Meant to Be

Moving Into a New Year

2009-12-31T17:38:00.000-08:00

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings." *

So now it's time to talk of many things, as the Walrus says, but in a new venue.

Thank you to all who have come to visit and checked things out. Thank you to all of those who have lurked, who have commented, and those who have contacted me privately. For those who stumble across this location, feel free to look around (for I'm going to leave this up), then come and follow the story that happened when a dream came true.

I wish this venue allowed the adjustment of security on individual posts, because there is a portion of you that I want to share pictures with. I can’t do that here. It’s really the only reason I’m moving things over to the new place, because I actually prefer this interface and the ease of use, and the many ways to play with the layout.

Oh well.

To my followers, switch your reader to the new URL. The rest of y’all, put the new address linked above in your favorites list. Leave this page be on your blogrolll. I'm not taking this down... at least not in the foreseeable future.

See you over there!

_______________

* "The Walrus and the Carpenter," Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll, 1872

Christmas Prayer

2009-12-24T16:24:00.000-08:00

Lord, in this holy season of prayer and song and laughter, we praise you for the great wonders you have sent us: for shining star and angel's song, for infant's cry in lowly manger. We praise you for the Word made flesh in a little Child. We behold his glory, and are bathed in its radiance.

Be with us as we sing the ironies of Christmas, the incomprehensible comprehended, the poetry made hard fact, the helpless Babe who cracks the world asunder. We kneel before you shepherds, innkeepers, wisemen. Help us to rise bigger than we are.

Amen.

Wishing all of you a blessed and radiant Christmas!

Sometimes Brevity is Best

2009-12-22T16:12:00.000-08:00

Email to DH over the course of the day: your son has been taken over by a gremlin today. wtf?

His reply: Bad little monkey.

~~

My usually mellow little man has been a fussbucket today... at breakfast with friend A, and while I got my hair cut later. He's always slept through these things.

Then again, who am I to complain? He's sleeping through the night. Paybacks...

Random Thoughts, Holiday Style

2009-12-16T11:23:00.000-08:00

Tree up, check.
Stockings, check.
Shopping… mostly done.
Laundry… riiiiight
Feeling festive? Not really.

This is the second year we haven’t had a Christmas party. Last year we went to Vail during Christmas week, and there was no way I was going to try and pull off a party and have everything ready to go for a week away, on top of the money issue. This year, an even better reason to defer – The Boy – but it still feels weird. My heart hasn’t been into dolling up the house since nobody’s really going to see it.

I have always been one to have a lights extravaganza in the front yard; this year, I have no energy or time. I usually have lights all up in the trees, here, there, and everywhere. This year? I have the nativity up and some basic lights, nothing more.

And I’ve been in a blue zone, too. (and yeah, that’s going to be my new Internet home, take a look).

It feels weird. I don’t feel like myself, and I want to snap out of it.

On the other hand, we have the greatest reason in the world to celebrate. If someone had told me at the end of last year that not only was I going to have a couple of dream destinations fulfilled (DC and Ireland), but that we would be parents by this time this year, I would have told them to GTFO and GBTW, EABOD and… yeah. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that The Boy would be here, our lives changed forever, the center of happiness and celebration and light.

Side note: at this very moment, I have put The Boy down on his stomach… he HATES HATES HATES it, with the power of a thousand exploding suns. He needs to do it, for his neck and upper body strength and other wild hair reasons. Any suggestions? I do have the surfboard, but I think it props him more than it forces him to hold his head up. The back of his head is getting a bald spot and I think it’s getting flat, too. Poor kid.

Anyway...

It’s amazing I have to think about that. I never thought that I would be thinking about tummy time, formula, diapers and just the thought of travelling with an infant, and sleeplessness and the incredible journey that this has been. My heart melts when DH is chanting “peanutbutter-jellllllly, peanutbutter-jellllllllly!” while holding The Boy in the air, or just camping with him on the couch while watching a movie. And, while it’s irritating and obnoxious in her shrill NJ voice, I take pride in MIL saying to The Boy over and over, “it’s graaaandmawww” (the look on his face when she practically yells that in his face is priceless), mostly because I was beginning to think that the day would never come.

I am relieved that while he had a really rough start in his first week, he is perfectly healthy. However, I despise that stupid growth percentile that pediatricians foist on parents from the first visit – while The Boy is 8 days older than his cousin J, he was born three pounds lighter and with birth issues, and has continued to be three pounds behind as they both begin their third month of life. That will even out as they both journey into their first year – so why be crazy about it? Why give nervous nelly parents more fuel for neuroses? I just don’t care; I’m happy no matter how tall he turns out or whatever, as long as he’s healthy.

I love my goofy little boy. :)

Send Some Lovin' Jeny's Way

2009-12-11T12:42:00.001-08:00

Jeny and her husband are going home without baby after all of those uplifting updates. Send her some love in their shock and heartbreak.

PostSecret Poignancy

2009-12-10T19:43:00.000-08:00

Posted on November 29, 2009:

No, I didn't send it, obviously, since we know who The Boy's mother is. But the sentiment expressed runs deep: I want her to know that our son is happy, healthy, loved, and the center of our lives, hopes and dreams, too.

Time's A-Flying

2009-12-07T12:51:00.000-08:00

Last Wednesday night, I was having my me-time at Starbucks, addressing Christmas cards, and was updating my journal… well, at least my calendar. I looked, looked again, didn’t believe it… so I went to the paper stand where the last forlorn papers from that morning were sitting.

Yep, it sure was. It was Wednesday. Already. Where in the hell did the week go? I’m telling you, the most surprising thing about parenthood is how the time races when you’re not looking.

Wednesday. December 2. Already.

Crap!

Not only is it December already, but The Boy is now eight weeks/two months old… and just too stinkin’ cute! Eleven pounds, one ounce.

And so strong! Our pediatrician was really impressed. I personally believe that he’d walk right out the door if his kneecaps were developed.

We got the minute entry last week saying that our finalization date is in April. I had hoped, as previously posted, that the court date would be earlier, but also was realistic about how chronically backed up the court system is. But, you know, six months for an adoption, from filing the Petition to finalization, is about right. I’m not complaining.

The good thing is that our case worker called not only to check in, but also to let us know that since The Boy was placed with us at birth, we're eligible under the new court rules for a 90 day hearing, which would bring us back to February. I'm having the office look at it.

I know I’m being ambitious by thinking of rolling his christening and the finalization celebration into one day. Why not, if we can finagle it? Thank God in the morning and party for joy in the afternoon.

Why not?

We’ll see. The best laid plans…

During a break in feeding him last week, I heard that dangerous little gurgle from below, and knew what he had done… But it was that beatific smile of relief on his little face afterwards that made me think, Uh Oh… and I was laughing at his most obvious pleasure that he’d had a bowel movement… now I know what my friends meant by “look out for that smile!”

So, I was cleaning him up, as it an impressive blowout… went to wash my hands, came back, grabbed another wipe just to make sure that he didn’t have the spitup residue on his skin, and also not smell like spitup (which had happened a few minutes before the blowout). My hand registered the coldness of the wipe, but I didn’t warm it in my hands first as I usually do.

When I put that cold wipe on his chest, he completely lost it. His infuriated reaction made me laugh so hard… happy and gurgly to supremely pissed off in .2 seconds! He was so pissed off! I was apologizing to him profusely – I didn’t mean to do it! – but I was laughing at him and his expression at the same time, and I about peed my pants. He’s so funny.

And I just melt when he does his chatters and coos and billygoats, and gives his little smiles; it’s just so beautiful. He is beautiful, and perfect. Truly a gift.

Naturally, I’d love to share pictures more than I do, but I’m sort of gun-shy about that. It’s not a new thought, and I really wish Blogger had the option to change the settings on individual posts so that I can share. I don't want to go completely private, so...

This is why I’ll be migrating over to w.ordpre.ss at the New Year. The new site will have all the prior posts and comments, but they will give me the opportunity to share The Boy with those who have watched the journey from the beginning. It will give me the freedom to preserve his privacy and our own, yet allow me to share with those of you who have been here for the long haul. The criteria will be that one leaves a valid email address and also has a blog or website – not negotiable. I know I’ll lose some folks for those posts, but that’s what I have to do.

It will also be an amalgamation of this and my other blog; it won’t be just adoption topics. You’ll get to hear me blather on about current events, occasional politics, football (and specifically the Dallas Cowboys… yeah, I know, I know), religion, home life, everyday happenings, cooking, and so on.

I won’t be deleting anything here so it will remain a source for those who are on the start of their journey… paying it forward, if you will. I just can’t run two blogs at the same time anymore.

Okay, going to run and give The Boy some tummy time. Happy Shopping!

Tis the Season to be J....ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

2009-12-03T20:19:00.000-08:00

How can I not share this?

[pic removed, 12-31-09]

The Boy refused to budge from sleepyland and resisted all attempts to be wakened; so, Santa improvised, and isn't it just the darlingest pic? I also liked the fact that Santa had a Southern accent and was just the nicest guy around. We chatted for a bit and I had a nice time.

This excursion rocked because I just happened to hit a time when there was absolutely NO LINE. There were kids in front of us, but not many, and the lull happened just as I peeked to see if it was worth it. Got in, nobody behind us, got in and out without waiting. It was great.

Of course, I'll pay for this in the years to come when he's screechy and terrified and just the way the little three year old was in front of us. But today... well, sometimes you're just meant to be somewhere.

Tomorrow is his eight week checkup. I'll post more later.

We Interrupt This Blog for a Very Important Message

2009-11-30T20:56:00.000-08:00

I wrangled with this topic a lot over the course of the last couple of weeks. On one hand, one shouldn’t pay any mind to those looking for negative attention. On the other, such blatant name calling and judgmental bullshit needs to be addressed.

I was thinking about writing about the specific issues brought up so delicately (ahem!) by my uninvited guests, but then that lowers me to their game. Why in the hell should I justify myself to people who come to my world and treat me like shit without provocation? I don’t allow people who are disrespectful to me or mine in my own house in real life, so why should I give the time of day to angry, judgmental, irrational people who apparently do not have the ability to leave a non-inflammatory comment on my blog?

These people who haunt other people’s blogs and constantly leave inflammatory comments are generally referred to as “blog trolls.” Disagreeing with someone’s position on any matter is not trolling. However, when someone posts something that is deliberately insulting and inflammatory, with a recognizable thread of some sort of hysteria and the poster has a penchant for picking on the blogger or his/her readers on every post, then yes, that’s trolling.

But if the idiot posting the flame bait is harping on a specific stance on some subject, I like to call such persons “shit disturbers.” Such people (who are a form of blog trolls) cruise blog lists of a specific topic, looking for a fight. And that is what my beloved rude visitors do – they’re looking to pick a fight. They’re also almost always anonymous, which reveals an interesting streak of being chickenshit to boot. Oh, there are a few who have the hubris to leave their trail, but most of them post a name – probably fictitious – but no email and no other internet home. They just drop by to elicit any response, preferably negative, and attempt to bludgeon this community with the emotionally charged opinion they’re going to force on everyone else.

Cram it, I say; keep your opinions (to which you are completely entitled, btw) in your world and stay out of mine. I do not come to your world and call you names and pass judgment on you.

If you are an adult, you should have the ability to post a comment without resorting to insults, belittlement, derision, emotional flame baiting, judgmental blather or hostility.

We all have the right to post on our pages without being bothered by those who make a point to annoy, abuse, threaten, or harass, especially when these people have not been sought out by this community or deliberately provoked by same.

If you cannot control your fingers on the keyboard in my world, go away. Take your poison elsewhere.

Otherwise, I do welcome thoughtful discourse, even if you don’t agree with me or my friends in the community. Rational discussion is useful and enlightening, where both sides take away something , even if nobody ever changes their mind. Some of my best friends are my complete opposite in every way and topic imaginable, and it's the ability to have a rational and friendly discussion that makes it so much fun and makes for such great friendships.

That said:

We now return to my regularly scheduled blogging.

Thankful Beyond Belief

2009-11-25T03:59:00.000-08:00

It is appropriate to recall my blessings. I used to be more religious than I am now, thanks to a bunch of sanctimonious people who act contrary to Christian behaviors, but anyway... while I’ve never really gone far from God, I never take for granted the blessings that He has seen fit to shower unworthy me with.

• Even though she’s been gone almost four years, I am thankful that I had the mother I did. I miss her fiercely, now that The Boy is here and could REALLY use her advice and help. Thanks to her, I know how to cook well, to shop well, and I had a great maternal role model. I miss you, Ma, every day.

• I’m grateful that I have a dad who has been a great sounding board with the trials and tribulations in the last couple of months. I get it all out, he opines, then says, “Wanna do lunch?” God, I love my dad.

• Chocolate is the thing that makes the world go ’round.

• I still don’t know how the miracle came about, but DH is the finest man to walk this Earth. One misstep and we would have missed each other. It’s a miracle.

• There are no words to describe my heartfelt gratitude and my admiration for the woman who placed her son with us. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And I am grateful we had the opportunity to tell her that.

• I’m thankful for family and friends who, upon The Boy’s arrival, didn’t flinch; they have accepted The Boy with open hearts and overwhelming joy.

• I have a roof over my head, in a decent neighborhood safe enough that nothing happened when I, in my brain dead exhaustion, forgot to close the garage door overnight last week.

• I realized a dream this year when I went to Ireland with the in-laws. While there was emotional baggage that came out of it, I’m still grateful I even got to go and see my ancestral country.

• In this difficult economic environment, I am deeply grateful that DH has a job and a decent-paying one with benefits. These days, I don’t take it for granted.

• I’m grateful for God’s saving grace, for large and small miracles, for His patience, love, inspiration, and mercy, even though sometimes I can be pretty unlovable. Thank You.
• Cats rule. I have two of them. They rule us.

• There was a time I didn’t think we’d have the luxury of me staying home with our then-future children. I get to stay home for The Boy, and may even work out a way to work from home.
• My antecedents from England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Germany, France, Norway and the Netherlands – thank you for coming to this country so that I can call it mine, too.

• I’m grateful for dear friend T, who has saved my sanity in the midst of her own ongoing marital issues. I couldn’t have made a couple of these weeks after The Boy’s arrival without her.
• Kiltlifter beer, how I miss thee… but with The Boy, such pleasures shall be foregone.

• We live in a country that allows the freedom of choice, of religion, of speech, of party. Never forget that there are still countries that jail someone walking the street for no reason whatever.
• We have generations of men and women who volunteer to join our military. Thanks to all of them, past and present, family and friends and complete strangers.

• I would never have been so well informed if there weren’t infertility and adoption bloggers. Thanks to everyone out there for your time and efforts… you really do help others.

• Football should be the national religion. I’ll go into official mourning when the season is over.
• Turkey should not be relegated to once a year; it’s fun to make. However, the thought of roasting turkey in the hellish heat of summer in the Valley…. *shudder*

• I’m grateful for the sunshine that warms my hair, and for the rain that cleanses the desert and makes it smell oh so glorious.

• I’m thankful for seat belts and air bags. My late mother said that if there was even the most primitive of seat belts in 1949, her father would have lived through the car wreck that killed him.

• I’m grateful to those inspired ones who wrote down the Books for the Bible.

• Ectopic pregnancies are strange things – they force you to put things in perspective. It’s a skewed universe where one is actually grateful to have had one.

• Thank God I don’t have to eat pumpkin pie. HATE the stuff. I’ll have chocolate chip apple cake instead. Yum.

• The random eye contact and smiles from strangers always warm my heart – it means there’s still hope for mankind.

• Despite having had my knee reconstructed when I was 19 (and scoped five years ago for cleanup), I am, by some miracle, still pain free. This despite years of hiking for a living, basketball, being overweight, and being told that I have incipient arthritis.

• I’m grateful even for the trolls that haunt these blogs, who, by their rabid attacks, remind me that a) we have the freedom to write what we think in this country and b) those of us who adopt realize just how precious and important adoption—and life—is. Go back and read the previous posts comments for some pretty funny troll-fu. Why is it that they never leave an email or blog link? I’ll post more on that later.

• I’m thankful for you, every one.

This list could go on forever.

Have a safe and happy Thanksgiving!

The Week From Hell, Part Six (Friday 10/9) – Going Home, Finally

2009-11-16T12:09:00.000-08:00

If you comment on this post (and I'd love it if you all did), feel free to ask any questions that I didn’t cover/answer adequately. I’d like to know what’s running through your heads after reading this saga.

I remember distinctly, as my head hit the pillow that Thursday night, the thought, “F can whistle for her supper for all I care right now.” The past two weeks had been heart- and mind-wrenching, and as a result, we were both physically shot. F didn’t give a flying damn about the hell DH and I had been through this week, on top of the roller coaster last week; oblivious is a better term.

Go fly a kite, I thought wearily, reminding myself to do the pics sometime the coming weekend, and fell asleep.

So, finally, the day had come, a day neither of us thought would come at the rate things had gone: bringing The Boy home. It was still surreal, as it had happened too fast with no preparation, but my heart was just bursting with joy.

I did sleep well. When I remembered the previous night’s conversation with F (she had pushed it, after all, saying that it was imperative, as if BM’s grandma was dying; I asked if she were, and she was not - why was she being so rudely pushy?) as I showered early on Friday morning, the resentful thought had surfaced in my head that, you know, with all the drama this week and OUR trauma in this whole mess, Grandma could wait a few days.

I couldn’t help but think that if Grandma had actually given a damn in general, had given a damn about her children and grandchildren; and given a flying damn especially about BM in these last many months as the girl agonized about her decision, BM would never have felt it was necessary to place her child for adoption. Specifically, BM had made it clear to F that she didn’t “want these thugs raising my child.” Wow. It was a powerful statement that made everything crystal clear to me.

I reiterated to myself the decision I made last night, that the pics could wait until I get out and about on Sunday. I was beat, tired, mentally shot, you name it, and so was DH.

And today, this Friday, was an extremely important day.

I got to the hospital extremely early… like six or six-thirty, with DH to follow after when I finally got a green light from someone and a time frame. I naively thought that, by being there, I could push things along. The BM’s attorney laughed at me the night before, saying “Yeah, right. You won’t be out there until noon, at the earliest.” I could try, though.

It was with great elation that I saw, for the first time since we first met The Boy, that he didn’t have that monster heplock in his arm. He was free! Oh frabjous joy! The nurse on shift beamed – they took it out after the last push the night before, and he’d been perfect since then, zeroes across the board on the assessment. The newest development? He was ravenous. Fantastic! I was right, the antibiotics were really messing with his appetite. I gladly allowed him to stuff his little face while I waited and waited.

I did a lot of sitting around that morning. He was taken for his hearing test; the Ped came in and gave the green light, and also (finally!) did the procedure as previously (un)mentioned. So while they took him to do that, I went and got a drink; came back, and he was done. The nurse, D, also was kind enough to do the second metabolic screen mandated by the State right there before release so we wouldn’t have to worry about it later.

HSW dropped in. She asked if everything was all right re F, and I said that she’d made that request last night. I told the truth: I was too beat to think of putting anything on a thumb drive and printing it out and, besides, I’ve been here all the time. I was also quite frank and relayed the story F had given me. “If Grandma had cared months ago, we wouldn’t be here,” I said, and expressed that it would just have to wait a few days. HSW thought that eminently reasonable, since at least SHE was aware of the chaos and emotional hell we’d been through. She expressed her congratulations, and said that she’d see me in a little while, when F got to the hospital.

