sitting in silence while watching their ever-expanding family play.

A few weeks ago most of my maternal family got together to celebrate my grandparents’ 65th wedding anniversary, my grandma’s 83rd birthday and my grandpa’s 90th birthday. This is them. They are the freakin’ cutest.

Elmer and Delores successfully raised 5 kids (I say “successfully” because all children made it out still talking to each other and to their parents…this is what my dreams for mine have amounted to. 😉 ) That’s my ma there in the red, my auntie Glenda in navy and my uncles Neil (gray), Dale (maroon) and Vic (green).

Those 5 went on to marry (and have stayed married for a looooong time each one of them) (missing Uncle Gary in navy)

and procreate at ever-increasing speeds. 😉 So I have a lot of cousins, and I happen to love and appreciate each and every one (I’m missing a few cousins in navy, one residing in Kentucky and the other in Chile).

Then we went on to marry and ~~fornicate~~ procreate/adopt at even more increasing speeds, creating roughly 16 great-grandchildren for Elmer and Delores. (3 not pictured, they live in Australia, we will forgive them for not showing up)

That Saturday I kept looking at us all wondering if my grandparents were looking at all of us thinking, “We did all of this.”

Elmer and Delores live in a tiny town in Iowa called Frederika. I love “Fred”, as we call it, because it’s one of those towns I could let my kids walk around all day and not worry about a thing. I also love it because we had an open house for the anniversary and the entire town showed up. Not just that town, but seemingly every town within a 15 mile radius. From 3-7pm people were coming in, talking about how much it meant to them that Delores showed up to sit with them while they lost their mom to cancer or Elmer helped them build their barn.

I must admit here that having three black sons in a town like Fred can make me a little nervous. The only ones with a hint of color for miles, they certainly stood out. But I also can’t tell you how thankful I was to watch my grandma throw her arm around Tomas and proudly introduce him as her great-grandson to her friends. I also can’t tell you how proud I was to watch my sons ask to throw away plates and cups for some of the older patrons and beam when the patrons would touch their arm and say sweetly, “Thank you sweet boy!”

Of course I write all of this knowing I’m in a unique position of having biological children who will grow up knowing their biological great grandparents and also having children who will grow up not knowing their biological great grandparents. When I look at Elmer and Delores or my mom and dad, sometimes a bit of sadness creeps in that my boys don’t get to hang with people who share their eyes or facial expressions. When my grandma starts to laugh she looks just like my mom and I look just like the both of them. It’s remarkable to watch bits of myself play out in my grandmother. I can’t really imagine what it would be like to wonder about it all, like my boys have to do.

I suppose that’s why I’ve made a committment to do the digging myself on their families. Why I keep in touch with their families. I see their faces when they’ve received a letter from their loved one and I get it.

I can’t imagine shaping a future when the past is marked with holes. I know I so often look back at old pictures of my family and gain a new understanding of why I am who I am. I’ll do the best I can with my boys but as for me, I’m so very thankful for my family.

So very thankful for the uncles who gave me weird nicknames and “boop” my bun, for the auntie who prays for me and donates to all of my passion projects. For my cousins who took my fish off my line for me, played tea with me and even told me grandpa’s finger was stuffed in a jar in a closet (Dani!).

And for Elmer and Delores who started it all. Happy anniversary grandma and grandpa, love you!

August 20, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

11 years

Saturday my handsome hubby and I celebrated 11 years of marriage. It’s still hard for me to believe these two twenty-year-olds

became these two not twenty-year-olds (just ask my orthaped doc)

I wrote about our “love story” here but what I reflect on the most every year on our anniversary is just how far we’ve come. I distinctly remember being thrilled and unafraid to walk down that aisle 11 years ago because I knew who I was walking towards. So much of our boldness in deciding to get married at a young age was rooted in equal parts faith in each other and naiveté about what marriage even meant.

Now I believe our boldness in continuing to choose each other is rooted in our faith in God and our understanding that almost all a couple can weather together-we have weathered. When you’re on the other side of some of life’s greatest storms and you still look at that person and say, “Yup, it’s still you, it’s always been you.” Well then it’s a little easier to get through the next day and the day thereafter.

