I’ve teased a re-release of my personal site and blog for an embarrassingly long time. Over that period I’ve had probably 10-12 failed attempts which sit half-finished and archived on my laptop. The desire never faded though and in light of other internet friends returning to personal blogs I resolved to stop teasing, allow you and I to reach home plate, and publish an update of my own. 😘
Nostalgia rains heavy on me. I’ve been doing this internet thing for awhile now to where reflecting back on early years of my web career (internet years which are like dog years) feels like another lifetime. I, like many others, found a lot of my online community through blogging. I used Google Reader daily. It was a thrill seeing new RSS links show up. I loved sharing inspiration and thoughts from my perspective. I still do, but along the way I lost my unique and personally crafted vessel. I gave it up for the allure of Twitter and other social networks.
I don’t know much, but…I know I miss 2004 web, personal websites, and curation that has nothing to do with algorithms. And maybe you do, too.
That is exactly what I miss. It’s one of the main reasons why I still visit Daring Fireball and Kottke after so many years. I know going there I will get great curated content with an individual’s perspective. This is what I aim to provide with my site.
There is functionality to add (archiving, tags, RSS feed, etc) and content to create for my Work and About pages, so hang with me while I continue to build this thing out. And please hit me up on Twitter if you see anything out of the ordinary.
In about two weeks I’m heading to Greenville, SC to attend Greenville Grok. I’ve missed out on attending this conference in the past so I’m stoked to finally make one and to spend time with internet friends. If you’re going come find me and say hello.
It’s been 20 months. 20 months of raising her from an infant to almost two years old. 20 months of nurturing, meeting needs, laughing and being silly, holding her when she cries. 20 months of uncertainty as to what her futures hold. If you’ve read my other twoposts about fostering then you know this road has been an incredible journey of new depths of love, joy, questions and sacrificing. We’ve done so gladly.
So it is with great joy that I share we’ve reached the end of this journey. By the end of June, after her second birthday, we will adopt little girl and welcome her into our family permanently!
I struggle to put into words how I feel. Obviously I’m ecstatic! We all are. Our boys say “Sister! You don’t have to leave, you get to stay with us forever!” To know the bond they’ve developed will continue warms my heart beyond measure. To continue to meet her needs is a pleasure. We get to watch her grow up. I look forward to sharing the story of this journey with her, of God’s great love for her, of how precious she is.
This just feels so surreal. I have more work to do to unpack my thoughts and I have more to share regarding fostering. While we will move into an adoptive role as a family, I know we will continue to serve the foster community locally. I look forward to figuring that out.
I’m looking at her watch Daniel Tiger on TV while I type this at the breakfast table. She’s happy. She’s safe. After being born into a world of unknowns she now, finally, has a defined future. I love you baby girl and I always will.
Yesterday’s surgery is over. It all went well and my recovery so far has been fine. The doctor says he is very pleased with the procedure and thinks I’ll heal up well. I struggled with some initial nausea due to the anesthesia but that seems to be behind me now. Pain is manageable. Most annoying part is having to breathe through my mouth.
The whole hospital experience was a bit surreal. I wasn’t necessarily nervous, it was just the newness of everything and the waiting. While I know I was conscious I don’t remember going into the OR because at that point they were already giving me doses of meds to help me relax. Next thing I remember was waking up in the recovery room. I’m happy to not remember anything more than that.
I have a follow-up with the Doctor on Monday which is when I’ll have my splints and bandages removed. I’ll mostly be resting until then and trying not to scare the kids too much.
Thank you for the prayers and kind words. It feels great to be on the other side of this thing now and your support has been fantastic!
In Elementary school I got into a fight with another kid. The circumstances arose from some pointless squabble we had and for whatever reason we decided we should fight the next day during recess. By nature I’m not much of a fighter, but due to our disagreement, and because the rest of the school knew about it, I suppose I felt obligated to go through with it. This would be my first fist-fight but I wasn’t too worried. He was smaller and I knew I could take him.
Of course, as fate would have it, he gets into trouble the day of the fight and has to stay inside during recess. So he calls in a ringer: a friend of his who was easily the same build as I was and now I felt my confidence waining. I had no beef with Ben, but the fight was set and it was too late for me to back out.
So we headed to the empty paddock beyond the border of our playground, the one away from the school and behind the trees, which helped hide our activity from the teachers. Kids lined the fence and Ben and I began the show. I didn’t know what to do, again I really had no reason to fight Ben. We circled each other while the kids taunted us. Recalling it now it feels fresh but ultimately surreal. I didn’t feel the need to throw the first punch. In hindsight maybe I should’ve.
I can still picture it. His face grimaced. His right fist clenched. The feeling of it slamming into my face as he nailed me with a right hook. A friend of mine told me I looked like William Dafoe in Platoon when he goes down after being shot (thanks, friend). I remember blood, but I don’t remember the pain. I remember being angry. I remember getting him on the ground and “punching” him but not with much ferocity because I still couldn’t bring myself to truly fight him, for the strangest reason, even though I had blood pouring down my face. It’s a memory that is still with me and I have so many questions I’d like to ask my 5th grade self. But the short of it is, he won and my nose was broken.
I remember going to the school bathroom to clean up. I remember deciding not to tell my parents. That’s the last thing I remember. The only physical reminder is a broken nose that I’ve had ever since.
In December of last year I decided to see an ENT about having it fixed. That spiraled into me meeting with a reconstructive plastic surgeon. This Monday I have my surgery to have it all corrected. He’s repairing a deviated septum and re-centering my crooked nose. The procedure will take roughly 3.5 hours. It’s all feeling very real to me now.
This is my first surgery. I know I shouldn’t, but all I can think about is what my face must look like during those 3.5 hours. I don’t dig slasher flicks. The whole thing has me feeling a bit squeamish. But it’s the benefits of what I aim to gain on the other side of the knife that get me excited. Maybe, for the first time in what seems like forever, I can finally sleep through the night comfortably breathing through my nose. Maybe allergy season won’t be so brutal. Maybe my asthma won’t flair up as much while exercising. If only one of these three things comes true I’ll dub the whole ordeal a success. Realistically I should see improvements across the board.
So here’s to anesthesia, nasal splints, sleeping elevated for a week, bruises and a slew of meds! Maybe I’ll use some of my recovery time and re-watch Platoon.