The the time came: I called DH to come on down, and then I could hardly believe that I could FINALLY dress The Boy in anything other than boring hospital tops and a diaper. The original outfit I had gotten – size 3 months – just wasn’t going to fly, as he wasn’t yet six pounds. I don’t remember where I went (things are so fuzzy still), but I did find a NB onesie with tiny lions and tigers and such on it, plus mitts for his sharp little nails… but I never did find socks that fit him. The ones I had were HUGE, but they worked for the moment.

I had never seen such a beautiful baby in my life. I couldn’t believe he was ours.

I just sat and stared for the longest time. It was a miracle.

The closer to noon, and then as it passed noon, the more revolving-door-itis we had. Ped came in, congrats and good luck and goodbye; nurses in and out for final checks and good wishes, and there was a lot of paperwork to sign. There were some others that popped in and out that I just can’t recall. Finally, HSW came in with F, hellos exchanged, and HSW left. I was sorry to see her go; I was, and still am, really grateful for her help.

D, the nurse, came in. Checked my band against The Boy’s one last time, and removed the baby Lo-Jack. F had our camera at the time, and took a zillion pics. D finished, F handed back the camera.

And then it started.

“Do you have the pictures for BM?”

I told her honestly that I hadn’t had the time (I mean, hell, she called me at 5:30pm the previous night – if she’d called me in the morning and given me half a chance, I would have done it while I was in and out of the hospital yesterday. Duh.), that I slept all night and was here early today, but that I would get some printed by the end of the weekend and send them. She said snippily, “If I had known that you wouldn’t have them today, I would have brought my camera and done it.”

I patiently said that I had not guaranteed anything last night, that I/we had had a rough week, etc. Again. For the 785636th time. I said that I had promised that I would do it, but to give me a day or two, and I’d drop them immediately in the mail.

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” she snipped.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” I said wearily, too tired to pick up the gauntlet she had thrown down. “There just hasn’t been time or place, and I won’t have time today— ”

“Well, it’s just not negotiable,” she interrupted in the snottiest of tones. She stood there, arms crossed, in a snit, openly belligerent.

Yes, indeed, ladies and gentlemen, she was intending to pick a fight over something that she wouldn’t have a chance to give/send to BM until the following week.

Apparently nurse D saw that I was going to let F finally have it after all the shit she’d pulled in the last two weeks, and, God bless her brave soul, interceded. “I think we have a camera and a printer… let me see… I’ll be right back.” And she scuttled out of that room faster than we could blink.

I simmered, saying nothing. DH was livid, and just stared at her. It was a very uncomfortable five minutes as we signed her paperwork and tried to figure out how to adjust the car seat to fit him. I was very, very, extremely PISSED at this bitch, and my jaw was clenched. How could she be so callous, so rude, so insensitive to the week of hell we’d been through over something so piddly as a couple of pictures that she couldn’t possibly get to BM anytime soon? On THIS day of all? I promised I would do it, and am happy to do it, but God, couldn’t she give me just a little space?

D deserves a medal. She found the camera, which had juuuuuuust enough battery juice to take about three pictures. I bless her even today. She completely defused what was going to be a really ugly situation. Later, DH would say angrily, “I hope I never have to deal with that bitch ever again.”

D also puzzled with us over the car seat (F, with all her placements, couldn’t figure it out either), and brought in another nurse, who did know.

Finally, FINALLY, all was done. D walked out with F, DH and me. All through the long corridors to the front, and then the ceremonial pass to F connotating the transfer of guardianship from the hospital (who can only release to a SW or to an attorney in this state), then pass to me. Thank Yous and Congratulations were exchanged, and off DH and I went to FINALLY put The Boy, in his car seat, in my car (which had the base). DH kissed me and said, “See you at the house,” and off we finally went to take our new son home.

But the drama doesn’t stop there.

I had pleaded with DH earlier on that Friday to fend off his parents for just one more day. We really needed the down time, just DH and me and The Boy. That was another battle front we’d been dealing with all week – his mother was on this rampage. First it was the breastmilk, then it was the cats, then it was bitch bitch bitch about visiting at the hospital, then this, then that. It was always (and is always, still) something. With the hospital issue, when DH finally got it through her head that this particular point was beyond our control, she then insisted that they visit as soon as we got home with The Boy.

When we finally got home and breathed for a moment, DH said, “Do you want me to put them off for another day?” I think exhaustion was finally hitting him, too.

Knowing the hell that would ensue if we called them off this late, I said to let them come; let’s just get it done. We decided to give ourselves a few hours of a breather, and DH called them and gave them the time they were to show.

I had my small revenge on her, though – as soon as I knew the time the ILs were coming, I called my dad and said to come on over an hour before them. I needed ONE calm, quiet person before Jersey-accented hell broke loose.

When I handed the baby to him, Dad quietly called The Boy by the Latin version of his name, and for some reason this pleased me immensely. He said half-jokingly that he just doesn’t have the arm strength to hold the baby too long (remember, he's 80), but he did for quite a while anyway. It was nice and peaceful and a needed balm to my frazzled nerves.

Dad needs daylight to drive with his mild cataracts, so he looked at the clock and said he’d best be going. He kissed me and the baby, shook hands with DH, and closed the front door behind him. I needed that peace, and hoped for about 10 minutes in between.

Ha.

Not 10 seconds after Dad closed the security door, I could hear MIL’s fishwife voice cutting through the front of the house. I could almost hear my dad cringe; I know I did, and wished I could flee like he did. God!

To make this section shorter, I’ll just say that they were here for FOUR HOURS. And during that time, MIL continued to nag us about breastmilk, the cats, and so on. I was dying to kick her out of the house by the time they finally left.

Needless to say, I was exhausted.

The weekend we had to ourselves until Sunday evening (10/11). That’s when MIL and FIL came over, bearing food. SIL also came with presents from an extremely expensive boutique. She and her mother bickered over what THEY were going to call him. There’s nothing more annoying than two obnoxious, self-centered women from New Jersey bickering over something so inane. I am so tired of their disrespect.

I have never missed my mother so much as now, with The Boy's advent and the crises that have come with it.

I want my mommy.

So, now you have the story of how we survived this living hell. Much of it on the hospital end was beyond our control, but Ped's crap, MIL’s constant badgering, and F’s insensitive bullshit caused so much heartache that we were just toast... so much of it was completely unnecessary.

It has taken almost a month before DH and I have wound down enough to relax and actually start enjoying The Boy; he’s now six weeks old and all is well, as long as DH's mother doesn't interfere. We were just so strung out that we were on autopilot the first weeks of The Boy’s life. So sad. It shouldn’t have happened this way. So much unnecessary games, bullshit, and drama.

I know that if his birth had been normal and his release normal, I know that we would have handled his sudden advent better emotionally; yeah, we would have scrambled, yeah, it would still be stressful, and yeah, MIL would still pull her shit, but without the added burdens of his health scare and the external drama, we would have taken it all in better stride.

At least there’s a happy end to the story, and I’m so very grateful for that. There is no blessing given without some sort of payment. I know that it has made me stronger, and certainly wiser. If/when we do this again, I know what to prepare for and what to not allow from various factions.

Thank you all for staying tuned, and for your prayers, thoughts and commentary… and a special thank you to you many lurkers who continue to check in according to the handy-dandy little map in the sidebar. I’d love to know who you are, and why you’ve stuck with me, but honestly, I’m too grateful for you taking the time to stop to really question it.

Thank you all for caring.

Part Five: The Week From Hell – Thursday 10/8

2009-11-12T12:36:00.000-08:00

I got to the hospital around 8-ish on that Thursday morning – and by God, I was so damn tired of the drive by now – and retreated to the nesting room with our sweet son (DH was back at work, but would take tomorrow off if he was to be released). This morning, for me, the little one wasn’t his usual peaceful self. I think he was having issues with the antibiotics, as had been my thought from the first day they pushed them.

Saw the Ped this morning. He explained away pushing the morphine, saying that the dose wasn’t enough to cause problems. I expressed the fact that we were NOT happy about it, especially after yesterday's assurances that he wouldn't do morphine. Ped's response was essentially “meh” – we weren’t here to see it and he was (supposedly), and it was his call, and he was going to continue with the morphine protocol. He did his residency at Johns Hopkins, eh? How low did he graduate to land himself this shitty spot?

No wonder hospitalists have such crappy reputations.

The poor baby. I never understood why he had these horrible scores any time we weren’t there. I believe they use the NIDCAP assessment; whatever they used, it is completely subjective; if the nurse has no patience, and doesn’t have time to deal with a needy baby, then yeah – she’s going to mark him up. The Boy got dinged yesterday (10/7, morphine day) for the most bizarre stuff that the succeeding shift scratched their heads on.

Exhausted from the merry-go-round of the last two weeks, I went off-site to go get some lunch and could hardly see what I was eating. I was heartbroken that The Boy was still on morphine, and pissed that the doctor didn’t seem to give a shit.

Here is the curse of being an adoptive parent of a newborn in a medical situation: until you leave the premises, handed the child by the hospital and then the facilitator (or whatever the procedure is in your state) and are then, at that moment, the child’s legal guardians, you have NO POWER and NO SAY on anything that happens. You are not consulted, you are not called, you are not advised because it doesn’t matter; the hospital technically is the guardian of the child and adoptive parents are completely powerless, and are essentially privileged visitors.

That was a rude lesson, let me tell you. My fury at that realization sapped whatever energy I had in reserve.

I went to the bank after lunch because a certain procedure (which I’m not discussing in this post) is not covered by insurance and I needed to get a cashier’s check, as the Ped said he’d do it as soon as I got back. I went to the house where I thought of taking a short nap, when the Ped called me and said to get to the hospital if I wanted it done today, and I said I’d be right there. I gathered the stuff I wanted to get and returned to the hospital.

The drive is only fifteen minutes. Ped was nowhere to be seen. He stood me up! The nurse at the front desk said he got a call and had to go – lunch, she seemed to think. But he just called me, not fifteen minutes ago! What the hell? I was madder than a wet hen. Asshole.

So I stayed; I was going to take a nap at the house but not now. No point. Since the nesting rooms were horribly uncomfortable, I didn’t nap there either. So it was that when DH came after work, I was completely shot (although the good news was that The Boy was taken off the morphine in my absence, a HUGE load off my mind.). We sat with The Boy for about 45 minutes when DH insisted we go downstairs and get something to eat.

It was just as well, as my cell phone went off just as we returned The Boy to the special care area. I think it’s deliberate that there is no cell reception in the nursery, which is fine with me. The last thing anyone needs in there is a damned phone.

Anyway…

I knew it was the facilitator, and I made the conscious decision to not call her back until after I had finished my meal. There wasn’t anything she could want that was that important; HSW had checked on me earlier in the day to make sure I was okay and she reassured me yet again. So whatever F wanted, it couldn’t be too crazy.

So when DH made his call after dinner, I made mine. Long story short, BM had finally told her grandmother what she had done, and grandma wanted pics. Did we have any, and could we sent F some to pass along?

So it was an innocuous, reasonable request, especially with BM grieving (she’s a tough girl, but nobody’s that tough, and I could see where grandma was heartbroken too); no problem. I replied that I would try to get some printed, but it wouldn’t be tonight. I would do my best to get some done. Was it possible to bring some tomorrow at the release (which was still the aim, according to the nurses/Ped)? Possible, but not probable; I was exhausted and I planned on going home then being here early tomorrow to catch Ped one last time in case of a surprise, plus HSW, and the hope of being released earlier rather than later tomorrow. I said I would try.

I went back upstairs to let DH in with my band, and I went home to sleep. He would stay with The Boy for an hour or so past my departure.

Little did I know that tomorrow I would regret acquiescing to F’s seemingly innocent request in my exhaustion.

Up next, the last installment of The Week From Hell, Part Six: Friday (10/9)

Part Four: The Week from Hell – Tuesday (10/6) and Wednesday (10/7)

2009-11-06T20:23:00.000-08:00

Goodness, but we have a rash of good news in our circle!! These last couple of months have been crazy but happy in blogland. Congrats all!

Called the wonderful woman who’s pinch hitting for me at work… she’d left a message for me. Long story short, we have to resubmit the damned Petition. I knew I should have insisted that Boss leave that section alone! Damn.

Have your drink of choice and some munchies? Good. Here we go.

I was at the hospital at a decent hour on this day (10/6), a little after seven-ish according to my muddled memory. I timed it so I wouldn’t get kicked out for shift change, but also to make sure I met HSW at a decent hour, since I didn’t know when she made her rounds. I also hoped to finally meet the pediatrician assigned to The Boy.

I had just turned that last corner before pulling into the hospital lot when my phone rang; it was my sister, checking in. But even this wasn’t as tame as it seemed on the surface – she was demanding pictures! Like yesterday! And I snapped right back at her. Sheesh. I love her to pieces, but when she wants something… she would do the same thing when my new nephew was born eight days after The Boy, demand pics from #4B and YSIL. I felt bad for YSIL, because she had a c-section incision to deal with and my sister was demanding pics now now now! Amazing how much Sis has forgotten in the dozen years since Hellboy was born…

Anywhooooo…

And I was glad I did get there at the hour I did – not only did I see HSW, but I also finally met the pediatrician. The ped dropped into the nesting room first. He was youngish and sorta cute in a way, a hospitalist assigned to The Boy (I have no idea if he delivered him – in fact, I have no idea who did). Ped has a great bedside manner. He was open, conversational, and explained things.

But it was a bit of a shock to learn that he’d ordered the antibiotics regimen not only for the meconium, but also because BM’s amniotic fluid was, in his word, “foul,” with pus (the sheet I would receive upon The Boy’s release had “foul smelling amniotic fluid” scribbled on it). Also, it was because BM had no idea that her water had broken, as she merely thought she wet herself… so they had no idea how long her membranes were ruptured. It was nice to know WHY, finally. It only took three days to tell me. I wonder if they were waiting for the TPR to be signed before telling me anything.

But then Ped dropped a bomb, also: because of all of those circumstances, he was deciding to play it safe and extend the antibiotic regimen, meaning The Boy was now going to be released on Friday.

My heart dropped.

HSW came through about twenty minutes after Ped left, and we talked for probably an hour. Upon meeting her, I immediately felt better. She was calm, in control, and would turn out to be a wonderful listener. I told her what had transpired with F, understanding that HSW couldn’t say anything about BM’s position on anything. She said that she’d never dealt with F before… and agreed that her behavior was quite strange… but she took a zillion tons of stress off of me when she said one thing before our conversation was ended:

“I do not see any reason preventing you taking The Boy home on Friday.”

My heart rose.

I had advised DH that, up to this point and until we have actual facts as to what The Boy may or may not have been exposed to, to not really say much to either of his parents. Why? Because they both (but MIL especially) tend to go completely bonkers over something where there’s nothing to go bonkers about. Thing is, he had to talk to someone with all this drama, so he did confide in his father about all that was going on.

The problem with that little scheme is that FIL is a sieve in that regard. Even if you threatened him with gaol or torture or death, somehow he’d manage to let the cat out of the bag. Apparently, on Monday night, FIL and MIL were getting ready for bed and talking about The Boy, and FIL just couldn’t help himself. He was saying things in a roundabout way when MIL caught his reluctance. Yep, he told her everything that DH had said to him in confidence.

Apparently she went completely batshit. Screamed, ranted, raved, and FIL was totally in the doghouse. She was pissed at DH, too, because he hadn’t told her. Why tell her, tell anyone? We didn’t know anything yet…

So we had her burning up the phone lines all day, so we had this crazy crap on top of her manic insistence on obtaining breastmilk for The Boy, plus her nagging about visiting at the hospital (no… not our rule, no choice in the matter).

In contrast, I had lunch with my father that day, and told him everything… but he’s a different sort of person: reasonable, calm, collected, cautious. He was supportive, and quietly so, and therefore a balm to my frayed nerves.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

On Wednesday, DH had the day off. Of course, when he had scheduled it, we had thought The Boy would already be at home. Instead, we went back to the hospital after coffee. The little private rooms were taken, so we had to spend our time that morning in the cramped side nursery, where there was a mother of twins trying to nurse behind the screen. Not terribly convenient, but it worked.

We caught the Ped again, who said that barring some sort of curveball, The Boy would be coming home on Friday (YAY)! There had been moments of concern about his reluctance to eat, restless sleep, etc., where they’d come close to pushing some morphine to calm him down. However, since his scores were coming down nicely, Ped foresaw no problems in this regard.

I commented I’d heard the meconium test wasn’t back yet.

He flipped through the chart. “Nope, here it is!... T. HC only.”

So BM hadn’t lied (which in our gut, as previously posted, we didn’t think she had), and there had been nothing to get all worked up about, nothing for F to get nutty over, and nothing for MIL to freak out about.

How do you spell relief?

Wednesday was, of course, TPR day. In Arizona, the birth mother has 72 hours after birth to change her mind. No adoptive parent in this situation relaxes until they get word that it is signed. There was nobody I could call to see what was going on. All I could do is cross my fingers and keep my attention on my new small friend, with whom I had completely fallen in love.

As we did on Sunday, DH and I left after lunch and went home for awhile, leaving The Boy peaceful and quiet and us with lighter hearts: he would be coming home soon! We did some chores, we napped, DH fielded his mother’s harangue about breast milk again, and then we went to Outback for dinner before returning to the hospital for the evening. After all, what was the rush? It’s a cruise from here on out.

Ha.

We get there and were devastated to find that, in our absence, The Boy had “amped out” pretty badly, and they resorted to pushing the morphine. The nurse we met about this was not the one from the morning shift. All I could mutter was “[the doc] said he wouldn’t push morphine!” and DH was really really pissed. The nurse was kind and sympathetic, but quite powerless; Ped was a hospitalist and when he’s off the clock, he’s off the clock – they are not on call, period. No other doctor would dare overturn another’s orders.

We retreated with The Boy to one of the rooms. “Poor baby, poor baby,” I said over and over as I fed him; DH steamed. It was as if there was some sort of diabolical conspiracy to keep The Boy from coming home with us. What in the hell?

I have been in a medical situation that called for morphine – and I know how addictive it is and its side effects, and therefore knew this development threatened the slated Friday release.

My poor sweet pumpkin.

I did get one good piece of news this day: the TPR and all related affidavits were signed today.

How was it that these events and behaviors occur when we were not there? The Boy has never amped out on me/us in all of those endless hours alone with him, not once. How was this possible?

Anger and frustration were the order of the day.

We went home rather late, reluctant to leave The Boy.

Up Next, Part Five: The Week from Hell – Thursday

Intermission

2009-11-02T11:45:00.000-08:00

Mrs H asked how long The Story is. Truth be told, I’m not really sure how many parts it will have, since I haven’t written it all out yet. All I know is that when I started to write it, it just grew a life of its own, and I knew I had to break it up. We’re to Monday, and we took him home on Friday afternoon (10/9/09), and there wasn’t a day where there wasn’t drama.

So, use the intermission to make a potty run, grab some Jujyfruits and a Coke, and stretch your legs.

I guess the important thing is that he’s home with us. We’ve already had our post-placement visit, and the Petition has been filed as of last week. That means, generally, a court date sometimes in late January or early February, but since the Courts are so overloaded and the State has huge budget issues, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s scheduled even later.

At this particular moment, I have a small boy crying it out downstairs. I made the mistake of letting him sleep too long earlier this morning and I’m paying for it. He has to tire himself out now. He’s fine – fed, burped, dry, danced with for a bit, conversed with, and put down nice and warm – and I have several things to do.

Just as I finished this post and went to proofread it, he went quiet. Ni-ni, sweet pumpkin...