Z is not perfect, but the best part about that is he married someone who is about as far from perfect as they come. I think sometimes we want to find someone who balances us out, right? Someone who is good at the things we are not. I agree with that, but sometimes I think it’s more about finding someone who looks at you when all the shit you hide from other people is out and proud and says, “Yeah I can live with that every day.”

I can’t begin to describe what it feels like to walk in my front door every day, shed off my skin, and know that all of my organs are fiercely protected by the man I married when we didn’t even have the ability to legally drink.

Happy 11 years, my love. Thank you for looking at me in all of my imperfect glory and simply stating, “Yeah I can live with that every day.”

July 30, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

My Dailah is 7 (!)

Dailah was born July 26, 2006 almost 4 weeks shy of her due date. Zach had just taken a 24 hour train ride to a conference in another state when I called to tell him it was baby time. I was sick, had a high fever and it was getting risky for us both. After a devastating miscarriage the year before, I will be honest with you that I was scared out of mind to lose her. Zach heard it in my voice on the phone and booked the next flight home. My mom, sisters-in-law Leslie and Kait (and Zach, of course) were all there for her birth. It was intense. After she was born they whisked her off to the NICU.

Big brother, Trysten, first seeing her just hours after she was born.

Her lungs were underdeveloped, she had a bit of a fever but was otherwise healthy. Almost 7lbs of dark-haired goodness.

I got to hold her a few days after she was born, one of the best days of my life.

I was able to spend the nights in the NICU with her so I could continue breastfeeding her (when she was finally able to eat after a day or so) and those were some of the most special nights when I felt like it was her and me against the world. When I’d be able to just rest in her strength and beauty and my ridiculous amounts of love for her.

A week after she was born she got to come home with us. She continued to be the strong character she gave us glimpses of in the hospital. And she continues to this day.

Getting her nails done by her pseudo-auntie Chrissy during her birthday week.

Dailah LOVES sleeping in. She’s always been my late to bed, late to rise kinda gal.

We got to have a really long FaceTime conversation with my niece Adley Sue. The two of them are hilarious together, I love seeing their budding friendship grow the older Adley gets.

Had a few people out for her dinner birthday, she was so happy they came out.

Her style. No words to describe how perfectly she executes outfits and accessories.

Dailah recently lost her front tooth, I can’t help but cry a little inside when I see my baby growing up before my eyes.

These two bond over fashion and make up.

She’s around boys all of the time so naturally a few of her best friends are also boys.

Oh my does she just. keep. growing.

Sometimes I’m at a loss to describe this little darling of mine. Of course I happen to think the world of her but it reassures me to know everyone who meets her thinks the same.

If there’s one thing I know for sure it’s that she’s going to change the world. Probably not in this big, Ghandi-like way, but certainly in the way that she challenges people to love and appreciate every moment of life.

I know for sure she has changed my entire world by being the light in the darkness and the reminder to hold on to everything I value with all that I have.

And I also happen to know I love her with every inch of my body.

Happy birthday, baby girl. Love you more than you can measure,

Mommy

July 26, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

Tiny Revolution

Today (Dailah’s 7th birthday) we were in the main lodge at camp for breakfast. Every few minutes a camp counselor would come up to Dailah, pick her up and twirl her around, whisper something in her ear and then put her back down. She always came away from these experiences with a really big grin.

Multiple times a day I recognize how blessed we are to live at camp. Though it certainly has its drawbacks, there are far too many good things that outweigh those less than optimal things.

Zach will often come home with stories about specific counselors. Things they have been through in their lives, hardships they have overcome. I’m constantly surprised by these stories because to me these beautiful people are just part of our camp family.

It occurred to me the other reason I was surprised these young adults were sometimes the kids in school who felt out of place is because camp is a place where the ragamuffins all feel welcome. As I looked around the lodge I saw people from every gender (including one transexual), race and nationality. We have tattooed people, the super religious, gay/lesbian/bisexual, long hair and short hair. We have the choir peeps and the jocks. The sorority/fraternity and the bookworm. And though they have their fair share of squabbles they all coexist in this amazing space of love and acceptance.