The thumping headache I have this morning has to do with MIL and SIL, who have the bit between their teeth regarding a shower. I made the request that it be a low key affair here at my house; they have blown me off and are planning this ridiculous thing at a place that’s too expensive, with no separate room for such an event, in a place where parking is atrocious. They have blown me off and badgered DH, who has taken a stand on the matter and will continue to. The two of them have also decided to not consult me on date or time, but make it convenient for Princess Entitlement, my n.iece, and not me or, most importantly, The Boy. Excuse me? Grrrr…

I’m going to put the kibosh on the whole thing. Now, if their hearts are set on some sort of fancy affair, then make it the Gotcha Party when we get a court date. THAT is a reason to go whole hog, and something I can get my heart behind.

In the meantime, I'm going to work with T (remember her?) and plan on that low-key affair with a small round of friends I wanted in the first place, since MIL/SIL refuse to honor my request. Do NOT fuck with me when I don't get any sleep.

I’ll post the next installment later this week or on the weekend. Let’s see what happens.

Oh, and I pulled the pic of The Boy from that previous post. I don't want anyone snitching that pic and... you know. It happens in our little circle all too often. : (

Thanks for all the good vibes and commentary on The Story so far. See? I told you that F. was a pain in the ass, and that it’d make you mad, too. And that's part of the reason why it takes to long to write - it's so exhausting just thinking of her crap...

I’m heading down to get some Aleves; this thing is a monster.

Later, gators.

Part Three: The Week From Hell - Monday

2009-10-31T13:44:00.000-07:00

As of late Sunday night (10/4), and despite the nurses saying that The Boy had swallowed meconium and was on a three day course of antibiotics for it, we were slated for a Tuesday release. So we knew we had to be in a controlled panic to get a slew of necessities that would tide us over until things settled down. Well, I would have to be. DH had to go to work Monday.

In the late afternoon on Sunday, I had texted my boss and told him of The Boy’s arrival. “Awesome!!!” was his response. That was everyone’s response to the news. :)

Monday, October 5, 2009

This was going to be my round of errands on Monday: coffee at S__b__, Wally World, and a scouting mission to Ikea to see what they had in cribs and dressers, because BRU and everywhere else are complete rips for cribs. After that I was going to head to the hospital and spend time with my new small friend.

However, the phone rang while I was having coffee and reading the paper. It’s Boss, who is going out of town for the week, in panic mode. “I need you here!” and he put it in such a way that if I didn’t get there, the whole office would collapse. No argument that The Boy needed me countered his attitude. Resentful, and knowing full well that if I’d given birth he’d never have bothered me (that double standard where adoption was concerned vs. birthing a child was rearing its head already), I went to the office, got there at a little after nine.

You know what I did that was so earth shattering other than tying in with the lady covering for me? Not a damn thing. He sat and talked politics on the phone the entire morning. I was SO ENRAGED that by the time I left at noon there really was steam coming out of my ears.

As I stormed out of the parking lot, I could hear the voice of my mother echoing in my head – there were times where she’d mutter constantly “I’m ___ hours behind!” I suddenly knew, at the age of 37, and with her gone 3½ years, what in the hell my mother was furiously mumbling about all those years. I stormed to Walmart, ran through Ikea and had only half an idea of what I wanted, then I went home. I did various things here and there, and sent out pics via email to friends and family. I was just finishing up posting in FB when my cell phone rang. It was Facilitator.

The phone call started rather innocuously. I had stated in an earlier post that she was out of town when the baby was born, so she asked for the stats and info and wanted to know if all had gone smoothly Sunday morning. Then she started getting weird. In a weird, roundabout way, she mentioned that the hospital so.cial wor.ker (“HSW”) had talked to the charge nurse, and that The Boy might have been exposed to more than what the BM admitted to. When I asked what did that mean, and what gave the nurse reason to say that, she got squirrelly, and didn’t answer directly. Instead, she asked the worst question in this situation: “Are you still committed?”

Huh?

To be fair, the question in itself is innocuous, but combined with her weird, roundabout answers and evasive responses when I asked for specific information made me get all weirded out. It also placed the worst scenario in my mind, that somehow The Boy would be yanked from us and placed in other hands, or that the hospital would somehow deny us access to the boy. By the time I hung up with her, I was freaked out – what was wrong with The Boy that caused such a statement to be made and such bizarre evasiveness? Was he lethargic? Was he abnormal in some way that they didn't catch before? Was he having seizures? What?! I ran downstairs, grabbed my keys, and hotfooted it to the hospital, tears streaming down my face as I drove. What had happened while I was at the hospital, and why didn’t they call me?

I get there at about two or so (so much for being there at 930-10a), and The Boy is as peaceful as can be. I asked the nurse, “K,” what was going on, and she said he’d had a rough night – not feeding well, not sleeping well, so they’re going to keep a sharper eye on him. They gave us a “nesting room” and I sat there with the boy, in tears, wondering what in the hell was going on, and why Facilitator had questioned our commitment, and why didn’t she answer questions directly?

I was tired, pissed off at Boss for wasting my time, pissed off at Facilitator for her shit, and beginning to be strung out from the seed of doubt planted by Facilitator. I fed and rocked the boy, talking out loud all the while.

DH walked in at about 5:30, and saw my face. He asked what happened, and I told him about how The Boy might have been exposed to more, and that there might be complications but Facilitator didn’t say why, and was evasive and frustrating. He listened to what had unfolded, and he stepped out of the nursery and out to the lobby to get some reception.

He came back ten minutes later, highly pissed off. He asked for The Boy, held him close, and rocked, rocked, rocked, silent as can be. In a few minutes, he told me that he had pressed for information that he sensed Facilitator had, but Facilitator had been equally as evasive as she had been with me, had questioned his commitment, and added a new twist, essentially saying, “well, if you’re not committed, we’ll have to find someone else and he’ll probably wind up in foster care.” DH, so kind, quiet, and mellow, was extremely pissed off by this form of emotional blackmail.

Never, ever, not at any time had we ever wavered in our love and commitment to The Boy. As soon as we saw him, we were in love, and he was our son. We never have expressed to anyone anything other than full commitment to him. So,

WHAT IN THE FUCK?!

He told her to quit asking that question, it wasn't a matter of commitment, and answer his (our) questions, to please tell us what she had heard from the HSW that caused her to question our commitment. We were also asking so that if The Boy was indeed exposed to something hardcore, we could care for him correctly, and prepare for the result of said possible exposures. She evaded again, and questioned his commitment once more. DH did something he has very rarely done: he hung up on her. That’s why he was so extremely pissed off when he came back into the room.

As we dissected both conversations, his and mine with Facilitator, he just continued to rock The Boy. We agreed that we never got the vibe that BM lied at any time, and that it was a possibility that Facilitator was projecting things upon BM that just weren't true. Despite our suspicions, I was trembling with fear and fury. DH was madder than I’ve ever seen him in our dozen years together.

As we both simmered in rage and fear and dread, I had an inspired idea: I went back into the nursery and asked K if she could join us for a few moments. She kindly obliged after finishing what she was doing. Together, DH and I told her about our separate conversations with Facilitator, and the issues we were having with her, and the complete lack of information. “She stated that the HSW spoke to the charge nurse this morning, but refused to say more.”

K’s eyes opened wide. “Why, I was the charge nurse this morning! This is what I told HSW…” (oh, what luck!!!) She proceeded to explain exactly what had happened overnight and then exactly what she had said to HSW. I knew that K could see our agitation; I was physically trembling and DH’s eyes were snapping. “Keep in mind that the meconium test isn't back yet... so we don't know anything yet.... I’ll tell you what, as soon as we’re done here, I’ll put in a message with HSW so you can speak with her tomorrow.”

Edited to Add: So now I was like, why didn't Facilitator just say she didn't know? She had refused to say "I don't know, I don't have that information. I can only tell you what HSW told me." What's so hard about that? Why did she have to be evasive and turn things around on us? I just don't understand.

We continued to speak for about another ten minutes, and K did her best to put us at ease… when you consider she has no say in what happens. We did feel better. By the time I returned The Boy to the nursery, I felt the best I'd felt since eight thirty that morning.

Edited to Add: DH left before I did. When I got home, he told he that he called Facilitator back and had a wee chat with her, and said to not ever question his, my, our commitment again - it is not at issue. So tired, frustrated, strung out, we went to bed, hoping that things would go smoother from here on out, still on track for The Boy to be brought home Tuesday.

Next Up: Part Four: The Week From Hell - Tuesday.

The Story, Part Two

2009-10-25T19:10:00.000-07:00

So, to continue the story...

I went to bed at a decent hour and fell right asleep. This is rare for me, as my brain is usually going 348972926 mph and it takes me at least an hour to finally doze off. I was thinking mostly about my evening with T, her thoughts, her advice, then ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ... DH stayed up late, but I don’t remember him coming in; that meant I was dead asleep by the time he came to bed.

Sunday, October 4, 2009 – 2:45am (or so)
We were both dead asleep when the house phone rang. Since we don’t generally give that number out, when a call is received at some sort of ungodly hour, we know it’s something serious. I couldn’t find a damn handset that had a charge, and when my cell phone rang, I knew that it had to be Facilitator’s backup, since Facilitator was out of town.

“Hello?”

“Allie? This is L___, with Agency? Just want to pass along that the baby is already here, it’s a boy, and all seems to be well. Congratulations! Go ahead and head on down to [hospital].”

“Oh, wow. Oh. wow. Awesome!” Half-asleep, I was surprised.

“Just let me know if you have any questions, I’ll be happy to help you.”

“Uh, yeah, I have a question – what do we do?”

And this has been a sticking point through the process: what do we do from whatever point they’re launching us from? Here, you’re certified, see ya! The baby’s born, have at it! Well, dang it, where do we go, what do we do?

I got the answers, and L___ politely ended the conversation and presumably went back to bed. I stood there, bleary eyed, then remembered I needed to get DH up, now that the baby was actually born. He had slept through the whole thing. “Honey?”

“Mmmmph…”

“Babe, wake up. That was L___.”

He murmured, “I figured.”

“[BM] had the baby already. We have a son! Come on, get up.”

Since there was no rush to be in the delivery room, we both showered and dressed, then went to the hospital. We got there a little after three (no traffic, natch), and parked. Well, how in the hell do we get in there? We had parked near L&D, but the area was clearly marked FOR PREGNANT PATIENTS ONLY… so we took a walk to find the correct entry.

The cool, breezeless pre-dawn morning was gorgeous, as October usually is in the Valley, with a full moon and stars punching the sky. It was peaceful, and DH and I were completely calm, in step with the lovely night. No panic, no rush of emotion… probably because we were so surprised at how fast it had all happened that there hadn’t been time to absorb it all.

After wandering three-quarters around the building, we wound up going through the ER and wended our way to the L&D desk. I explained who we were, and that (at that point) we only had the BM’s first name. The nurse was extremely nice – let me find out what’s going on, please have a seat over there, coffee will be ready in about ten minutes, etc. We sat on the little step in front of the shuttered nursery windows as she went to confirm with BM who we were, and call L___ to confirm that we were indeed the adoptive parents.

We sat there for about fifteen minutes when we got up for a moment. I just happened to look up, and there BM was, waving at us with a smile as she was being wheeled towards her room. It really touched my heart. She was looking for us! She said hi, we said hi, asked how she was, if everything was okay – sort of trite, I suppose, but the nurses weren’t stopping for us. They whisked her off to her room.

We returned to the uncomfortable little step after grabbing some coffee at the nurse’s station. From what I could gather, the nurses were still trying to get ahold of L___, who had most obviously gone back to bed. I can’t say I blame her, really. It isn't her case, she's just pinch hitting... but it would have been nice for her to leave her phone on.

In the end, it actually wasn’t too long. The Boy was born at about 2:30am, we got the call at about 2:45, we got to the hospital at about 3:15 or so (yeah it’s not far at all), then at about 3:45am, the nurse got the information she needed, and I was banded as BM’s “significant other.” We received our instructions, then pushed the button to be let in.

Meeting "The Boy"
We were buzzed in, and led to the little sub-nursery that I would later learn was the “special care” nursery; at that point I had no idea. Some of the incubators had hand-knitted blankets on them - I thought it very sweet. The nurse handling The Boy briefed us. We washed our hands obediently, then were led to his little cot.

There HE was, sprawled sleepily under the heat lamps (and not an incubator or the blue lights for jaundice, thank God), clad only in a diaper. The first thing I thought upon seeing him was “He’s SO TINY!” (about 5-1/2 lbs) and then, after studying him in his sprawl, Steven Wright popped into my head: “Day One: still tired from the move.” Completely silly and inappropriate, I know, but there it was. I giggled.

The silly moment passed, and DH and I merely stared in astonishment. The surreal was now real. We just stared in awe. We both held him for the first time that morning, then went down to the cafeteria in the basement while they did shift change. We returned afterwards, continuing to stare at him and hold him in awe.

Since he was only known to the hospital as “Baby Boy [BM’s last name],” the nurse turned to us and asked, “What is his name going to be?”

We replied in all honesty that things had happened so fast that we hadn’t ever gotten that far, although we had a pool of names we'd been generally bandying about. “We’ll have one when we get back,” I said, when DH and I departed to go home.

We got to the house and started to finish clearing what would be The Boy’s room. Then we went into the home office and kicked names around. We didn’t want a name too close in the family (i.e. grandparents, aunt/uncle) Many of you figured out the first name we agreed on in a previous post, but we also kicked around Christian, Robert, Scott, Brendan, Stephen, etc. One of these wound up as his middle name. We wound up picking what he is, and besides, The Boy looks like what his name is (you know how that goes…).

Now that we had a name, we made the round of phone calls. After all, how can one really announce the baby’s here when one doesn’t have a name? Of course, MIL turned the names we picked as credits to her, but they had nothing at all to do with her, personally; whatever. We have, however, gotten a great response on the names we picked. My sister calls The Boy by both of his names, she likes them so much.

Up Next, Part Three: The Week From Hell

The Story, Part One

2009-10-21T20:04:00.000-07:00

Bummer. I lost a follower. I hope that I didn’t offend him/her. I’m sorry if I offended, even inadvertently – but I have to tell the story; I can’t hold back how we got here.

Good news like this, especially when our profile hasn’t been out that long and get a placement, will hurt someone no matter how I couch it. As anyone on this journey knows, once your profile is out there, it’s out of your control. Believe me, we’re as shocked and surprised as anyone else!

Hokay… The Boy is napping after eating, and I've only had pinches of time in which to write The Story. Hmmm… let me see. Told that, told that… hmmm. Let’s do topics.

The Call
Ayup, I posted about the facilitator calling on Monday 9/28/09 that a young lady liked our profile and would like to meet us, the impartation of information, and my subsequent meltdown.

The Unhelpful Advice
As soon as DH told his mother, she started in on the old wives’ tale of cats harming babies. She also started pounding on – not politely suggesting, but full-on, all day every day nagging – about feeding the as yet unborn (and unplaced) child breastmilk from a bank. WTF? We haven’t even got the baby in hand yet! Give me a break!

The Meeting
11:30 on 10/1/09, which I already wrote about in a previous post. Very nervous on the drive in to the meeting. Contrary to the expectations of Facilitator, PBM was calm, polite, and had a great sense of humor. Things go well, including PBM changing her mind about not having anyone in the delivery room – she said clear as day that she had no problem with me being there. She gives the green light. I am so calm on the drive back to the office that when I get there, even Boss remarks upon it. I get out of work late but still get a chance to scout out things at Buy Buy Baby (which rocks, btw) and Target. I buy nothing.

In hindsight, we should have seen the conflict with Facilitator coming. She was strangely threatened by DH; he made her nervous. No idea why. He is the most gentle, kind, mellow person on the planet.

The Panicked Scramble
As of that date, we now had a match and had to get some things. I did more scouting on Friday (10/2), bought some little necessities like onesies.

On Saturday morning (10/3), we shoved his desk into my home office, and we’re back to both being in one room as a home office, as it used to be. The guest room is still a disastrous dumping ground that I’ll have to fix sooner rather than later. What would be The Boy’s room was then cleared of crap and cleaning up began. We wouldn't finish it today.

Later on Saturday, we bought a pack and play with the crib insert and, after research on the Consumer Reports website and other reviews, bought a Graco travel system. The fact that the Bed Bath and Beyond coupons are accepted by Buy Buy Baby (love the name of the place – refreshing honesty) is a wonderful thing.

It felt very odd and unreal to be there with DH - not for other people, as it's been for for years, but for us, finally; he expressed as feeling like he was a character in a play, and this not being real. I myself felt like a poser. It was all very strange.

As of Saturday night, we had only told that small circle I referred to in another post: the parents, a small pool of people on his side and a small pool on mine. It was a need-to-know basis until things actually looked as if they were going to happen. I did, however, finally run my oldest friend down and she met me at the Target near her house after she got off of work. SHE was the one I needed to talk to, the one I know understands. While I was telling her the saga thus far, I was picking out bottles, binkies, PJs, lotion, wipes, and so on to have at least the basic things.

I said to her, dear T – dear friend who I’d trust with my life – that my gut is telling me that BM won’t make it to the 10th, and, worse, that we won’t make it through the weekend. Said gut feelings were also telling me it was a boy; this is how I'd felt on Thursday, and I told her so. She was the first one to give me sound advice, as she has two boys of her own.

We sat at a Crapplebees for another hour after shopping. What I had to admit, though, was that after the roller coaster ride since Monday, I was completely tapped. I was shot mentally, which rolled into the physical. “Get some sleep,” suggested Madam Captain Obvious.

Actually, once I got home and putzed around on the compy a little, I went to bed and, rare for me, fell right asleep.

To be continued.

Kreativ Blog Award

2009-10-17T17:12:00.000-07:00

Both Rachel and Mary have nominated me for the Kreativ Blogger award. Wow! Thank you, ladies!

Things You May Not Know:
1. I have a mark on my face that is the same as my late mother’s, just on the opposite side. It’s neither a mole nor a birthmark per se, but just a raised spot on my right cheek. Mom’s was on her left. Obviously. Duh.

2. I blew out my knee my junior year of high school, then went two years (including my senior basketball season and my first summer in wildland fire) before getting it reconstructed. Only this week has any irritation been more than annoying; this week, I feel the arthritis. Rats.

3. I didn’t like asparagus until my sister-in-law grilled it… and I loved it! I was twenty seven. My dear mother killed it anytime she cooked it and thus turned me off of it, God rest her soul.

4. While everyone else in junior high and high school were drooling over Duran Duran, Michael Fox, the two Coreys, Anthony Michael Hall, Ralph Macchio, Rob Lowe, etc etc etc, I was hankering for Tom Selleck. I still do to this day. Tom Selleck is not only STILL HOT, he’s a class act. Nummy!!!

5. Facebook is so damned addictive. Probably my best idea yet is to decline every invite to Mafia Wars. Pillow Fight was bad enough, and I deleted it. Chatting with my out of state friends /old high school classmates is more than enough!!

6. There aren’t many things that freak me out, but the thought of anything sting-y (black widow, scorpion, etc) drives me batty. And, since we’re in the desert, I get a lot of sting-y critters.

7. My hair color is completely natural. It mystifies unfamiliar stylists at my salon, makes other people envious. I simply look at it as saving one hell of a lot of money.

Paying it forward:

1. Melissa of Be Still and Know

2. Heartmommy

3. M at Letters to a Birthmother

4. Wendy and Steve at Our Story: Our Journey to Adoption

5. Patti at Pep’s Thoughful Spot

6. Kelly at Uninterrupted Prosperity

7. Sissy at Two Plus One Equals Three

Here are the rules for this one:
1-Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
2-Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3-Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
4-Name 7 things about yourself that people may not know.
5-Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.
6-Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
7-Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they’ve been nominated

Thank you very much!!!

About 3/4 done with The Story. Stay tuned.

I Fell Asleep Before I Could Post This Last Night

2009-10-11T11:22:00.000-07:00

... so forgive the reference to "today." This was written in snatches all through yesterday. I still haven't had the energy or time to write The Story.

And thank you everyone for your kind words and the cheers! They soothed my frustrated soul this past week before we brought him home.

And The Boy is a week old today... I hope that the road is much less rocky from here.

So here you go, yesterday's slated post, that was originally going to be titled "What's In a Name."

Zzzzzzzzz...

All Friday night, he was fussy; I would have thought that The Boy would be happy to be home. I thought he wouldn’t miss being poked, prodded, undrugged, drugged, undrugged again, antibioticked, woken up unceremoniously bothered on the hour, changed, bothered in a myriad of ways by a constantly changing plethora of hospital folks, and having long stretches of not being with us. But no, we were up all night Friday night to this morning. And he started eating every hour and a half/two hours suddenly instead of the three/three and half he’d been doing. It’s amazing what being off of antibiotics does for him. He is STARVING, always. That will be a discussion with the ped on Monday because I can’t seem to get enough anything in him to sustain him for more than two hours, now that he has an appetite.

Now, on Saturday morning, he is in the bouncer DH’s parents got him, for which I am grateful. I had made the desperate request because both DH and I were shot, and it was a purchase that wouldn’t break their bank (what, about $40?). Otherwise, we had nowhere to put him when we ate other than his crib, because there was no way I was going to lay him on the couch where he would squirm his way around and fall to the tile floor. The downside of this whole thing was that DH refused to fend them off for another day, so they were here at five on the day The Boy came home and stayed for over three hours. I was very frustrated because it had been a very tough week, I had been at the hospital at six that morning (and weren’t released until 12:30p or so – very long morning), and I wasn’t in the mood to entertain. I was, and am, so drained from the experience that I almost had nothing left for The Boy’s tough first night home. Anyway…. the in-laws were here for a very long three and a half hours (and they'll be here with DH's sister tomorrow... oh joy). I was very tired by the time they left, and very tired of MIL pushing an old wives’ tale and her agenda for The Boy. The worst part was that MIL didn’t actually burp The Boy, so he wasn’t very fun in the wee small hours of Saturday morning. Grr…

The smartest thing I did on Friday evening was having my dad come over earlier than the in-laws and have first dibs on holding him. My dad has an aversion to MIL because of her antics and obnoxiousness, and I can’t say that I blame him. Anyway, he got here first, and held his fourth grandchild for the first time. My dad is such a sucker for babies and The Boy had the same effect on him as his older cousins.

Hard morning for The Boy today (Saturday), hard morning for me – part of it was that, suddenly, the formula they sent us home with no longer satiates him, part diaper issues, part adjusting to a new environment. Then we realized a little too late that with his tininess NONE of the clothes I’d hurriedly purchased (Size 0-3) fit him. He literally drowns in them with his little arms and little skinny legs, making it difficult to ensure his safety and comfort. Leaving him with DH, and dog tired with no chance for a nap, I went out at noon to go to the local Carter’s store, because they’re the only ones I know for certain that have Newborn sizes that fit him (The Boy is not yet six pounds; I hope he is by Monday’s ped appt).

On the day he came home, we had yet another tiff with the facilitator, another part I will add to the story of his first few days of life. I personally hope I never have to deal with her again, other than paying the remainder of her facilitation bill.

Not ten minutes ago (it’s about 7:30 on Saturday night as I’m finishing this), my oldest friend, T, came by to see The Boy. She has two sons herself and gave me some of the most useful information I can use yet.

You probably have noticed that nowhere in this entry have I given a name for The Boy, mostly because this is, after all, the Internet. But I have… you just have to look for it. Shhhhhh... it's a secret!

Now, Sunday morning, I have The Boy in his bouncer. We switched from the premade mini-bottles of that enfamil nastiness to an organic powdered formula, and he's been quiet and snug for the last hour and a half. Hopefully this nixes that awful keening hungry wail because that nasty stuff wasn't knocking out his appetite. And he hasn't spit it up, a great sign.

DH thinks it should be illegal for any baby formula to have corn syrup in it. I agree. WTF?

OK, naptime for me!! Hang in there, I'll get that story posted yet.

Quick Update and Some Baby Candy

2009-10-06T18:51:00.000-07:00

It’s been a crazy roller coaster. Up down swing drop wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee… *puke*

We’re so bummed… The Boy will not be coming home until Friday not only because of the meconium he swallowed, but also because I learned from the pediatrician today that BM’s amniotic fluid was, in his words (not mine!), “foul.” Apparently it was rather nasty with pus and all, so I’m glad after the fact that I didn’t witness his birth – I would have gone ballistic right then and there, and probably be carted off to the psych ward. For now, though, it answered the answerable, and I felt better.

The Boy had a rough day yesterday – balked at feeding, didn’t sleep, cried a lot, plus other issues which raised a certain level of alarm. That said, he’s been a champ at both eating and sleeping for over 24 hours now. We are very happy at his progress and hope it continues. I told him ‘hey, kid, you gotta eat to come home,’ and I guess he listened to me.

Added to the worry that he wasn’t thriving yesterday was the facilitator. Long story short (which I will cover in detail later), she made DH mad – and he rarely gets mad. When I elaborate on this point when I have time to write it out, I guarantee you will be as angry as we were yesterday, and I expect a shitstorm of comments.

Smoothing the waters from yesterday was the fact that a) I talked to the pediatrician on staff this morning, which filled in a lot of blanks, and calmed me down because so many of the question marks that COULD be answered without the test results (first poop, placenta) were finally answered; and, b) I spoke to the hospital social worker earlier in the day about the situation with the facilitator. I liked her a lot, right off the bat, and she told me as much as she could without violating her relationship with BM. She said to not worry – there was no reason she could see why The Boy wouldn’t come home with us on Friday.

Until I get a chance to post again, here’s some baby crack:

[PHOTO REMOVED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES 11/2/09]

(and that's pretty sad, isn't it?)

Yes, he is very tiny, but perfect in every way.

I'll be back soon. :)

"The Eagle Has Landed," or: The Most Amazing Day of My Life

2009-10-04T20:31:00.001-07:00

Just a quick note saying that I never got the chance to be in the delivery room.

The baby was born today, October 4, the Feastday of St Francis of Assisi - an omen in itself.

I'll post the whole story when we actually bring him home.

Yes, him.

:)

More later!

Surrealism, Adoption Style

2009-10-02T11:51:00.000-07:00

Soooo... we met with the PBM yesterday. We had been warned that she was defensive and prickly and liked to cuss for shock value, but she apparently decided to show us her best side; she was responsive and sometimes even really funny. It went very well. We met, the facilitator went over what will happen at the hospital, fielded questions, and asked PBM to clarify her exposure to certain substances.

When I spoke to the facilitator on Monday, she said that there was no way I would be in the delivery room. Listen – I’m not one to insist on it. I used to be an EMT, I’ve seen my share of blood, guts and gore. And if PBM’s dealing with it in the best way she can in her circumstances, and doesn’t want me in there, then I’ll be the first to respect her wishes.

She did an abrupt about-face yesterday. She wants me in there. Facilitator asked her what f the hospital only allows two people, and she said that her friend was out and I was in. I wanted to just goggle at her in surprise.

For me, it was strange. I was pretty nervous going in, but coming back to the office I was completely calm; even Boss commented on how calm I am. Calm, but cautious. I think it’s going to go through; so does facilitator and Boss. Even DH is relatively confident about it. I think we can safely say that this is going through.

I swung by my dad’s house on the way home. We chatted for a little bit, then I said, “Well, Dad, I have to tell you that it’s very possible that you will have two grandchildren born within a short time span.”

His eyes went wide, then faded, then he did a triple take.

He smiled hugely.

I was hoping that DH wouldn’t tell his parents until today, but he said, “I had to tell someone.” So I’m on the phone with MIL last night and she’s giving me this shit about the old wives tale about how cats harm babies. I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes.

That’s the kind of shit I *don’t* need.

When I talked to my sister last night, she was surprised and then extremely excited. I asked for her help: my brother and sister in law are having their baby boy sometime this week also. Did she have any clue what they were naming their son? I need to know in case it’s a boy. Lord knows we don’t need two grandchildren named James. You know, she got all coy and crap, and it really pissed me off. I have no control over anything right now, and this is something I need control of, and she’s playing games! I’m so pissed.

No, I’m not close to my little brother (little, ha – he’s 35) or his wife. I’m not comfortable calling them, especially this close to her delivering. It’s going to be bad enough that my brother will get it in his head that we’re doing this to upstage them, when everyone else knows we have absolutely no control of this situation.
I just needed a simple answer – even an initial! Jeez! I just need to know. Why do people make stressful situations so hard?

So now it’s down to work: I’m going to start with a car seat and work my way around, as well as kicking around names and narrowing down lists. It’s all so sudden (yeah I know, Bri, I know! LOL), shocking, mind-blowing, and I’m still absorbing it, so if I don’t exactly sound euphoric, please forgive me.

On Monday I was stunned, Tuesday was the big meltdown, Wednesday was recovery from the meltdown, Thursday morning was tension and afternoon was calm and placid; last night was full of frustration from MIL and my sister. Now, today, I'm drained, and it seems a little unreal, you know? Today is like, 'is this really happening?' and I can't believe that I'll be actually buying a baby car seat (hopefully) this afternoon, then other things from there.

I mean, I can't believe that I'll be choosing an outfit to bring the baby home in.

Holy crap!

Houston, We Have a ... Situation?

2009-09-30T10:12:00.000-07:00

I have been in a state of meltdown. Yesterday was really, really bad. By the time DH got home, he looked at me and said, “Babe, you look horrible.”

I felt it, too. Here’s why.

At 4:35pm on Monday, I was slipping my feet into my blue flip-flops and getting ready to go anywhere that carried ESPN so I could watch my Cowboys. The phone rang; I glanced at the clock and, seeing that it was the half-hour, thought it was my father-in-law. He war dials, remember, and it’s usually at the quarter- or half-hour. So I turn towards the stairs to grab something before I leave, and the voice mail kicks on.

She says her name; I stop in my tracks.

She’s rambling on and I’m frozen. Finally, the trance breaks and I pick up the phone and say “S? You there? I’m sorry, I was upstairs.” Liar. This is my stock answer when I don’t pick up the phone.

“We have a young lady who chose your profile. Do you have a pen and paper?”

Our life may change drastically in less than two weeks.

I never did go and watch the game.

We meet the potential birthmother tomorrow. I’m not going to post details of her situation, to protect her as well as ourselves, but let’s just say that by all the indications, we might be parents in ten days or less.

I’ve been reluctant to post about it, true to my native cautious nature. It’s also partly because I was going through a mental meltdown, and couldn’t put two thoughts together if my life depended on it. Why? Because this possible match is a complete bolt from the blue – no warning, no preparation, and not a lot of information. We won’t get a lot of time to prepare. We’re not going to get all the information about her and the birthfather we’d prefer to have. We’ll have to scramble to get DH’s crap out of that room, gather some things, and have some semblance of a baby-ready house.

There are some substance exposure issues (although nothing hardcore) – one that I don’t think matters too much, the other I think I might be overreacting to. The PBM is the defensive, cagey sort, and isn’t elaborating on the information she provided to the facilitator. However, the facilitator has been working with PBM since August, so after thinking about it for about 36 hours, I think I’m okay with what she’s telling me. Yeah, my brain exploded, and it’s taken that long for the pieces to fall back together.

Yesterday I felt awful, especially mentally, and it spilled over to the physical. I didn’t sleep the night before last because my head was just spinning, disgorging all sorts of things that might need to be done and all the possible scenarios that might come to pass. There's just so much to do and I feel hobbled and helpless until we get the green light. I felt like puking at various points yesterday morning. I was also very glad that Boss was out of the office yesterday, because I was a complete mess. I had no attention span. I was trying to think my way through it all and try to do some semblance of work... ha ha. Riiiiiight.

At lunch I went to the outdoor mall near the office. DH called me on my way there and asked if I was all right; no, I wasn’t, not at all. My stomach had revolted (sorry for the graphics), turning to water – which, to me, is preferable to puking. We talked through certain points. We ended the conversation, and I walked into Paradise Bakery. I had a bagel, which made me feel a little better, considering I hadn’t eaten anything since the phone call the evening before, but I only had two sips of my Dr Pepper before I threw it away. Yeah, I was fluffed like a freaked out cat.

From there, I wandered Macy’s, just for something to do. I caught myself breathing funny, so I stopped in the middle of the store and told myself to chill the hell out. I was looking through the clothes department for me just to browse, to do something, but also gave myself permission to look through the baby department (Macy’s is the worst place for that stuff anyway).

But I’m paralyzed. I can’t buy clothes, a baby seat, a crib, anything. I can’t do anything until after Thursday, after tomorrow morning, when PBM says a definite yea or nay.

Of course, if this is real, if it really goes through, I’m not going to truly relax until the three day waiting period has passed.

With no attention span, I left work early yesterday. I was so spazzed out that I was almost manic. I seized upon the one thing I can do: I went to IKEA and bought a filing cabinet for the home office so we can consolidate things and get things moved in. I loaded this bitch of a box by myself, took it home, got it upstairs, and started assembling it. It soothed my nerves – it bothers me that I’m so helpless until after tomorrow, yes or no, that I needed something to do. Problem was, I was so exhausted by the time I got the first part done that I was getting frustrated.

I’ll have to cancel/postpone the trip to Indianapolis. I’m bummed, but this is most obviously more important. Duh. Hopefully Continental will let me reschedule, since it’s a non-refundable ticket and these are truly extenuating circumstances.

This morning I feel better. I actually slept. I told myself at the top of the stairs after I got ready for work that everything is completely out of my control at this moment, and to calm the hell down. I’m still having gastrointestinal issues from the stress, but that’s to be expected.

And no, we haven’t told anyone in the family yet; we agreed on that last night. I talked to my Oregonian adoptive father friend, one of my pals in Indiana, and to a friend from high school who I need as a prayer warrior outside of my personal goldfish bowl. DH has spoken to his boss (who needs to know anyway) and a friend. We agree that there’s no point in getting the families whipped up if this thing doesn’t go through.

Wow. Just.... wow.

Report on Friday's Meeting

2009-09-26T19:18:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to Erica who is bringing home a sweet little boy named Robert! *backflip* =D

Well, the woman who had the wrong embryo implanted gave birth (c-section, actually) today to a healthy boy, and immediately handed the baby over to the genetic parents. What an example of selflessness… what an story of incredible heartbreak. Julie commented on it last week (and again as I was writing this entry), and I myself am not so sure that I would have gone through with it. Who knows what is in another’s heart?

Next stop, Lawsuit Land. :(

Friday was an interesting day. On my way to work via S___b___s, I swung by the printer’s next door. I made changes to the last page and needed to reprint. It was an independent place, not a big box place, and the owner himself waited on me. He found it on the thumb drive, and I requested 10 copies. I went next door and read the paper while they did the order (there was a lady in front of me) and then I returned. The owner asked, “Are you the one adopting?”

“Yes, my husband and I are.”

“It’s a wonderful thing to see people making a difference in the world,” he replied as he put the receipt in the bag. “I wish you both a lot of luck.”

That really made my day.

At lunch I left a few cards on the bulletin board at Einstein’s (a bagel place).

I felt rather brave doing that.

After work, I drove over to Boss’s pal’s law office (I’ll call him ‘Buddy’ for the sake of brevity). I pull the door open, and when I look up I see someone pass in the corridor. I think, I know that person. And as I’m thinking it, the head whips back around the corner – it’s a classmate of mine from paralegal school. All huggy huggy, kissy kissy… LOL. We survived the worst ever writing class – it was so dumbed down, so ridiculous (it was literally being taught at the sixth grade level!!), that M and I tended to walk out of class at the break. The prof – a municipal judge – tried to bully us into staying, but we usually rolled our eyes and walked out.

I was waiting for DH to get there, so M and I were all chatty in the lobby, catching up, talking smack, debating the merits of getting one’s bar certification (our state bar has a cert for paralegals, entirely optional). We were in the middle of that topic when DH walked in. I introduced them, and we continued talking. Then after a few more minutes, M showed us to our conference room.

The lawyer showed up about ten minutes later, about 15 minutes late. Didn’t matter – DH and I were catching up a little on our day. When he walked in, I liked Buddy immediately. We talked wickedly about Boss, who he’s known for over 25 years. Buddy’s wife has to deal with Boss in conjunction with some political groups they’re both active with, and so we BS’ed over that, too. We spent a lot of time shooting bull.

Buddy was easy, informative, and recommended that we NOT advertise in the N. ew Ti .mes (a local free publication). The Sunday-calling attorney only told us to be cautious when doing so, but Buddy was adamant – don’t do it. It has turned into a paper that the crazies are attracted to it, and call and hound people. I wasn’t planning to anyway, mostly because it’s turned into such a garbagey rag; but it was an interesting turn of conversation.

We talked about openness and the growing trend of completely open adoption. We talked about insurance and the various things within the statutes that apply and don’t apply. We talked about ICPC for out of state adoptions – he was pleased to be able to say that in ICPC situations, he can get his turned around in about twenty-four hours because a) he’s done it forever and b) he knows the folks at the ICPC office. Of course that’s here in AZ; he has no control over anything out of state. Buddy agreed with my impression that it generally takes about a week. “You have to have all the documents and put them in the correct order,” is how he put it. However, he told us of a worst case scenario of a placement in Illinois that took six weeks. SIX WEEKS. Can you imagine? DH about fainted. Buddy reassured him that it certainly was not the norm.

It went really well and I went away with a good feeling – I think it was certainly a reflection on how my day started. DH agreed about the good vibe.

My only disappointment is that DH, once again, was almost totally uninvolved, partially because he still hasn’t done his homework, but also because there’s yet another investment group interested in buying the company he works for, and the whole mess that it entails. But the laziness has to change; I can’t have him flipping out on me when push comes to shove. He has also not gotten out of that room so we can at least start doing it. So frustrating.

I spent most of today outside, and thought about how nice of a backyard we have for any future children.... granted, it needs to be leveled badly, before I finally break an ankle mowing the lawn. But still - it was rather gratifying.

Lethargy

2009-09-24T15:41:00.000-07:00

Not a happy camper. Stuck at work with no prospect of coming home any time soon. Might as well blog if Boss is going to waste my time; quid pro quo.

Last week’s meeting got pushed to tomorrow, so nothing doing there. I’ll pass along what happens on Monday, or during the weekend if I feel like it.

Still mulling over paying nearly $300 to have that particular lawyer show our profile. On one hand, it’s a ridiculous sum for what it is with no guaranteed results – it’s like giving the money to the government. On the other hand, the more the profile gets out, the better.

I’m kind of lethargic about the whole adoption thing at the moment. I’m not angry, and not even close to wanting to quit, but I’m just “meh.”My shoulders are getting a workout from shrugging. It took a lot of mental energy just to start writing this entry. I know it will pass, and I know that several others in our circle have experienced the lethargy at differing levels, but right now, I’m just completely indifferent, which means there’s no fire under my ass. I have things to send out, but I just push it off. Meh.

I’m thinking that I’ll feel better once I go out of town for a week. I’m visiting one of my best friends from high school, and I am looking forward to that. I’m battling DH’s weird resentment about it, although we’d discussed it several times and long before I booked it. I don’t know why he’s being that way. Very strange.

Much like Kellie at Life and Adoption, but probably for longer, I’ve thought about migrating to Wordpress. One, I could merge this blog with my sister blog and only write on one blog in one interface. There are certain features that I like on WP that Blogger doesn’t have... but I’m hesitant because the reverse is true, also. If I recall correctly, I can PW protect individual entries, whereas here I’d have to PWP the whole shebang, which is what I don’t want to do. But I like the “followers” feature here, and like the way one can follow blogs on the dashboard. I’m torn. I’m also a complete cheap-ass and don’t want to pay for it... heh.