Zach told me at one of his supervisor meetings they were discussing dress codes and had settled on a basic uniform. Then he said, “Look, I think this makes sense for the other Y’s. It looks professional and welcoming. If you want us to do that at camp, I absolutely will. But at camp we are different. We like that about each other. These counselors come to camp because they are loved for all of their uniquenesses. That extends from their hair to their piercings to the way they dress. I don’t want that to go away because I think the kids that come to camp can sense that. I think they see our counselors and know that this might be the only place in the world where they fit in. So I’ll do what you ask here but I’m hopeful you’ll let that continue.”

Perhaps that’s what I love most about camp. I see a teenage male wearing a makeshift cape to camp and no one teasing him for it. I read the notes from campers to counselors thanking them for making them feel loved beyond anything they had previously experienced, I read the Father’s Day card to Zach from a teenage girl who had never known the love of a dad until Zach “Maverick” came into her life.

Because I’m not in the thick of the day-to-day operations (that can often bog down and make one forget the experiences of camp) I get to stand in awe of the powerful transformations that happen in both counselor and camper. I get to think about and pray for these counselors who become my children’s aunties and uncles for months (sometimes years!) at a time. Once in awhile I even get to lament the fact that I was never able to experience these same things when I was their age.

But my overwhelming feeling is that of gratitude that there is a place for us all. I love knowing that there are still pockets of our culture that celebrate differences rather than judge them. And I am so grateful I live here and am a witness to it every day.

So grateful my ragamuffin family lives in a community where we are accepted and are part of a tiny revolution of people trying to love the previously felt unloveable.

July 23, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

That time when I was an 80-year-old woman and broke my foot walking

On Friday I was walking from the main lodge here at camp to my car. I would actually describe my pace as “yogging”, which is what Zach and I call it when one is half jogging, half walking. I was talking to Trysten who was a few feet in front of me when I suddenly went down.

Trysten would later describe it as, “One second you were there and the next I heard “Oh!” and you were gone.” Yeah, that sounds about right.

I knew the second I fell that I had broken something. I could tell I had rolled the ankle but it felt different from the many times I’ve injured my ankles and so I just knew it was broken.

Also it looked like this: (that little bump is the 5th metatarsal-say hello-and I just noticed my second toe looks like there’s a heart in the nail polish. Cute!)

Thankfully Trysten, who is always waaaay more level headed than I am, asked what he should do and then ran off to get Zach when I asked him to. Sweet Zach went and cancelled all of his stuff so he could drop the kids off at Terre’s and then take me to the ER. (Pictured here with my ever growing foot boob).

After some x-rays and a good chat with the PA about why I throw up when I’m in pain (don’t judge, it happens) he told me indeed the 5th metatarsal was broken and I jacked up all the tendons and ligaments in the ankle as well. Here’s a boot, don’t put pressure on it, go see a specialist on Monday.

Meanwhile, the boob continued to grow.

And grow, until it took over my whole foot and ankle…

Yesterday I went to the specialist. I was really hoping to hear, “Ok, you did x to yourself. You will be out of commission x time.” Instead I heard, “You broke your 5th metatarsal in zone 2 which basically means it could go either way. It could heal on it’s own or you might need surgery to put a pin in place. You might go 6 weeks and then we decide you need surgery. You also twisted your ankle enough that it needs physical therapy but we can’t do that until the bone starts to heal. You’re looking at 3 months of it being pretty weak and shaky but even then, it will probably never go back to normal.”

Blurg. Stupid foot boob.

I got the ok to stick with the foot boot instead of being casted. He okayed that as long as I didn’t put any pressure on the foot at all-which includes no driving for 6 weeks. 😦

I’ve never been a person who sits still very well. I will admit I’ve been pretty sad since Friday about the fact that I’m going to miss teaching classes (I LOVE the people in my classes), not be able to just get up and go with the kids and have to rely on other people to do so much for me.

Did I mention I’m not super at asking for help and gladly accepting it? So 6 weeks of having to ask my kids, hubby and friends to do basic things for me feels like torture.

The good news is, it’s become pretty clear I needed to slow down a bit. Monday when I was icing the foot boob Trysten and I spent 45 minutes just talking. Normally I would’ve been doing laundry or dishes or something busy and it wouldn’t have happened. So I am definitely embracing the silver lining in all of this.

And honestly, it’s been such a great reminder that we need each other. That humans are meant to share and be in community constantly. I think I often convince myself that I can do this little life on my own. What a wake up call to be reminded that not only can I not do this on my own, by why the hell would I want to? Life is better shared. People love helping. I hope even after this foot heals that I can remember that.