I’ll pop in later. Have a great weekend, everyone

Hooray, It's Friday!

2009-09-18T09:22:00.001-07:00

And the boss is away! *evil cackle*

Summer's back is broken - mornings no longer hang in the hundreds, but are now about a lovely 80 and the afternoon lands at about 100 - piece of cake - that's hikin' weather. Mornings are beautiful. I can turn my car's A/C off until I hit the choked freeway, where exhaust forces me to close my windows and regretfully turn the A/C on.

This morning, there's a nice stiff breeze out of the east, and I'm going to do a couple of things here at work and escape. Being inside on days like this is sacriligeous. I'm going for a nice long hike in a nearby park.

Since SW has dropped off the face of the earth, I went and contacted the coordinator above her. I only required a yes or no answer. Instead, she essentially said that she was forwarding my email to SW. That really pissed me off. JUST ANSWER THE EFFING QUESTION!!!

This afternoon is the meeting with Boss's pal. I'll let you know how that goes.

Other than that, nothing new. Just that long, laborious, awful wait.

Have a great weekend!

Monday Meh

2009-09-14T08:46:00.000-07:00

My day started with a horrific drive into work. I guess that’s payback for a great Sunday where 1) the stupid, overrated Cardinals lost and 2) my Cowboys won - not a pretty win, but a win. They'd better tighten up their playing for the Giants next week. Still very happy about both of those developments.

I make details of my laborious drive into work my status in FB and I get the comment, "Why don't you take the light rail?" Oh, let's not even go there. The light rail is a complete joke. Do not start my Monday off with a discussion about Phoenix's stupid, half-assed light rail.

Regarding the email exchange, thank you for your responses. I have allowed that correspondence to die. If this person resurfaces, I’ll give them the information I found and tell them to go fly a kite. This is hard enough without sh*tdisturbers, as many of you know.

I have only gotten one reply to my letters to my local politicians. Typical.

Half the attorneys I sent letters to haven’t responded. No surprise there, either.

Past that, not much else to report. We have a meeting with an attorney on Friday – Boss’ pal – and after reading Achievement Lawyer’s letter with the $285 consult fee (to which Boss commented, “well, she’s one of the adoption bigshots in the state. No surprise.”), Pal’s paltry $150 fee is nothing. I’m still holding off on calling her office.

I’m getting ready to send the business cards to certain places and to our pastor.

Guess I’d better get to work. Have a great and safe week, everyone.

Screening: First Attempt

2009-09-11T11:16:00.000-07:00

At the beginning of this week, I got my second email contact, this time off of one of the free parent profile sites. Unlike the first contact (see a previous post) where I had the gut feeling that the storyline was off, I was curious but cautious. I replied with something to the effect that 'since you know about us, tell us a little bit about you.' I didn't get a reply for awhile. I wrote it off.

When the reply did come two and a half days later (three by the time I logged in), that's when it started to bother me. Flawed grammar, atrocious punctuation - that's not what bothered me. I know that not everyone can be a grammarian/writer/English major/etc, so I discounted that. No... there was something about the attempt to evoke pity that's a little over the top, references to herself that are a little off, and this weird single-mindedness about placing the child with us and nobody else that made me very wary. The verbiage and syntax was much like the spam emails we all get. It seems to me that the aim is to pull someone who is ignorant of the ways of adoption, and/or perhaps to sucker someone whose desperation is compromising their judgment.

Of course, when one is doing one’s first attempt at screening contacts, being wary is a fine attribute.

Then, late last night, I Googled the email address and got a curious hit. On one hand, it’s possible that it’s a legitimate situation, but on the other, it was a really really weird hit... let’s just say it puts this contact somewhere in the Middle East. It also made me think that her name is not as she stated. It also put into my mind that this is a chain-yank.

So I’m torn between calling this person out and letting the exchange die. Whaddya think?

Thoughts on Adoptive Breastfeeding from a Complete N00B

2009-09-09T09:54:00.000-07:00

Before I launch into my ramblings, though, please know that I am aware of the manifold benefits, from nutritional to bonding and beyond, of breastfeeding an infant. I’m not questioning any one person’s judgment. Please understand that. What follows is more of a querulous verbal vomiting from a non-physician, non-scientist, and a complete ignoramus.

Also please understand that I know that there are protocols where one does not take any medications. I have read that one doesn’t even need to take drugs to set things in motion... so why would anyone who knows this take a dozen pills a day to induce breastmilk? Let’s move away from this a moment and look at what the majority of the folks’ I’ve followed are doing.

Over the last couple of years, I have read several potential adoptive parents’ blog entries that talk about inducing lactation to breastfeed an adopted child, and have also been reading articles about it as well.

Generally, for a woman to breastfeed an adopted child, a doctor prescribes a pharmacy full of chemicals and other things that trick her hormones into thinking she needs to produce milk.

Digest that statement (no pun intended) – about taking those powerful drugs/synthetic hormones – and add this to it: everyone knows that whatever a lactating woman ingests, it winds up in her breastmilk.

Has anyone ever wondered what the effects of these drugs in the breastmilk will be on a child? I’m just asking aloud. That question popped in my mind when I read about Erica starting her protocols, as well as some other bloggers’.

The blogs I’ve read that have started the process state that their protocol started with a drug regimen. One article I read gives the birth control pill ("BCP") combined with Domperidol, with stimulation from a breast pump.

Think about that for a minute. Seriously.

BCPs contain powerful synthetic chemicals that mimic hormones, which are (of course) designed to mess with your reproductive system. Now that people want to know more of what they’re putting in their bodies, women are starting to wonder what is really in BCPs as well. I suspect none of us really want to know – if they did, they’d never go on it. Back on topic, though, and think about this: these synthetic hormones and whatever else is in them will wind up in your breastmilk.

Let’s look at Domperidone (aka Motilium, Motillium, Motinorm and Costi), the second part of this simpler protocol. Domperidone is a dopamine inhibitor, primarily used for an anti-emetic (keeps one from puking) for those with gastrointestinal issues. Its role in breastmilk stimulation is to limit dopamine so that the hormone prolactin can be released, thereby telling the body to produce breastmilk. Medicinenet.com lists the side effects as “Headache, dizziness, dry mouth, nervousness, flushing, or irritability may occur the first several days as your body adjusts to the medication. Trouble sleeping, stomach cramps, hot flashes and leg cramps have also been reported... Notify your doctor immediately if you develop: chest pain, slow/fast/irregular heartbeat, swelling of the feet or ankles, difficulty urinating, swelling of the breasts or discharge from the nipple in men or women, menstrual changes, sexual difficulties. If you notice other effects not listed above, contact your doctor or pharmacist.” So, yeah, there are other side effects NOT SPECIFICALLY LISTED that you should go see a doctor for. Scary.

Anytime there are unlisted but potentially harmful insinuated on a label or on a site like that, my antennae twitch like mad. But what really bothers me is “Because this medication enhances movement in the digestive tract, it may affect the absorption and action of other medications.” So that means ANYTHING you ingest while using this protocol will possibly be amplified, like if you take any medication for a chronic problem, or even aspirin. Yikes!

I’m going to let y’all deduct and research the rest. I only had the barest trace of the desire to do breast feeding, but now there’s no way.

Remember, my intent is not to criticize or scare the crap out of anyone. I just can’t help but wonder if all these willingly ingested chemicals have anything to do with the soaring rate of autism and other health and developmental problems.

Yowza and Yeouch

2009-09-06T15:08:00.000-07:00

Who knew that condensing a parent profile into two pages for a PBM letter would be so painful? But it got itself done, I got them printed this morning, and now it’s off to Telephone Lawyer.

Another lawyer’s office to whom I had sent a letter to responded to our letter via email, which I thought rather curious. They are also receiving both a PBM letter and a profile because they didn’t give a preference.

Yesterday, I ordered “free” business cards from vistaprint.com. The cards may be free, but the shipping is not, especially if you want them anytime soon. Smart cookies. I had priced them out at Ofc Max, and they wanted $25 for 300. I get $300 for my $13 shipping. Sold.

Anyway, when I went in for my physical and asked whether I could drop a profile with them, Awesome Nurse said, “Drop off business cards if you have them. They’re easier to distribute.” Since I had already planned to order some cards anyway, it just lit the fire under my butt. As soon as I get them, they’re getting a stack.

I also broke down and got a Google Voice number. I’m putting it on message only for now, but we have to have some sort of communication with potential birthmothers from places like our website.

Here’s something that burned my ass this weekend when I opened my mail. Another of the batch of lawyers from the letters I mailed sent a letter in return. This particular lawyer has all sorts of gold stars she pasted over her firm website, back patting, etc. – well, she’s an accomplished lawyer, and a judge pro tem at that, so what do you expect? But she came recommended from two other lawyers, so a letter went off to her back at the end of August.

Boss? Doesn’t charge to hold a profile for viewing. Neither does the lawyer with whom we have worked, nor Telephone Lawyer, nor North Part of the State Lawyer. I had been warned that some will charge to hold the profile, and I already told you of the buddy of Boss with whom we have an appointment - $50 to hold the profile, $100 for the consult – which, to me, is not unreasonable in the scheme of things. We have an appointment with him next week.

So I open the envelope for Achievement Lawyer. Usual form letter, blah blah, “In order for me to maintain your letter, I require that you come in for a consultation.” Okay, I’m good with that, just like Boss’s friend and like others we’ll run across. No, the kicker comes with the next line.

“I charge $285.00 for the consultation.”

Gasp! Choke! Gag! Holy crap. That’s nearly three hundred dollars for her to poke through our lives with not much in return other than she’ll show our profile to those who come through her door. It makes me wonder what she’s going to charge if she does a placement.

The consult, she continues, lasts anywhere from 90 minutes to two hours.

Christ on a pony. Even DH said, “Ow.”

HUGS to Niobe (see previous post); to RB, whose match fell through and needs some lovin’; for Jeny’s no-news frustrations; and to Erica, who is a wee bit overwhelmed! ;)

Wishing one and all have had a happy and safe weekend…

Thoughts/Prayers/Good Vibes Needed

2009-09-05T21:08:00.000-07:00

Niobe's sister has been grievously injured on Thursday in what I have to assume is some sort of accident. As of her last post, her sister is stable but still in a coma and unresponsive. Keep Niobe and her family in your thoughts this weekend.

MKWW ("The First Day Of")

2009-09-04T09:20:00.000-07:00

I’m late about it. So? I have contentious clients with whom explanations are lost. Very frustrating and debilitating.

Anyway...

Mama Kat's #4 topic of the week: The first day of...

Ah, yes. Let’s talk about my first day of fire academy, shall we?

It was the late winter/spring of 1996. I was paying for it out of pocket, since I was only a seasonal employee. I was only one of two people from my agency to be in this class; that meant that I and my cohort from another ranger district were sort of stepchildren. No matter – I did fine. I was a class officer, too, and clawed my way into the upper 10% (would have been upper 5% if it weren’t for the pesky knot tests).

But it started inauspiciously.

I was very excited. I had gotten the green light from my division chief and permission from my captain to bring a station Breathing Apparatus (“BA”). The day dawned bright and early, as Formation was at 7 sharp, and I had to leave the station barracks I was living at an hour prior since the school was 50 miles away. Got up, ate, dressed in dress uniform, and packed my lunch and duffle bag in my tiny little Geo Metro (how I loved that car!).

Went back into the barracks, grabbed the BA in its case. Even with the advances in technology in making it light(er)weight, that sucker was still very heavy. When someone tells you that the fire department agility tests are hard, they are, and for good reason – you’re carrying this sucker on your back on top of all the nomex outfit (which is heavy and cumbersome) plus equipment and pulling hose. I lug this thing out of the barracks, lock the door, turn around and lurch to the parking lot. Turn at the fence to approach the back of my Metro, which is backed into its usual spot. Turn to the right to unlock the hatchback.

!!grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrindCRUNCHPOP!!

Ah, yes, good times, good times. That would be my back, by the way.

Yes, I threw out my back on the first day of fire academy. It was the very first time I ever did (I have again through the years, not very often, although twice in the last six months), and it picked a really bad time to be that way.

I spent the first three days of the academy in agony. Trying to run, do hose roll drills, hose dragging, and various other things is really interesting.

After the second day, I lurched into my sister’s house and begged her to pop my back into place. She’s a black belt in Aikido, and she learned how to do spinal manipulation. She got it back in, but the muscles and tendons and everything connected still sang in an otherworldly, agonizing, screeching key for the next week.

I survived, I finished the academy, I did fine. But the first week REALLY SUCKED.

I Would Like to Thank The Academy...

2009-09-03T09:37:00.000-07:00

*teary eyed smile*
*looks out at audience*

Thank you, thank you... I just got my very first award!

Mrs. H at The Last Best Hope honored me with the Honest Scrap Award.

Here's how it works:
There are three rules for this award:
First, link back to the person who gave you the award (see above)Second, give the award to 10 other bloggers.
Third, list 10 honest things about yourself.

I’m rearranging the order of the thing for suspense. Here goes for the honesty:

1. I have an addiction to Starbucks’ decaf venti mochas. I know they’re probably killing me (and my wallet), but I like them. A lot. When I went on hiatus for my physical the other day, it was ridiculous. Jonesin’ like crazy. I swear there are extra addiction additives even in my simple drink.

2. If the economy wasn’t so bad that even law firms are laying off folks, I would be SO GONE from my current employer. I love him dearly, but I’m not making the money I should be with my education and experience. OTOH, do I really want to start over with another employer, have baby manna drop from heaven and have to quit? It’s a toughie.

3. I’m hesitant to set up what will be the nursery. I know I have to get the two must-haves – car seat and 4-in-1 bed – but I’m flinching and I don’t know why.

4. I think fully half the people on the roads should have their licenses revoked.

5. I’m not desperate for a child. I am unusually (for me) patient, tolerant, excited, expectant... but I’m not desperate. I want the child that comes to us to be the one we’re meant to have, not the one we settled for.

6. I’m still pissed at Billy Joel for canceling his concert and going into rehab that year. That said, he’s still my favorite.

7. Cheddar Goldfish is my favorite food group outside of chocolate (well, duh). My future children will have to fight with me over them.

8. I write fiction as a way to send my brain into la-la land, and have since I was in my early teens. One of them is a family epic that I’ve been toying with for twenty years. I secretly hope that it will get published and I’ll be a zillionaire, but I don’t really think it’s that level of writing. Then again (pardon the sacrilege according to some I’ll be committing here saying this), but if Stephenie Meyer can write juvenile tripe like that and make money, I’m thinking that I can, too.

9. I have no patience for people with affectations that they can’t possibly back up financially .

10. I miss teaching, but the way education’s going in this country (swirling toilet), the cost of continuing education (M.Ed., certs, etc), the way parents are, and the way education administration is done, no thank you. I miss it a lot though – very rewarding, very meaningful, very fulfilling. I didn’t even mind not being paid squat.

Let’s see if I can find some different blogs in our circle out there to award (I love you Mrs H, Kellie, Erica, Mary, and y’all – gotta widen the circle though). Hmmm.

1. Jessica at Waiting is the Hardest Part . There’s just a lot in common there for me.

2. Jeny at A Forever Family in the Waiting. My spot for a reality check, and also some really good information.

3. Lynnette at Two Hearts Waiting. She has such an interesting, full life, and I really like her buoyant attitude.

4. Julie&Chris at A Family is Born. I read along with her because she’s run into the same quandary I have: how do you prepare for a child when you have no idea which gender and what age?

5. A + A at A+A Adopt a Baby. They have a LOT of food for thought, from naming a child to transracial adoption.

6. M at A Whole Lot of Hope. She’s been quiet lately, but I attribute that to having a home under construction and the fact she has a very inquisitive cat. Maybe the cat stole her internet. ;)

7. Marcie at Until Someday. She’s going the international route, and her story and her hope is really inspirational.

8. Erin at Waiting for His Time. Along with Henry Street, this was one of my first blogs I ever read. They’ve been matched and just found out it’s a boy.

9. Rachel at Barren Woman. She and her hubs will be parents in January if all goes well. How can you not love a girl who said about her period, “Someday, when I get to Heaven, I am going to kick Eve in the shin.” Amen, sister.

10. Kellie at Over My Ovaries... Mrs H thinks I’m brave for doing private adoption, but I think Kellie’s brave for pursing foster-to-adopt. It takes a special soul to do that.

Blatherings - Stuff - Responses

2009-09-02T08:45:00.000-07:00

...or, "I can't think of a title to cover the bases."

Answer to Mrs. H (in case you didn't go back to the comments on that post): it's a little of both. If someone sends something to our email, I'm screening it. If some are legit, I'm going to flip them to our attorney after conversation has been made. If people want to call, they can call the attorney directly or our case worker directly. We do not have a phone number to us directly on purpose, and certainly not our personal and work numbers.

Answer to Amber: I didn't e-mail any attorney, with one exception, and that exception because I have had previous e-mail communication with her. From my boss, an attorney, I contacted one attorney; I also contacted an attorney (this one only by email) with whom my office has worked. I have requested other recommended contacts from these attorneys, and from these contacts I have sent out snail mail. E-mails, I think, are not appropriate for initial contact. I did not send our profiles with them - some attorneys charge to hold your profile, some don't; some want to meet you, some don't; some attorneys will charge for that meeting, some don't. I would recommend you contact an adoption attorney, make a contact with him/her, and request recommendations from that attorney and go from there. I think it's better than trying to blindly send out a boatload of letters and profiles and never get a response. That's too expensive.

I got my first email hit from our website. I woke up thinking about it, and why it was bugging me. I realized why: it's a little too close to a story in the news that finally surfaced in my brain, too close for me to bite off on, and by the time I got up, I was comfortable in not replying to it.

One of the attorneys I contacted called me. The kicker? He called me on Sunday. He was in the office, going through his mail, and decided to address our letter. He is a nice man who gave lots of good advice, and actually some really funny, almost cynical advice I'll share in another post. The conversation was also good fodder for a later post.

Because of the conversation with said Sunday attorney, I have to condense our profile to a two-page Dear Birthmother letter. Granted, our profile is only eight pages, and only four when back to back, but he wants something even shorter. So that's what I'm working on in phases.

Since I rushed through and finished our adoption website, I'm a little burned out. I know I have to clean it up, I know it doesn't show well in some browsers, but I wanted the basics up now that the profile is out there. I am so burned out that last night, I didn't even look at anything adoption related, not the profile, the website, or my maddening condensation project.

I will give an unabashed plug for WYSIWYG Website Builder. Easy, intuitive, with options for those more advanced. I'm betting it's not cheap, since DH bought it for work originally. I just wish they had more templates; they are pretty limited, and I don't have the HTML-fu to tinker with it.

DH has calmed down from that little freakout session. Not only did he see options re: Medicare for birthmother expenses, but I also told him about a state plan that can be used. Even better, his company has an FSA plan that reimburses adoption costs. He needs to dig a little more with the HR department to see exactly what is and is not covered with our particular FSA company, but I will tell you this: his attitude improved instantaneously once he got all that information. And his attitude change made me feel a LOT better.

I'm going to a meeting with Catholic Social Services later this month. It's an informational meeting regarding their adoption program. Information is power, right? Cast the net wide, right? We can always say no. I know they have an application process, and an application fee, but I don't know anything past that. Getting DH to cross the Valley for the meeting after a long workday is something else entirely. Working on that.

So that's what's going on in my world. Nothing earth shattering. Only one of the six attorneys so far has replied to me, but that's not surprising. I think I thanked my Sunday attorney seven times just because I thought it was so cool he called.