Friends are coming over today to paint nails, bring food for the family and hang with me, this is no small task since I live 30 minutes from town. Regardless of the foot injury, I am so very grateful for this life of mine.

If you need me I’ll be here, reading and watching my tomatoes turn red.

July 22, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

Blogamigas in Seattle

Hard to put into words just how needed my trip to Seattle was. I’ll get to that, let me start with the activities of the week.

Jody picked me up from the airport after a harrowing journey for her and a vomit induced journey for me. We went right to a hotel and talked into the wee hours of the morning, catching up on too much time gone by.

Next morning we woke up early so she could be my Seattle tour guide. Our first stop was the ferry that was to take us from West Seattle into the heart of the city. We had to do some jogging to make it in time, but make it we did.

(A lot of selfies were taken on this trip) 🙂

We successfully walked around eating our way through the beautiful city. Great vegetarian restaurants are there, as well as cupcake bakeries, so really what could go wrong? We also took a tour of the Underground city. Though perhaps a little anticlimactic, we did enjoy watching the other people also on the tour. Here we are trying to draw out the ghost that lives there with our flash. It did not work.

On the way back to West Seattle I snapped a few pics of the beautiful city. Really do love how it’s surrounded by mountains, water and then there’s a big city!

That night Jody dropped me off at Sarah’s where Cathy, Deirdre and Jayme had been deposited after their flights. After a night of wine, story telling and bonding we set off to hike a mountain the next morning.

I LOVED seeing this side of Seattle. Though cities are fun, I must admit nature is where my heart really belongs. Hiking? Talking with great friends? Watching kids fall in love with nature? These are a few of my favorite things!

After a delicious meal in Seattle we met at Sarah’s again where Chandra, Christina and Carrie were waiting for us. Alas, we headed to the house Sarah had rented for us. Near the beach, big enough for all of us (except Deirdre who decided she’d sleep in a closet a la Harry Potter).

It was perfect!

The next day was Cathy’s birthday. We spent a good deal of that day on the beach where Carrie brought homemade paninis. You guys, she made paninis and then carried them to the beach on a baking sheet. It was then that I asked her to marry me.

Chandra needed to put sweet Juniper down for a nap so Cathy and I walked back with her. Cathy’s family called her on FaceTime to wish her a happy birthday. Her face was pure mama joy, I had to capture it.

Deirdre and I had left to get some goodies for that night’s meal and to grab a few things for Cathy. She loves tea, so we had a little too much fun picking out her gifts.

We got home to news of George Zimmerman being found not guilty. I’ve spoken on that but let me just say, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else but there-with these women. Celebrating Cathy’s life and talking about every. single. aspect of our lives.

Super thankful for each one of them, really.

Carrie said it so well, “But what I did not know as I took those first sure steps towards family is that along the way you would be woven into our lives. To support. And to listen. To encourage. And to share. To lean and be leaned on. Without judgement. But with a heck of a lot of laughing (and wine) along the way.”

It’s so true. Before adopting Tariku I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me I would find a few of my greatest friends online ( 🙂 ), through adoption chat groups. That adoption would perhaps end up being the least of the things that we had in common. I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me I would find my soul sisters in this group. Other women who are navigating the really wonderful parts of life: motherhood, marriage, friendship, etc and all the not-so-wonderful: other aspects of motherhood, disease, death, race, attachment, trauma, etc.

And yet, there we were, in that beautiful house discussing all of those things as well as the stuff in between. Laughing until we were crying, crying until we were laughing. Holding hands when needed, rubbing backs at times. Spoiling Juniper, spoiling each other.

Here’s the reality: female relationships can be interesting. Sometimes I’ve tried to create a friendship and realized, often too late, that it’s too competitive or not nurturing enough. I’ve walked into a room of women and sensed if I spilled all of my secrets I wouldn’t be understood or would be judged in some way.

But not here. Not with this group of women. These women are the best of the best. Offering advice but not pretending to be experts, recognizing when it’s just time to listen. Offering wine when needed, food always. Makes me incredibly sad that we’re all spread so far apart in this great nation.