Free Falling... Who Will Catch Me?

2009-08-29T19:59:00.000-07:00

I finally sent the bulk email with our profile attached to probably thirty people, from folks from the old neighborhood to newer friends. I'm not sure why I was filled with... oh, I don't know... what, fear? Nerves? Trepidation? Insecurity? Anxiety? Jitters? Fretting? Maybe it's a little bit of all of those. Perhaps it's also a little bit of that thing called fear of the unknown. It's that leap out of the plane, hoping that after the first bit of free falling the parachute will open as it should.

I say it that way because after I said a little prayer then pressed send, the song "Free Falling" ran through my head.

I wanna free fall out into nothin'

Gonna leave this world for awhile

And I'm free, free fallin'*

Yeah... "free fall out into nothin" describes the nervous rush I felt after Gmail told me that my email had been sent successfully.

Maybe it's a little bit of intimidation because of the fact that complete strangers will read the profile, read our nascent website (which is NOT a mirror of the profile), and that I'll get an email that starts, "My name is ____. I read your profile, and I really liked it," followed by a story about how this writer is pregnant or had a baby already and cannot raise the child.

And then it will be 'OMG' time.

Silly, I know. And there are many of you who have already been there, that terrifying first contact. I know that trembling craziness passes. I know it does, especially once it gets past the tentative feelers and shyness when meeting someone new whose face I will have yet to see - for of course, they have seen mine. I wont' have seen theirs yet.

Add to this that I sent out six letters to lawyers yesterday. I expect feedback probably around Wednesday with the information I seek.

I also need to call the first lawyer (Boss's pal) and set up a meeting.

I still need to print out and assemble more profiles. I'll do that tomorrow.

I have also gotten the first two pages of our website up. If you want to look, drop me a note by email over there in the right column. You have to be someone I know via this blog, who also has a blog I have linked to or read or follow at this time. Sorry. I have to retain some privacy here at this locale. ;)

It's scary, knowing that we're out there, that the ball is rolling, and that the ball you've set in motion may wind you up in places you never dreamed of.

Yikes!

_________________________________________________

*Thanks, Tom Petty, who happens to be one of DH's favorite artists

Sleepless in... Insomnia Land

2009-08-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I hate my husband: he's one of those people who can drop right off to sleep. I have NEVER been one of those people. He'll take fifteen minutes, but I can take anywhere from 30 min to an hour. By the time I do fall asleep, he's got his physiological chainsaw going full blast. It kills me.

But that was not the problem last night. Hasn't been for awhile.

No... it's my latest issues. Last night, I tried to sleep, but my whirling brain just would not stop. Busy Brain Syndrome is my other plague when I try to sleep, and you can guess what my brain cells were burning over. Changed beds because I was restless - nope, no good. Went down and read (works about 90% of the time), tried again. Nope. By 11:30 I said "Screw it," padded to my home office, turned on the light and the compy.

To make the drudgery of sleeplessness useful, I prepared the letters for the attorneys I've been referred to. They were essentially form letters. I'm sending them so that I get an idea of what some of them charge to "hold" my profile before I actually send them (also to find out how many copies they want). If I'm spending $.44 to inquire, they can reciprocate that $.44 to tell me how much that privilege is going to cost.

Speaking of cost, I casually mentioned to Boss about his attorney buddy's little charges to display our profile. He was surprised, and said, "Are you sure that it wasn't just a form letter sent out by his paralegal? ... I'd like to see that letter, would you bring it in?" I have it with me this morning, right now, here at work.

(Oh, hush. Like you've never frittered away time when you're half-asleep at work.)

So, in my suffering without sleep last night/this morning - I didn't call it until 2:30am, ugh - I went back and read that sucker. If it's a letter signed off by the boss, generally the initials at the bottom will read something like "AAA/bbb," like in my office the AAA would be the attorney, bbb would be my initials. It's more for figuring out who did what letter, who typed it, who signed off on it.

Lo and behold, I look at the bottom of the second page, and it says, "sa/enc" - not the initials of the attorney anywhere to be found. Yup, Boss was right. A form letter. And it wasn't even the guy's assistant's initials, it was some other minion. Ayup.

In my restlessness, I also started a spreadsheet. One tab is for tracking correspondence - if you're going this route, I suggest something like this. I already have eight attorneys on the list and I need to keep them straight.

Another tab is expenses - this is the biggie, for obvious reasons. App fee, home study, postage, copy costs for your profile, costs of how much it costs to send five of those suckers.

There was a third that I'm having problems recalling. Brain is mushy.

A good part of my sleeplessness was because DH flipped out earlier this week (he does this on an irregular basis, I noticed, as I looked back on other posts and my journal). I have been on him gently to do his research, to make sure he's as informed as I am - but it's this issue, work this, tired that. I don't want to nag and make it unpleasant. So, when I got Boss's buddy's letter and went through the questions with him, he got a little rattled. Again.

As an aside, in Arizona, there's a statute that says that adoptive parents can pay up to $1,000 of general itemized expenses, and after that they must be court approved. This is why AZ is considered an adoption-friendly state, since there are statutes in place to protect adoptive parents. That said, it is within the realm of reasonableness for the attorney to request that other expenses be paid through the court. It is very common. It still protects the PAPs because the Court must approve anything past that one-grand threshold.

So when I got to the question of "If a birthmother requested additional living expenses beyond the $1,000.00 statutory limit, would you be agreeable for us to petition the Court for approval of these additional expenses?" DH's eyes kind of caught on fire.

I have warned him about this, tried to get it through his head, and told him he needs to read up and then talk to me.

Now, to be fair, DH works in a high pressure corporate job. He gets paid well to take the sh*t he does, and I know that he's overwhelmed by it sometimes. I know this is why he's left the adoption stuff to me, which is fine - I expect that anyway. But he cannot stick his head in the sand and claim ignorance when I've told him time and again a, b, c, or nudged him to do his research.

His response to the above question was essentially Hell No, along with various and sundry other uncharacteristic remarks from my usually gentle and generous hearted husband. A couple of days after this exchange, I realize that it was the pressure of his day, but his remarks cut to the core nonetheless.

This morning, I'm going to opt for the calm sea. I'm not going to let myself get ruffled over his reactions that spawn from his mental exhaustion. I decided that the answer on the questionnaire will be something to the effect of 'yes, within certain limits and only with the consent of both of us.'

It will be fine. He'll do his research, I'll get him to talk to Boss so this thing can be explained to him mano a mano. All will be well. I think, again, it's that fear of this unknown lake into which we're jumping that's contributing to this.

50th Blog Post – The Latest Not-News

2009-08-26T16:32:00.001-07:00

Well, I’ll be darned. I’ve survived 50 posts and well over 2000 hits.

Wellll, isn’t THAT special?!

Thanks to all who drop by and say hi and leave a comment, and thank you to my lurkers from far and wide – and from some really surprising places in the world! Thank you so very much.

Yesterday, on a lark, I contacted an attorney my office has worked with on an adoption case, asking if I could forward her a copy of our profile. Her response? “I would be more than happy to hold your profile to show to birth mothers when the opportunity presents itself. Please do forward 5 copies to my [city in the valley] office address. As far as other private adoption attorneys in … County, I would suggest contacting [she listed two attorneys]. In … County [further north in the state], I would suggest contacting [a third attorney]… Keep in mind that these attorneys most likely charge a nominal fee to hold a profile. I do not. So do not be taken by surprise.” I thought that was supremely awesome - both the "yes" and the advice. It really made my day yesterday.

Earlier today in our Gmail account dedicated to the adoption roller coaster, I received a response from Catholic Charities after I sent an inquiry. They relayed the date for an information session that they have people/couples go to prior to acceptance in their Child Placement Program. I can deal with that.

Then, in the mail not thirty minutes ago, I got a response from Boss’s friend (he referred me). I knew that some attorneys charge to hold a profile to be shown, but this pal of my boss has a requirement of meeting with him for a flat $100 fee. On one hand, I’m miffed – adoption’s expensive enough. On the other hand, it’s a weeding process if you think about it. If you’re serious, you’ll set it up, and that way the attorney in question can get a feel for the persons adopting, and probably be able to match better once the attorney and the adoptive folks have met. The best thing is that Boss’s friend also sent a list of other adoption attorneys to send profiles to, one of which was on the first attorney’s list as well.

Besides, really, what's $150 on this road?

I dropped the five copies of the profile in the mail to the first attorney just before I went by the mailbox on the way home.

When I was stuffing the envelope, I realized that I’d have to get more profiles printed. Oh, darn, what a problem to have. =D

If Blogger had a status field for each post, I would feel “accomplished.”

Unlike several here in our “adoption blog family” who are going through agencies, we’re heading to the private adoption route, which means we have to do our own networking. That’s okay, and I realize that it goes with the territory. I’m just very wary of agencies that want a big chunk of change at the beginning and seem to slowly drain the PAPs dry afterwards. I’d rather that the money go directly to the hands it’s supposed to without it being siphoned off somewhere.

(I warned you about my cynicism - no comments from the peanut gallery!) =D

Now, before you get your britches bunched up, I know that agencies do the networking for you. I know that there are valid expenses that the money one pays meets. I understand that the fees cover all sorts of services. Trust me – I understand.

Yet the decision to go this route is primarily financial. I hear of a lot of money changing hands when folks go through agencies. Friends of Boss tell of exorbitant prices they’ve either been quoted or have been paid, and Boss drops his jaw in horror. He’s of the opinion that adoption shouldn’t ever be so expensive.

It’s not personal interest on Boss’s part that causes me to take his advice – after all, he’s offered his legal services for the adoption to us for no charge – he is part of a grassroots anti-abortion organization and advocates adoption over abortion. In fact, he said to me today, “There are two million loving people certified and ready to adopt in this country. If there are a million abortions a year that instead are carried to full term and adopted out to these loving homes, why would we have abortion in the first place?”

This isn’t a new thought/saying/concept, of course, but it is one very topical to us here in our adoption blogosphere. If you validate that stance, though, then it stands to reason that it would be to everyone’s advantage that the next step is that adoption needs to be made affordable. The money that will eventually go out for our own adoption gives DH mental hives. One cannot get away from court costs, attorneys fees, counseling expenses, medical costs, etc.

If you cruise the internet with some of these online agencies (and in one case takes the form of a blog) that list available children, I have seen fees anywhere from $20K to $50K, and, on one site that sticks in my mind, nearly all of them had some sort of drug and/or alcohol exposure, and in many cases extreme exposure. These insane prices, if out of your state, do not include ICPC processing (which of course costs money somewhere), your travel, your hotel, the attorneys fees, and so on. Really? $50k fee to adopt a child in the US? No. This crap should be illegal.

Make it affordable, people! You take away the profit, you take away the temptation for these extremely unethical prices and likely scams.

Just sayin'...

In any case, I have some more networking to do. I’m just getting started on the attorneys. I still have to get the business cards made up to plaster everywhere. I’m still hanging on to the stupid email because (as I said) something in the composition isn’t right.

I have all these avenues waiting for me, so I’d better hop to it!

For Those Who Are Waiting

2009-08-25T11:51:00.001-07:00

Wendy at Our TX Adoption posted one of the most beautiful things I've read in a long time. Go on, take a look.

It all resonated, even now, pre-placement, "You'll never lose that secret hope every time you ovulate. You'll never not get a bit sad when you start your period. You'll never stop secretly wondering what your biological baby would have looked like" really resonated. I do that now, pre-placement, knowing full well I'll never see that pesky little HPT with that particular brand good news.

And it's okay, it really is.

But the overarching idea of the post - be calm, it will happen, and will be something that's meant to be, and this you will know in your bones - is beautiful. The advice to really enjoy life pre-baby to the fullest is wise. That you will be resourceful, that your future will be fine, is reassurance we all need. Your career may not be what you originally conceptualized, but it will be where you're supposed to be.

Thanks, Wendy.

More Money Savvy Ideas

2009-08-24T09:04:00.000-07:00

Read this article DH sent me from The Consumerist. The article is good, but the comments have some really, really good ideas on how to save money when buying things for baby.

Oh, yeah - he really did send me that. I was tickled to death that he was looking out for articles and ideas.

He rocks. :)

2009-08-22T17:16:00.000-07:00

Before I pick up where I left off the other day – this is the post I said I’d do as a tangent off of PwPD – I have my PDF profile attached to an email and ready to send. And, for some reason, I hesitate. I don’t know. I am going to do it, but the text in the email isn’t quite right yet. It needs to be right, especially if it will be forwarded to people I have never met.

Agency sent us our home study. Lots of typos in there. They listed my doctor’s first name as Russell and not Robert. WTH? Whatever. The Court okayed it. We’re good.

M’s post (PwPD, 8/17/09 ) gave me some thoughts to chew on. Her ILs bugged her about when she was going to get pregnant, but have become oddly silent after M and her husband announced their decision to adopt. I know the feeling, I really do.

After digesting the content of her post, my mind did that weird leap that sometimes startles even me, so here’s a thought that cruised through my mind as I thought about her post.

For a lot of people:

Pregnancy = comfortable, knowledgeable, visible, tangible, concrete
Adoption = uncomfortable, ignorant, invisible, intangible, abstract

Think about it.

Comfort/Discomfort. When someone announces they’re pregnant, it engenders this… this… I don’t know. Pretty much everyone’s comfortable with it. With adoption, it’s the opposite: somehow it’s unnatural to many people’s minds, and nobody knows what to expect, what to do, or what to say. The interesting thing I’ve noticed is that my friends and acquaintances my age (I’m avoiding family as part of the topic at the moment) have no problem with adoption; perhaps it’s generational? Or do I just have an abnormal group to run with that they’ve been nothing but supportive and excited? Hmmm.
Knowledgeable/Ignorant. The vast majority of people past the age of, say, four or five get pregnancy. Even a small child can tell you at a high level how it happened, how long it’s going to take and what happens in the meantime, when the kid will generally be here, how the kid gets here, and so on. Adoption? Adoption has this tendency to bring even brilliant people to their knees with what they don’t know about adoption. It’s like when you’ve told people you’re adopting, after their initial reaction, what’s their first question? The one I’ve been getting a lot is this concept that we can order a child, pick and choose, like shopping for an accessory. I’ve learned quickly not to get offended. You know what I’m talking about.
Visible/Invisible. Physical pregnancy one can see over time; being ‘paper pregnant’ is like being in this vast void. It’s sort of like Voila! One day you have a kid out of the blue sky, no discomfort or labor required. And this is the part that piqued my mind with M’s post – they push for pregnancy because they can see it, but adoption is invisible (and intangible – next up) and I think that makes them, as well as many people, uncomfortable with the process and concept.
Tangible/Intangible. Kind of like the previous. Pregnancy dances around the senses – see, hear, touch – where adoption, here again, is invisible and untouchable, and whose emotional satisfaction is rather inexplicable. One can touch pregnant belly; the cool and smooth white sheet with black letters of a court order certifying someone as an adoptive parent isn’t quite as satisfying to those outside the inner circle of the adoption world.
Concrete/abstract. Let me put it this way:

Pregnancy : adoption :: HS biology: canonical philosophy

Adoption to some people is lofty, incomprehensible and sometimes worth confused silence and unintended contempt because it’s beyond comprehension, and therefore causes people to react in fear. And I think many people don't deal with the abstract very well. That fear of the unknowns of adoption leads back to ignorance and unwittingly causes people to say and do hurtful things. You know, like saying “But they can take the baby away!” Grrrrr!

But it’s also the fact that the child/ren will not look like anyone, especially if adopting from abroad or doing cross-racial domestic adoptions – that concrete proof that a child somehow belongs in the family – and I wonder if the skeered folk think that this is a bad thing, and therefore think that the adopted child will not belong. It’s a silly notion, but you have to figure it as a possibility.

As an aside, I think that it is an amazingly sad thing that we LITERALLY have all this information at our fingertips at our computers, and have celebrities and high profile people adopting kids right and left, but that there’s still so much ignorance and discomfort in the world about adoption. It just astounds me.

What does this all mean? Short of a well-financed national education campaign with a glossy PR crew, it means a few things.

First, as we in the adoption world already know, we have to educate the people around us. I’ve been tempted to snap at some otherwise super smart people to “do a frikkin’ Google search, fer criminy sake!” But no, that’s not the way we have to go about things, no matter how satisfying snapping at someone is. The most effective way is to genially and persistently revise others’ (usually false) impressions of domestic adoption. The ignorance I’ve encountered is astounding. We have to change that, one friend/family member/acquaintance at a time.

Second, we have to be patient. Patience is not my strong suit, but it means that once those in your circle—those reluctant family and friends who have no idea how to deal with adoption—see what blooms after the child comes home, they’ll see it’s not really so foreign after all.

Most of all, we need to stay positive.

The wait can be and is one of the hardest things about adoption, not just for those expecting but for those around them. When I explained to a dear friend last night that The Call may come tomorrow, next week, next month, six months from now, or next year, she had a hard time absorbing it. That said, I personally have only hit the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the weird and wacky reactions I’ve gotten when I’ve said that we’re adopting.

Emily at Emily the Hopeless has been bombarded by the anti-adoption crowd and had to dive to private blog land; this sort of behavior is completely mind-boggling. Ignorance? Okay, that’s usually not that person’s fault. But to essentially headhunt a blogger because you don't agree with them? Holy cow. That’s so difficult – adoption’s already not the easiest road, and then some of us get that? Unacceptable. But further commentary on that is fodder for another post; I already have a partial draft after running across some awful vitriol elsewhere. My point is that we shouldn’t let these people get any of us down.

Anyway…

The rude things that people unintentionally say are some of the hardest things to take in stride, intentional or not. No matter the basis, for your sake and for the child’s sake, be as positive as possible. Not only will it be easier on you, but the person fishing for a reaction will be taken aback when you don’t nibble on the bait.

There are many of us on this road who got here via heartbreaking circumstances. But despite it all, this is a road for those of us chosen, paved with grace, landscaped with hope, colored by the glorious future.

“And they can’t take that away from me…”

*Astaire Soft Shoe, Off Stage Left*

MKWW: My Name is and I am a

2009-08-20T09:33:00.000-07:00

Hi, my name is Allie and I am a cynic.

Main Entry: cyn·ic
Pronunciation: \ˈsi-nik\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle French or Latin, Middle French cynique, from Latin cynicus, from Greek kynikos, literally, like a dog, from kyn-, kyōn dog — more at hound
Date: 1542
1 capitalized : an adherent of an ancient Greek school of philosophers who held the view that virtue is the only good and that its essence lies in self-control and independence

2 : a faultfinding captious critic; especially: one who believes that human conduct is motivated wholly by self-interest

Oh yeah, that’s me. Well, most of the time. I naively think that people are inherently good, but I’ve been burned so many times that I just don’t really buy it anymore. What reinforces this is watching Boss wholeheartedly believe that people are good in the course of his work, and he gets burned time and time again. So no, I’m not so Pollyanna anymore.

I have a cynical streak a half-mile wide. Not a mile, not a zillion miles, just a half-mile. I look at it as something that tempers me, and adds to the common sense that just isn’t so common anymore.

I’m such a cynic that the first sentence is partially a lie: you know darn well that it’s a pseudonym for safety purposes. That can’t be a surprise though.

I’m such a cynic that I don’t ever believe anything a politician says.

I’m such a cynic that I don’t think that there’s a political magic wand to fix health care, as some people seem to think there is. Hell, Washington can’t even address the adoption tax credit stuff without obfuscation; what makes people think they can manage health care??

I’m such a cynic that I eschew half of what the adoption books say I should buy off on (and, one of these days, I’ll upload that review of Twenty Things. Really. And you’ll see how cynical I really am!).

I’m such a cynic that once I got a really good picture of assisted reproduction and its astronomical costs (physical and psychological), along with the fact that there’s no guarantee, that I said Hell No.

My bright Pollyanna side is the one that said Yes, Adoption is the Way to Go. Thank God for that!

I’m not sure that being somewhat of a tightwad (see previous post) is cynical. Nah. That’s prudence. Prudence is good.

But I’m not such a cynic that I gave up on the dreams for the future, especially when it comes to building our family.

I’m not such a cynic that a dozen years ago I completely gave up on love as I might have under the circumstances.

I’m actually pretty buoyant – but that cynicism, a healthy cynicism, keeps me grounded.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing. :)

Long Thoughts on Being Money Savvy

2009-08-18T08:13:00.000-07:00

On 8/13, E at Waiting for Baby posted about an article about ways to save money on baby care. It’s topical to anyone expecting, and is something that’s been on my mind ever since the Order certifying us as adoptive parents came through. What to get, what to do, how much to spend, how to save money doing it?

Another blogger I came across – forget where, sorry, I was blog cruising – was talking about Craigslist for various items. The article linked above suggests Freecycle, which I’ve not explored. I also have been half-heartedly browsing Amazon... and occasionally EBay, even though EBay’s kind of lost its way and doesn’t have the deals it used to.

So E and some other thrifty pals in Blogland set me on a trail. When I get a chance, I cruise Craigslist and Amazon and other places. I have poked around at Target, at BRU as I’ll explain below, and there’s a Buy Buy Baby opening in the vicinity soon (at least they’re honest about their business plan!) but have scrupulously avoided Wally World which I despise for baby stuff, but I think the better deals are at online stores or via Craiglist as long as I can find things I don't have to pay shipping for.

I’m not going to go crazy. Some things must be bought new – the car seat, for example; other things I’d prefer new, such as the crib. But I’m not going to spend the equivalent of half a year’s pay to stock baby clothes, furniture, fripperies and other items. The baby isn’t going to care.

Pardon the morbid comparison, but it’s the same thing with spending beaucoup on funerals and memorials – these things are really for the living, as my cousin said to my nephew at my mother’s funeral, not the dead. She was right – rituals such as these are not only to remember those who have passed, but to make us feel better about the loss.

So (in a really weak comparison, but you’ll get the point), this trend of blowing insane amounts of money on nurseries in the excitement, it’s easy to forget that the baby won’t care; the paint and the printed name on the wall and the other fripperies are really for us, the expectant parents and expectant families. And, to a point, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s an exciting time, a hopeful time, and it’s a really wonderful feeling to prepare for the arrival of a baby, especially if it’s been a long and difficult time coming. But the baby is just not going to care if the paint is from Ralph Lauren or from Valspar, or if the bedding has some trendy logo/pattern/designer instead of simple mainline Gerber stuff from Target. We’re the ones who notice, not them.

Baby clothes and shoes are especially a rip off, since the kid only can wear things for such a short time before they’re outgrown. Even when a teen, I snickered at those who bought baby Nike shoes for their infant; seriously? $60 on a pair of shoes the child will outgrow in a matter of weeks? Hell no. I’m going to Craigslist or Freecycle that stuff. Naturally, there will be various outfits and things that will be new, but for the everyday 3P (poop, pee, puke) Parade, why blow crazy amounts of money on stuff that will just get trashed?

That’s just my take. My Scots blood rises at the complete rips that a lot of baby items truly are. I didn’t have half this crap when I was a kid and I did just fine. I’ll bet you didn’t either.

The other night, when he couldn’t sleep, DH was trying to tire his brain by hunting down some stuff. He surprised me by saying that he even looked at baby furniture items and found some screaming deals (I was glad he did this because he now knows what things cost). He did Craigslist and the other usual stuff, but he has a talent for finding coupons and what I call partnership deals – for example, if one finds something on Overstock.com via Bi.ng, and Bi.ng has a code or coupon, there were things he found where he could get anywhere from $50-$100 or some crazy percentage off. I was really impressed. It tells me he’s now thinking about it, and thinking smart. Yeah, baby!

Earlier this week, I was at BRU looking over my sister-in-law’s registry (the younger of my two SILs on my side of the family – I refer to her on the Alter Ego as YSIL). I have managed to avoid being in one prior to this, and I’m so glad I have never been there. What a load of garbage! It’s a bunch of halfheartedly stocked crap. Oh, I don’t mean that parents don’t need a crib or a baby clothes or other things, but there is just SO MUCH CRAP that nobody needs and are just there as emotional landmines to make money off of.

I will give my YSIL credit – she didn’t go crazy. Oh, of course there are some fripperies – everyone deserves fripperies and fun – but the vast majority of the things on her list are extremely common sense things. You know, such as several sets of crib sheets, a middle of the road bouncer that caught my eye as a future purchase for ourselves... nothing outrageous or extravagant.

I’ll get her and the baby something on her registry, but otherwise I’m going to stay far, far away from BRU. Yuck.

Even before said article, I was thinking as soon as we were certified, and more so when I dropped off our profile the other day, what is it that we absolutely need before the arrival of a child? The catch is, of course, is that our age range is from newborn to four, with no preference to gender, even though I’ve made it clear to SW that younger is preferred (she’s in the same boat). So...

Hmmm.

· Car seat, without a doubt. Can’t bring a child home without one. Must be age progressive. Can’t be girly or boyish. It’s one of the things we have to buy new; used is not an option.
· 4-1 crib, and need to remember to get the railings, of course sold separately – so that no matter the age of the child, we have a bed option. We’d have to run out and get a mattress and whatnot, but at least we have the bed frame. Gently used is fine, so I’m hunting for a decent deal. I’m stumped as to what color/finish to get, though.

So, my wise friends in the blogosphere, what else would we NEED other than the obvious safety items such as outlet covers (already bought some) and cabinet locks?

We can’t buy diapers, bottles, clothes, bed linens, or anything else right now. They’re all age dependent.

Rats. I’m stumped.

In other news, DH has talked me out of repainting the room for the moment – the one he still occupies as an office, of course – the one he never finished painting. It’s in a very pale green, a bare tint, which is fine. It’s semi-gloss at least, not flat as I originally thought. And God knows that in a child’s room, it needs to be at least semi-gloss (it sticks in my mind because of the story my mom told me when my #2 brother was an inquisitive toddler who liked to shed his diaper back in the day... and the wall adjacent to his crib was brick... you can figure out the rest!). Ugh.

And I have to call an electrician. We have the ironing board in what would be the kid’s room, mostly because there isn’t an outlet in our closet. Every other room has a zillion outlets, but our huge walk-in closet has none at all. So we’ll have an electrician come out and punch an outlet into our closet and take the iron and ironing board out of there.

Once that’s set up, DH said he’ll take his crap out of there and relocate into the same room as we had a few years ago, and the deal I made was that he can rearrange the home office any way he likes. When he gets his crap out and the electrical is done, he’ll touch up the room... and I’m kind of hoping he can’t match the color so that it has to be completely repainted. I’m evil, I know. Ha.

Then, once the touch up and all the trim (which also never was completed) is done, DH is going to replace the ceiling fan in that room – the current one is a piece of crap that makes all sorts of noises. I want to see if he can put a dimmer on the light portion of the fan so that during nighttime issues, we don’t turn on a blazing light.

I purchased a cordless shade to put inside the window case (DH asked why; “Naptime,” I said; “Oh. Yeah. That’s right.” ha-ha), then make my own roll-up curtains. I have a book that I’ll post the title of that gives you simple instructions for projects. It’s by Caroline Smith, but I don’t remember the title of the book – I’m bad that way. Anyway, thinking of maybe yellow or green polka dots. Maybe yellow on the outside, green on the inside liner? I dunno. I’ll figure something out.

On a complete tangent, I think I’ll suggest to DH to take a parenting class. Naturally I’d go with him. He needs to learn the basics of infant/child care.

On yet another tangent, and semi-related to M’s posts re her in-laws at Plaid with Polka Dots, I have not actively involved the in-laws at all in the process thus far. DH hasn’t said much to them either. Oh, they know we’re adopting (and have been oddly standoffish about it), I think they know we’re certified, but I don’t think they know our profile is essentially active.

Why?

Let me give you an example of why they drive me insane. Last week, DH went out with his friend to have a Guys Night Out. I think they went to see the GI Joe movie. He had his phone turned off on purpose – it’s an electronic leash to his work and he didn’t want it. He keeps it on him in case of emergency, but it’s turned off.

FIL & MIL were at a California beach in the same time frame. On a particular night last week, every fifteen minutes, the home phone rang. Every. Fifteen. Minutes. That is not an exaggeration. If the home phone rang, you know he was hitting Dan's phone, too. Since FIL declined to leave a message, it meant the subject matter it wasn’t anything earth shattering. I don't answer the phone because I refuse to reward that behavior; answering makes it worse. Found out the day after that the incessant calling was because his AOL wasn’t working. For criminy sake! I wanted to kill him.

But FIL does this every night, this “war dialing.” It drives me insane.

And I don’t think I could bear to deal with them calling every fifteen minutes/half hour every night to bug me/us about updates. I don't want to think about when we actually have a kid, how much worse it might get. Don’t suggest we talk to them about knocking it off – we have, many times over the years, to no avail, so I have chosen to remain silent on the matter at the moment.

In my next post, I’m going to take a cue off of a post from Plaid with Polka Dots yesterday. It’s in draft form and I’ll probably post it later this week so it stays somewhat relevant. Peace!

Congrats Rachel!

2009-08-16T20:19:00.000-07:00

Rachel of Henry Street has announced the arrival of, well, "Henry"!! Go take a look. He's beautiful. :)

I've been a lurker for a long time, and have followed her story for quite a while. As a matter of fact, Henry Street was one of the first blogs I came across, and I identified with her early because her MIL drives her batty, too.

Happy stories/good news are a great way to end a weekend.

Thought Processes from Wednesday, Continued

2009-08-14T15:31:00.001-07:00

Anyway... this is where I was when I had to stop writing the other day.

About my occasional references to God - I'm not the devout person I used to be. I was very involved – probably to the point that part of my antipathy is burnout from being so involved. I served at Masses, I did this and that project, did that outreach, I taught Catechism. I was a candidate in an ancient secular order (you can read about that sad story on my alter ego blog), but was so devastated by their lies and hypocrisy that I've shunned going to Mass for the longest time. It's what, a year and a half now? I'm getting there. I am. Just not yet. When I'm finally over it - I don't think I can go to Mass without being over my... let's call them "trust issues" - there are some people I need to visit and apologize to. I walked away from teaching Catechism because I was so hurt and angry inside, and didn't feel that it was right for me to be teaching children when I felt that way. I need to see the coordinator and apologize for abandoning her, the kids and the program.

The paradox is that I have no problem with raising my future children in the Church. The parishes around our house are very orthodox, with really excellent priests; this is true especially my former parish, whose programs I'm firmly behind as they're just super and well thought out, much better than what I grew up with. We also have excellent parochial schools near our house. This is the part of any future children’s upbringing I don't have to worry about.

I think about the things I would do differently with our children than my parents did with my younger brother and me. We were the tail end of seven kids, and were raised as a completely different unit than the "older five," the youngest of that group being eight years older than me. Little brother (4B - 4th brother) and I were late children; I am now the same age (37) as my mother was when she was pregnant with 4B. My children will essentially be, like me, late children. Because Mom and Dad were essentially part of the "Geritol Crowd" when we were in school, instead of the hyper-vigilant parenting with the older five, they were very laid back with us, allowing us to be kids, kicking us outside to play. When the older kids (by then out of the house) would come home, they went nuts. We got to stay out until 9 or 10 from an early age, we got our drivers’ licenses at 16, and they didn’t; not a one of them got their license because there were just too many of them and not enough money to insure them. The older kids whined about that. They still do, twenty years later. A lot.

Yet there was the other side to that coin. Laid back meant being, I'm sorry to say, uninvolved. There wasn't a lack of love - God no! - but they'd been there and done that and in their laxity, let us run free. We were left to our own a lot as kids. Mom and Dad didn’t come to my sports events. They didn’t sit down with us and help us do homework. They didn’t do parent/teacher conferences a lot – Mom went to a few for me through my elementary school years, but not much after, say, junior high school. They just weren’t involved that way.
They were lucky with me because I was self-sufficient: I did my homework, got myself to and from games and practices, maintained my GPA, and I was the lucky kid who didn’t really have to apply myself to do well in school. Mom was involved with me in kindergarten, because one of her friends was my teacher; after that, I was left to my own devices. And I survived. My brother wasn’t wired the same way cerebrally as I was, and had his difficulties. Mom hung onto him in high school because he was hanging with the wrong crowd and doing dumb skater stuff. He survived, too, but he paid for it. He still does, whether he admits it or not.

DH, on the other hand, had parents who were TOO involved. His dad was a helicopter parent decades before the term was coined; hell, he war-dials the house every night, trying to live vicariously through DH’s corporate life since he’s worked from home for forty years. FIL meddled with DH’s teachers and coaches, wangled his way into coaching all of DH’s teams up until high school. His mother did many things right – teaching him to do his own laundry, do household stuff, although I wish she’d taught him how to cook! – but she had her issues too. She never told him what was going on. She took care of everything for him, paid for everything. She made him do piano lessons even though he wasn’t very good and hated the piano. He is always the bad guy when it comes to his sister – MIL *always* takes SIL’s side, even today, even when SIL is blatantly wrong. You get the idea. The favoritism has carried over into his adult life in the sense that he’s apathetic to his sister; the hypervigilance, he said even in his home study, made him unprepared for life in the real world. Pretty big stuff.

We know that somewhere in the middle is the answer. We need to be involved, but not to the point of being crazy and controlling. Discipline needs to be instituted, safety ensured, yet freedom encouraged. Since DH and I are both academically lazy with foundations from not being pushed in that regard, we know we can’t let down our guard in the future. We also need to be attentive to the academics in general without being overbearing. Our child(ren) will be encouraged to do sports, but we won’t be there every day, every hour; and, if the child(ren) don’t want to do sports, that’s fine, too.

I guess it’s about balance.

My First Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop

2009-08-13T08:45:00.000-07:00

Just for the hell of it. It's beautiful outside; it's rained all night; I feel better even though I didn't sleep worth a damn last night.

4.) List ten things you would say to ten different people in your life...if you had the hutzpah.
*cynical chuckle*

Oh and by the way, it’s “chutzpah.” Trust me: I married a Jew. He may have converted to my religion (on his own, no pressure from me), but you can’t really take the East Coast Jew out of the boy even though he’s about as far as one can get from New Jersey and from his former religion.

All right, Mama Kat. Be careful what you ask for.

1. Sis, stop being jelly spined! He’s only kissing your ass because you control the money when Dad’s gone! Once your usefulness is expired, he won’t give a damn about you. Oh, and by the way, that’s a nice racist kid you’ve raised there.

2. T, dearest and oldest friend, I wish you had a video camera on yourself sometimes. You’re turning into your crazy, self-centered mother, the one thing you vowed you never wanted to turn into when we were kids. Please don’t emotionally punish your boys the way your mother always emotionally punished you and your sisters.

3. J, I love you dearly, but you’re a dolt. You can’t save the world. God’s not going to judge you if you decline to get involved in a situation. Also, you need to decide if you’re going to be an activist or an attorney, because trying to be both JUST ISN’T WORKING. Oh, and the autopsy supported Michael Schiavo’s stance on his poor wife. She had NO brain function and had NO quality of life. Get past it already.

4. B, please stop running away from your problems. Sometimes they’re not even problems – it’s usually when you can’t have your way or just too emotionally powerful for you to cope with. Not only do you hurt me and those you supposedly care about, you isolate yourself more and more, making yourself even more unhappy.

5. To the Country at Large: SUCKERRRRRRS!

6. To my “little” brother (he’s 35 now): you know me better than that. Please stop being so easily led by the nose. And please, while you’re out doing your special forces stuff in Europe, find your balls that you seem to have misplaced, so you can talk to me directly about what in the hell your problem is with me rather than backstabbing me all the time. Grow up.

7. To the ex-boyfriend I haven’t seen in a dozen years: sadly, my predictions of your once sweet little boys becoming complete f*cked-up young men have come to pass. Pot, delinquency, and God knows what else. Between their mother’s atrocious treatment of them and your complete passivity where the mother is concerned (which they can’t fail to see), they are now completely screwed. And it’s so sad – and I’ve wondered occasionally through the years if it would have made any difference if you and I had worked out, if me being in their lives would have made the difference. Then I remember what a complete turd you were, and remember that you never were worth it, so that thought goes up in smoke. Karma’s really bitten you in the ass, huh?

8. MIL, please stop with the pretenses of being one of the moneyed elite. You’re broke. FIL can hardly keep up with your ridiculous spending. You can’t spend money like you did in 1985. And I have news for you: we can’t afford your lifestyle, so don’t even think about it.

9. D, you’re still WRONG. You keep compounding your initial error. You keep this up, and you’ll be even more lonely than you already are.

10. P, stop trying to run everyone’s lives. Why is it that the ones whose lives are in utter disarray are the ones who try and run everyone else’s life? Is it a control issue? Or with you, is it a mental illness? WTH? Sad to say, but when Dad's gone, I don't ever want to see or speak to you again - siblings by the accident of birth.

Wednesday Wobbling

2009-08-12T08:21:00.001-07:00

Had to take the day off yesterday and go with my Dad to the doc. He's had some sudden onset issues which are being looked at, but the doctor carved a 3cm across and 3.5cm deep squamous cell growth out of my dad's temple. I have a yucky feeling in the pit of my stomach and I'm mentally exhausted.

Please, God, not this, not now.

I have made the resolution that no matter what happens with Dad, that we - *I* - are continuing our adoption process. I know Dad approves of that attitude (he's not dying tomorrow or anything) so I don't feel guilty about it at all. I can't let anything stop us this time.

Today, I have a letter signed by both DH and I giving permission to SW to place our profile in the State's Central Adoption Registry. It's a leap of faith; it can get murky when going through the State for anything, but as I've said before, God has this habit of taking care of us. I have to have faith in that.

I'm going to just stop here. My brain is mush and I'm just mentally shot. I pasted what I was going to ramble about in Word and will make it its own post.

Is it Friday yet?

It's Out There... yikes!

2009-08-09T12:24:00.001-07:00

Had DH review and proof the profile this morning. Flipped it to PDF, burned it to a thumb drive. Emailed SW and sent her the PDF of the profile with a note saying that a) we have a dedicated email for this now so nothing gets lost in the everyday shuffle, and b) that I'll have hard copies made today or tomorrow and I'll send them to Agency, and to please let me know how many copies to send them.

Then I went to Big Office Supply Store (BOSS? Really? LOL), got a decent price on color copies on decent paper, and bought binding materials (I'm not paying tons of money extra for them to to it). It was a good thing because everyone's getting school supplies and we got to skip lines and pay at the printing counter. Yeah, baby!

As DH and I walked out to the car to have lunch at Baja Fresh (not as good as it used to be, but doable for today's purposes), not only did I feel this lightness of soul, but this deep-seated excitement: we're doing this, we really are. Oh my God. :D

So here I am, preparing to assemble the profiles. I figure one to Boss's drawer, at least four to Agency, and I have several extras to go where anyone wants to show them.

I'm going to send the electronic profiles to only a limited pool outside of the state. I'm not sure I want to try to plan for sudden travel to anywhere in the US - so only a few friends in about four states. I'm putting the out of state stuff in God's hands - not going to obsess where it takes me.