Above all, I’m just so thankful for them. And thankful for my parents, sister/brother-in-law, brother/sister-in-law for watching my kiddos. Thankful for Zach who allows me to stretch our limited income every year far enough to take these trips. I’m thankful my mom once told me to pour energy into friendships that will sustain me through all the ups and downs life throws at me. Thankful I listened to that advice. Thankful to God for creating these women who would end up becoming such a blessed part of my life.

Love you, ladies. Thank you, thank you for being you and for accepting me.

July 2, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

3 years

3 years ago Tomas and Binyam touched Iowa soil for the first time.

3 years ago I wrote this about being home.

3 years ago this was indicative of how Tomas felt about me.

3 years ago we would find Binyam awake, looking out a crack in the doorway hours after we put him to bed. So scared that something would change while he was sleeping, he remained vigilant until I figured out I had to sit by his bedside until he fell asleep.

3 years ago we didn’t have air conditioning in our house (yikes!)

3 years ago the kids looked like this.

So hard to believe it’s been only 3 years since bringing “The Birhanu brothers” home. I genuinely can’t picture my life without either of them and so to believe I have spent more time as a mom without them than with is kind of jarring to my senses.

We’ve come a long way from the time that Tomas wouldn’t look at me, let alone hold my hand. Most nights he can be found making a beeline for me to hug and kiss goodnight and forgetting to do the same for Zach. Binyam barely blinked the first few weeks home he was so over stimulated. He didn’t talk, he didn’t smile (much) he drooled constantly. Looking back, I’ve never actually seen a child exhibit fear in such a profound way at such a young age. Today he’s our giggle monster who falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow.

The first time I saw those two little boys I knew they were going to be ours. I knew they were adorable, I knew their social reports made them sound like perfect little angels. I knew of Binyam’s club feet and Tomas’s older age. I knew the bare minimum and yet, I knew they were my sons.

I had no idea Tomas was called “little mayor” in Ethiopia and that his ability to win over adults in split seconds would negatively affect our bonding. I had no idea Tomas would struggle so much with his working memory, forgetting details so easily-making it harder for him in school and any social setting that would require him to remember to bring things. 🙂

I had no idea Binyam would shut down when he felt attacked to the point of screaming and drooling for an hour at a time. I had no idea he would climb so far into himself that no one could get to him for hours or days. I had no idea that this would affect his schooling and his ability to maintain relationships.

But I also had no idea that Tomas would teach me all I ever needed to know about joy. I had no idea that when I heard Tomas laugh with absolute abandon for the first time that the sound would settle somewhere in my heart to be accessed in really tough moments. I had no idea that one day he would be the kid I turned to when I needed someone to tell me a story that would make me both laugh and cry. I had no idea one day he would hug me, without prompting, and I would feel more loved than I ever have in my whole life.

I had no idea that Binyam would one day look at me with his big eyes after getting discouraged and say things like, “I did it, mommy! I took deep breaths and I didn’t get angry like you said!” I had no idea that mothering Binyam would unleash a mama bear in me that had yet to be discovered. That when I didn’t think he was getting the help or attention he needed that I would unceasingly call every person I knew to get him an appointment with someone I knew could help. I had no idea when he gave me a kiss with those beautiful lips (snot included!) of his that I would know for certain all good and perfect things come to those who wait.

These last 3 years haven’t always been easy. There have been days when I wanted to give up. Days I wanted to start again. There have been many unanswered prayers, but many more answered even though I never thought to ask.

What I know for sure? Regardless of the fact that we knew nothing about these boys before we begged to adopt them, they have been two of life’s greatest blessings for me. Proof that we don’t always need to know every possible outcome of every possible equation to know fully what we are supposed to do. To me, Tomas and Binyam are proof of God’s grace to a gal like me, because surely no unworthy soul would ever be given two remarkable boys like them.

June 26, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

Somedays

I get so mad at the world. At God. At the agency in Ethiopia. At whoever is around, really.

A few of my boys have issues that were so clear to us even when we picked them up in Ethiopia it angers me that they were never brought up in their reports. Nothing, not a word or a hint to any of it.

It wouldn’t have changed the outcome, we would still have brought these little rays of sunshine home, but it would’ve helped the transition I think. I could’ve gathered the necessary troops and had them prepared for battle upon my little ones gaining their American visas. Instead, years in, we are still playing catch up.

I told Zach today that it would almost be easier if the boys were diagnosed with something. I think for a lot of us in the adoption world people look at us funny when we say, “Well they are different. They’ve been through too much, it changes people.” Or we look like we are making excuses for behavior that is not “normal” for a kid their age. I always feel a little bit crazy saying things like, “I know he looks x age but please understand that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

When I told Tariku’s teacher that he needs to eat every few hours or he’s practically incapable of making good decisions she patted me on the shoulder and shook her head. She made sure he ate every few hours but I couldn’t help but feel like I looked slightly off my rocker (perhaps I was projecting, the teacher was actually fabulous).

When I say I think it would be easier if they were diagnosed with something please don’t misunderstand…I know having children diagnosed with anything is many things but rarely easy. I just meant that if there’s no diagnosis, if there’s nothing we can point to and say, “My kid has this, please treat them delicately” then we end up feeling really overwhelmed and lonely.

My precious Bean is struggling a bit at camp. For a kid who is developmentally on target in a lot of ways, he struggles in social settings. If a child picks a different “swim buddy” over him he automatically assumes it’s because he’s not loved. If a counselor tries to redirect a misbehavior (which that counselor has every right to do!) he assumes-and will tell you-that it’s because he/she doesn’t like him. If he trips on accident, he assumes people are laughing at him. If he is overwhelmed-he shuts down, if he is over stimulated-he shuts down. Though camp is rife with all of these situations, I really believe it’s a safe place for him to grow and learn new and better ways of coping socially with his peers.

And you know what? He was like this in Ethiopia. He never played with anyone while we were there. He never talked to anyone when we were there. We never saw him interact with any child or caregiver during our time there. It was so obvious to us even after a few days, and yet no mention in any of his reports.

I know I’m shifting blame here, I get that. But sometimes I feel so hamstringed in raising kids who have such painful pasts because there isn’t the same kind of support that there is for kids with say, diabetes. There are no “Walks to Cure Trauma”. We parents in the trenches have no color that people would identify with what we’re going through, no slogans for which to paint on signs and march the capital streets.

The closest thing we have is this, blogs, and so here I am.

I get that it doesn’t have anything to do with me, but sometimes I feel like screaming my head off and saying, “Someone help them! Fix it for them!” Because I’ve spent so much of my time as their mommy wishing I could take it from them.

I broke down today because I just don’t understand how we live in a world in which boys like mine feel, even for a second, like they are unloved. That we live in a world that in many ways is full of various ways of connection but can sometimes feel so very isolating.

I don’t know, I’ve never wanted a life for my kids that was easy, I just wish it wasn’t this hard sometimes. I just wish one time I could look up during a moment of stress for my kids and see a look of determination and not fear or shame.

Probably all I’m wanting now is to know I’m not alone because my kids are everything to me. I won’t stop helping them until there are t shirts and walks to help kids like them, if that would actually help.

And I’ll keep relying on all of you to support me and guide me along this often blind path of raising these truly remarkable children.

June 19, 2013 by Tesi Klipsch

The hubs and I

met in 8th grade. I am from Altoona, Iowa and he is from Davenport, Iowa but on that fateful weekend in 8th grade we were both at a basketball tournament in Burlington, Iowa. My friend Danielle and I were walking past the front desk when we saw a reeeealy cute boy checking in with his dad. As 8th grade girls are prone to do, we giggled incessantly and then went to report to the rest of our all female team that there were now boys in the building.

That night we were in a room when we heard a knock at the door. Upon opening, there was a pizza box on the floor. The only thing inside was a little piece of paper that read, “Meet us by the pool, the cute ones are #1, #2, #31”. And because most of us had never even kissed a boy, we were thrilled.

After what felt like a magical night of flirting and talking poolside with “The Davenport boys” we went our separate ways. Many times in the years that followed my friends and I in moments of pure nostalgia would reference “The Davenport boys” who, by then, had been recreated in our heads to be the cutest, sweetest, smartest boys we were to ever meet.

Fast forward to my sophomore year in college. After transferring to University of Iowa, I met a young woman across the hall who promptly told me she was from Davenport.

Me: “Oh really? Man, in 8th grade I met some really cute boys from there.”

Liz: “Really? Do you remember their names?”

Me: “Yeah, I remember one was named ‘Zach’ and then another named ‘Brian’.”

Liz: “I doubt it, but it might be the Zach and Brian I went to school with who also played basketball.

Liz (who went on to become a great friend, roommate and bridesmaid in my wedding) gave me Zach’s AOL screen name (yeah you remember those) and sure enough, it was the Zach. He remembered me! “Tesi from Altoona”. As we chatted for a bit we realized we would both be going to the ~~coffee shop~~ bars the next night and signed off with a kind of, “Well, maybe see you then.”

2:00am the next night/morning and I’m coming out of one of my favorite bars with Liz. I wouldn’t say I was sober, per se, but I was aware enough to hear someone yelling, “Tesi” right over my shoulder. It was Zach, of course, and after a little chit chatting I walked away with my friends-who saw him check out my booty by the way-promising to go out with him the next night.

And the rest is history. We went out on the town the next night, not really doing a whole lot but talking about everything into the wee hours of the morning. Boy was I hooked on this guy who was unlike anyone I had ever known. After 2 weeks, we were telling each other that we loved one another. After 8 months I found out I was pregnant in a Wal Mart bathroom (a Wal Mart bathroom, people!) and when I told him he said, “Ok, not what we planned but let’s get you some orange juice and figure it out.” 10 months after we first re-met we were married.

I’d love to say that the last (almost) 11 years have been as magical and fateful as our first and second meeting but of course they haven’t.

Getting married at 20-years-old is not recommended for a reason. Zach and I have had to grow up and learn some really hard life lessons. Thankfully, we’ve done most of that growing together but we can see how easily it would’ve been along the way to cash in our chips and take our leave stating simply, “We just got married too young.”

Here’s the thing: marriage is not easy, man, and anyone who tells you differently is lying to you. I think we even owe it to our kids to let us see the struggle (in a safe, non combative way) so there’s no perception for them that relationships should be easy all of the time. Gay marriage isn’t threatening “Christian” marriage, it’s our country’s high value on immediate gratification and selfish win-at-all-costs-no-matter-what-it-does-to-everyone-else that has subtly, over many years, trained us to run away from anything that pushes back.

But push back it will. Kids, adoptions, ~~summer camp~~ jobs, mistakes, day-to-day monotony-it all pushes back. Thankfully I married a man who is willing to look me in the eye and say things like, “No matter what, we’re in this together.” So we push back…together.

I never really believed fully in God’s forgiveness or grace until Zach. I hadn’t been able to imagine it until it showed up in a living, breathing human who is the best forgiver I’ve ever known.

I never really understand communication until I finally figured out just asking him to put his coffee cup away is a helluva lot easier than quietly stewing over the fact that he clearly left that coffee cup out on purpose to piss me the hell off. (Newsflash: he didn’t).

After 11 years, lots of prayer, great friends who have guided us and some good counseling, we’re in a sweet spot right now. Despite it being in the thick of summer camp (read: him working looooong hours and me single momin’ it) we are better than we’ve ever been. Not because of the fantastic way we met but because of the blood, sweat and tears we’ve poured into the rest of our years together.

The reality is, there is no one else I want to be on this crazy wild ride with. It’s not always easy but every day when he comes home I know he’s chosen me and I can’t help but feel relentlessly thankful for that.

Perhaps a part of me (clearly not the part in a bikini and crop top) knew that when I met Zach in 8th grade. Looking back at pictures of him at that time he was all braces, eyelashes and forehead. Sure there was some of his future gorgeousness in there but it was definitely hiding. I like to think in my heart I knew the guy who made me laugh by the pool that day ~~would~~ ~~help me make/adopt beautiful babies~~ was going to hold every bit of my heart in his hands and protect it with all that he has, but probably it was something closer to pre-teen hormones.

Still, it’s by far my favorite love story out there, especially because I’m living it and I know more than anyone else it’s not how we spent those first moments that we’ll be proud to tell our grandkids one day but the moments we’ve spent since. Arguing, raising kids, arguing, making love but typically ending with a glass of whiskey and a cigar on the porch discussing in full the reasons we love each other and our life together. And that, my friends, is the truest kind of love story.

Hotflawedmama's All Grown Up

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect. -Anais Nin

God