It's almost like jumping out of a plane to skyjump: you know that where you end up will, 99% of the time, land you somewhere safe and dry - it's just the jump out of the plane that's scary as hell.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Oh. Oh Really? Okay. Great. Nahhh..... Whoa!

2009-08-05T19:41:00.000-07:00

That's what my brain said in short order at about 2:30 this afternoon.

I left a message with SW today. She called me back at about two, which tells me she was out and about on (probably) a home study. Sounds good to me.

First, after amenable greetings and exchanges, I said I'm a hair away from finishing up our profile. I'll tell you in a minute what she said in response to that.

I asked her about getting a copy of our home study; I want to say she "bristled" but she sort of said that it wasn't generally done, because if we were applying to this or that or going through other agencies, these people/entities would need a copy from the Agency (duh). No, I said; it's strictly for our use, our file. I slid in a little snarky comment that we had paid for it, why shouldn't we have it? Oh, she sort of said, then I'll talk to A, it shouldn't be a problem.

WTH? Home studies aren't cheap. We paid for that sucker.

Then I asked about being added to the state adoption registry. I need to send her extra hard copies to her to send to the State that she'll include with a copy of our home study. What the hell, I figure - why exclude every road? Having dealt with the State on various matters relating to adoption now and again at work, I'm still cynical about it. But God has managed to take care of us, and I have to have faith in that.

It's like applying to a position in the government: be careful what you apply for, you might just get it.

The barn burner was what she casually mentioned when I said I was almost done with our profile. By the by, she sort of segued, we had a child come through Agency yesterday. She was sorry that she didn't have our profile, as B, the person who facilitates these things there, certainly would have shown it. She proceeded to tell me the information on the child just for conversation, which I found rather cool.

So these are three thoughts that crossed my mind as SW and I chatted were as follows, not in any particular order, and certainly not with this coherence:

1) The child had been exposed to marijuana. I haven't yet gotten around to the research on this, but it stands to reason that if the mother toked during the pregnancy, it's more than likely she did other things as well - alcohol, tobacco, perhaps exposure to (if not use) of harder drugs. As SW said in general conversation at our home study with a roll of her eyes, "Oh, no, birthmothers never lie." Ayup. I would have paused if we'd gotten a call, because if pot was involved, it's likely other things were, too. It would be a hard think.

2) The child was part Indian. I know that different tribes have different takes on the Indian Child Welfare Act in terms of, for lack of a better word in my head at the moment, enforcement, but I don't know at what point someone is a member of a tribe, or at what percentage of one's heritage the ICWA applies, so this information about this child gave me pause since I didn't know if the child had been born on tribal lands, or if one of the parents belonged to one of several local tribes. And because I'm not yet well versed in the insies/outsies, I would not be comfortable with this.

Between this and the pot issues, I probably would have passed, at least at this early stage.

But as we were chatting, I had this delicious frisson of excitement. Wow, brushing so close, so fast! Can you imagine if we'd finished the profile before we'd left for DC, then come home to that? Wow! But it's okay... like I told SW, it's just not our turn, not meant to be, not yet.

She was surprised at my pleasant attitude. I didn't get into the fact that the last dozen years of my life has been a series of things that were just fate, timing, kismet, whatever you want to call it. I'm not daunted.

But here's the one thought that blazed through my mind after I hung up and processed what she said:

3) HOLY SHIT! I'd better kick DH out of his office, soon!

Because as those of here in Blogoland know, you NEVER know when The Call will come in, or from where. I want to be at least somewhat prepared. Don't have to be 10 for 10, just ready to put things in gear and fill in the holes.

Oh yeah, we're not close to ready for that. I need to kick him out of that room, amalgamate his crap with mine and be back to where we were five years ago, in the same home office.

I need to paint the room, and try and talk him into getting rid of the ghastly carpet that runs through the house. Then I need to make (more!) curtains, and buy a 4-in-1 convertible crib/bed and start prepping everything. From there I can collect things.

Wow. It seems more real. Holy crap! =D

First Sewing Project

2009-08-02T12:18:00.000-07:00

Remember what I said about trying my hand at making my own stuff? I decided my guinea pig would be the window in my home office. That way, if it's a POS, the only one who sees it is me.

This is what it has been for..... ummmmmm... five years:

Sheers only. I wanted light and sun. DH hated them because, being from "Joisey," he's partial to privacy and security. I liked them until recently, when the brightness during the summer became unbearable. Guess I'm getting old.

So with Mom's sewing machine primed and ready with the appropriate thread, and after figuring out the damned bobbin case (what a pain!), I was ready to start.

I remeasured the window, folded over the top of my two cuts of fabric, and made the easy rod pocket. Then I played around with the hem (realizing too late that my rod pocket was too generous). No matter - all is well.

They look nice and neat, eh? Well, I pinned and played with them, then sewed the hems. I also went back and forth with the iron so the hems would sit properly as I fed them through the sewing machine.

This was yesterday afternoon, by the by, in between this and that and various disruptions.

So there I was, really proud of myself and delighted with the results. Hey! This is prety cool.

Red Cat was a lot of help, as you can see here.

And yes, he is that big. Huge. And lazy... of course. He's a cat, what else is he good for?

So I merrily put the curtains on the rod to see how they look before putting them back on their bracket, and in horror I realized that I had made a huuuuuge foofoo. I put the hem on one of the panels backwards. Moron. I was so mad at myself. Idiot, cretin, moron.

So I had to carefully pick the stitches out of the panel (cussing all the while - how tedious. Lesson learned: pay attention!), fold it, pin it, and iron it the other way, run it through the sewing machine once more.

Then, upon hearing the James Bond theme that DH had popped into the DVD player, I raced downstairs and watched "For Your Eyes Only," swigging Kiltlifters and trying to forget the frustrating episode of my first foray into sewing. This film got me thinking: Daniel Craig has none of the charm or suaveness of Moore, darling Pierce, or the one and only, original Bon, Connery. He even makes Lazenby look good (Dalton sucks eternally - ugh). A bit of trivia: Brosnan's late first wife, Cassandra Harris, is in FYEO, and that was the first time Broccoli met Pierce. Even then, he'd made that impression as a possible future Bond. Interesting.

Anyway...

I came back, put those suckers on the rod, and went to bed.

When I got up and dressed, I came in. I really liked what I saw. They're sheer enough without a liner so that you're well aware it's daytime, but cuts the light to the point that it's not competing with my computer screen. It also makes the room a LOT cooler. Why didn't I do this before?

So, with and without flash (and yes the walls are blue, too... taken at about 9am this morning):

You like my upstairs view of cookie-cutter suburbia? That's the other reason I made these.

DH came in and said, "Wow, they're blue." Hell yes, they're blue. My office is the anti-pink because of that damned fuschia carpet.

Remember the sheers Red Cat was dozing blissfully on? I cut those suckers down and they're now inside the window casing on a spring loaded rod. The added layer is nice, and if I open the curtains, there's still a bit of privacy, too.

Curtains for this big of a window, for a pair of panels, runs about $50. My bill from Joann Crafts - which included a tape measure and pins, was $17. You do the math. Boom!

The only thing I didn't do was remember how high I had the brackets for the sheers in the first place. I'm going to have DH bring them down about an inch and a half and it'll hang properly. All in all, not too bad! By the end of the project, I was feeling really confident. There's not a lot of mystery in sewing, really, at least not in the simpler projects.

My next project, then, will be making curtains for the guest room, which gets the streetlight directly (blessing and curse). I'll make liners for those suckers. No idea when I'll get to that, but eventually.

On With The Show

2009-07-31T15:05:00.000-07:00

Oregonian friend just reviewed our draft. He was really impressed - he said that the tone and content was good... and that he wished he had access to the programs we have now when he and his wife were on their adoption journey fifteen years ago. That made me feel really good, I have to say, because it's a document so personal, so emotional, that I worried that it might be a little too much of anything or everything. It calmed me.

DC was awesome, but I am glad to be back. Next stop: hunting down SW. Didn't have time before departure, and she only works four days a week (how nice).

In The Capitol

2009-07-25T18:28:00.000-07:00

Hey, kids. I'm in DC this week. What a treasure with all the museums and parks and memorials. I even met up with someone I thought I'd never see, ever, which I'll address on the alter ego blog.

Until I get back, be good!

Just for Fun - 8 things

2009-07-20T21:11:00.000-07:00

While I wait for our draft profile feedback from adoptive father friend (scrappy friend gave some great advice this past weekend!), I figured I'd do a silly list for the hell of it.

THE RULES: Meh, Who needs rules? I'm on the computer with lightning in the distance. Rules schmoolz.

8 THINGS I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO (no particular order):
"The" phone call
Meeting up with high school friends in October that I haven't seen in 19 years
Going to DC with DH later this week
Fall and cooler temps (it was 110 at 11am this morning - ugh)
Furnishing a nursery
Moving to NC in the next few years - yeah, baby
Getting back to hiking when the weather cools off
Becoming a family of three

8 THINGS I DID YESTERDAY:
Toyed with the profile draft
Sent it off to adoptive parent friend for review
Looked for a new shoulder bag for the trip to DC
Dishes
Survived lunch with the in-laws
Went to Starbucks and journaled
Played around with my mother's sewing machine to see if it still works (yes)
Made fried chicken for dinner

8 THINGS I WISH I COULD DO:
Eat as much as I like and never gain a pound
See my mother one more time and have that "last chat"
Give birth
Play basketball again
Be a good equestrienne
Ride a motorcycle
Ski/board
Sew

8 SHOWS I WATCH:
I don't watch much TV, but when I did,
The Shield
House
Deadwood
Sopranos (before it jumped the shark)
Magnum PI reruns
The Wire
Dead Like Me
(OK, sue me. I hate tv. I had to stretch for this)

8 FAVORITE FOODS:
Homemade tacos and enchiladas
Chocolate in almost any form
Chicken Parm
Robek's Citrus Stinger smoothie
Oranges
Strawberries
Steak
caesar salad

8 PLACES I'VE TRAVELLED:
South/southwestern Ireland
Maui
Virginia Beach
Vail, CO
Niantic Bay, CT (oh yes it's soooooo worth it)
Tri State Area ("New York/NJ/Pennsylvania")
California
Cleveland (ha! it was this or Yucca Valley)

8 PLACES I'D LIKE TO TRAVEL:
Norway (where my namesake was from)
Scotland
Rome (Italy, generally, but Rome - one Mass at St Peter's Square)
Germany
Greece
Russia
France (fergit Paris)
Australia

Quickie Update - Profile, Continued

2009-07-15T12:04:00.000-07:00

I'm having a crafty-type friend look over my profile format this weekend. She's a scrapbooker and has a better eye for symmetry and presentation than I do. Well, I'm okay at it, but she's much, much better. She can help me rearrange and clean it up. Am I looking for perfection? No. I am looking for clean and easy to read without being too simplistic. Plus, I want an objective eye looking at what I'm writing. Then I'm going to have another friend look at it. I might even have Boss review it just to have that legal view to it. I'll think about that.

Hopefully I'll have the text ready for DH to review and edit this weekend. I'd really really REALLY like to have it out soon; my aim in a previous post might not make it, but who knows. Then do a website (the scrapbook program converts to web format as well as PDF... awesome), then make cards to pass out.

Also, SW really has blown me off for a second time; she was on vacation but now I've given her enough time to catch up. I need to call her tomorrow when Boss is out of the office so I can talk to her in a private setting.

My first question? "So, is your email broken?"

Back to work. Peace out.

What a Pain in the Tushie

2009-07-12T14:47:00.000-07:00

I'm picking away at our profile. What to say, what to keep out? What is too much or not enough? how many pics can I add until it looks overdone? The writing came easy. It's the format and graphics.

One thing Bev said was that there's no "wrong" way to do it. You can pluck ideas from others, but don't completely copy someone's work. I didn't doubt that people do that - hell, my little brother plagiarized my English 102 paper, on a topic that he didn't know squat about. Anything'a possible.

I loves me some Art Explosion Scrapbook Factory Deluxe 4.0. You can either use their templates or create your own layout. I don't want frilly - I don't want overdone - but I want some color. It's relatively minimal. I'm not twelve, and more than likely neither will my readers be twelve.

One thing I will not do: write a novel. I've read of folks doing 15, 21, 25, 28, even 30 pages. Seriously? I'm thinking 8 pages, tops. Cover page, two pages about us, two pages of pics, two pages of miscellaneous things outside of our life, then the back page. It's sort of like writing a research paper - target your audience, and then work on not boring that audience to death.

I'd like to have this out before DH and I head to Washington, DC next week. We'll see. I'd really like to get the ball rolling.

Paper Pregnant and Slogging Through a Seminar

2009-07-08T21:16:00.000-07:00

Okay… now that I’m over my semi-stunned state of ecstasy… I’m so freaking excited now. It’s REAL. I know there will be ups and downs and everything in between, but it’s real. It’s really going to happen at some point and hopefully within the next eighteen months (which is how long the certification lasts in Arizona).

The hurdle I have to get over is DH’s insistence that the child be three or four years of age. While not impossible via private adoption, there’s a better chance to adopt a child that age through the State. I don’t know if y’all are aware, but our foster system in Arizona is a disaster and CPS (Child Protective Services) does not have a shining track record. I don’t think that there’s a month that doesn’t go by where there is a child that has been given back time and again to abusive (drugs/physical/emotional/sexual/etc) parents and winds up dead, and the story winds up in the paper. And these are just the ones that make the local print media. And the chances of a couple taking in a State child will more than likely have to hand the child back to the very parents whose actions caused CPS to get involved in the first place. And,when not awarded to the potential, privately certified parents, they are shipped to those certified through a foster-to-adopt program – privately certified people/couples generally get the shaft in these situations.

I think I feel kinda strongly on that.

Ya think?

So I have to get to the root of this issue. As I’ve stated before, I think DH is terrified of newborns/infants, terrified of the disruption they bring (i.e. sleepless nights), and terrified of them in general because he’s never handled one, never really dealt with one except in limited scenarios, and so he doesn’t want to deal with them.

My position is this: let's list our age range from birth to three years of age, then let God take care of the rest. He has taken care of us so far – OMG, the Lord really has, it’s amazing – and allow Him to bring to us the child we are meant to have.

Tonight’s seminar/class/whatever you want to call it had so much potential. I liked Beverly on first sight. She’s just one of those people whose first impression is of a person who is happy with their lot in life, happy with their job, and happy to help people in a practical way through the wringer of adoption. My gripes with the seminar have nothing whatsoever to do with her or her topics.

DH met me at the Agency. It started well, with six people: DH and me, another married couple (we’ll call them “A”, the husband, and “B” the wife) about our age, and a married woman (I’ll just refer to her as “W”) with her best friend (“F”; W’s husband couldn’t get away from work). The first third covered things we’d already gone through as we are already certified. I sort of tuned out and chimed in when Beverly asked me to.

Unfortunately, “A” stopped the flow of topics within the first ten minutes, and fixated on the statute-mandated pool fence, boring the shit out of DH; DH promptly tuned out for the rest of the seminar. A shame, but he has no patience for people who ask the same question in seventeen different forms in the span of fifteen minutes. “A” stalled the flow several times through the 90 minutes, and it got very annoying. He has the right to ask, but come on already. “B” looked intently at her notebook by the third time. She knew.

“W” pretty much kept her mouth shut throughout the whole thing. It was “F” who asked all sorts of really good questions. It made me wonder who was the one adopting. It was kind of strange.

The last, say, thirty minutes were full of good information. We talked about adopting through the State (shudder), potential expenses (yikes), networking (emails are amazingly effective), and the birthmother letter (with copies of examples of successful profiles given to us in a packet).

We also talked about the national “agencies” which are really “facilitators” – the ones that list children, usually but not always minorities, with this health problem and that prenatal drug addiction, demanding a $25-50K agency fee, plus expenses, plus your travel expenses, plus legal fees, plus whatever – they’re generally baby mills for the desperate. I saw their sites on the first search I ever did and was wary of them from the first site I looked at. I think this may be a topic in itself on another day.

The important thing was that I did get my pressing questions regarding adopting through the state, interstate adoption, and a couple of other topics answered.

It was overall a decent 90 minutes, but disappointing in its way. Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

And you're not going to believe this.

"Twenty Questions" is on the reading list she gave us. No! Nooooooo! Nooo!

Now I really have to smarten up my draft on that and post it. That book should NEVER be on any agency's reading list.

Have a great weekend everyone!!

One Word Says It All

2009-07-03T17:29:00.001-07:00

It's 5:30pm my time. I have literally just gotten back from getting my hair cut and I swung by the mailbox.

It hasn't hit me yet.

One word:

I'm still absorbing it. More later. =D

Anniversaries

2009-06-30T09:50:00.000-07:00

Today is June 30.

Fifty three years ago today, a lovely 19 year old brunette, draped in the lace, tulle, and stiff netting common to the mid-1950s, walked down the aisle of a Catholic church in Tucson. This was an arduous thing, since it was the days before air conditioning, and it was already 90+ degrees. And these were the days of the Latin Mass, so it wasn’t a short ceremony.

My father (just turned 27), his dad, and his gentlemen were dressed in white jackets, dark pants, bow ties and cummerbunds. The pictures show that one of his gentlemen wore white socks with his dress shoes. I guess there’s one at every wedding.

My parents were married by the Bishop of Tucson, one Daniel Gercke, who was a great friend of my grandparents. He of course is now long dead; however, his near life-size portrait hangs in the entry of my parents’ house, an everyday reminder.

A young cousin of my mother’s was the ring bearer, with the ring tied to a white satin heart-shaped pillow.

This wedding would be the last great gathering for both sides of the family, as my mother’s younger brothers never had the grandiose ceremonies she had and my father was the youngest of his many siblings, and they would fracture and scatter. But nobody knew that then – it was a hot desert day, a beautiful ceremony in a lovely church, a beautiful couple, a reception at the dude ranch owned by my mother’s uncle, pictures taken in front of the massive oleander hedges in full bloom.

It was a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky – literally or figuratively.

Forty-two years, four sons and four daughters born, two daughters’ deaths, three grandchildren, isolation, misunderstandings, many moves and permanent shifts in relationships later, my parents, my #2 brother (2B), #4 brother (4B) and myself were at 2B’s condo having a barbecue to celebrate. 1B was down in Tucson leading, by choice, his isolated life; 3B and his psychobitch wife withheld their children from my parents; #1 sister was in California busy. So it was just 2B and 4B and me. It was a nice time.

I stayed as long as practicable. As soon as was polite, however, I bolted for hockey practice. I liked hockey practice. Besides, there was this tall, dark preppie boy that I’d been dating – nothing serious, just dinner, movies, a hug here, a light smooch there – for the last month or so. I was late to practice, but still got some of it in.

The guy I was dating lingered with me in the parking lot afterwards. We waited until everyone was gone for some quiet time. We talked, we lingered, we were close, and he kissed me – a real one, not just a smooch – that summer night.

How was I to know that this was the start of the best time of my life? How was I to know that three and three-quarter years later I’d walk down the aisle with him? That the kid who shyly asked me out would turn out to truly be a knight in shining armor?

Who knew that I would use the very same satin heart-shaped pillow that my mother carried by her ring-bearer in my own wedding? I still have it; it's in my closet with the goblet we used for receiving the Eucharist at our own wedding Mass.

DH's and my wedding anniversary is in April, but this one, on this day, is just as important. It was the beginning of the rest of my life.

Hell yeah, I’m so lucky.

So June 30 has good karma for me. I’m sad my mother didn’t live to see her 50th (she missed it by three months), 51st, 52nd, and now 53rd wedding anniversary, but the day itself was a day of good karma for her, too.

I think June 30 is the only one in my mind at the moment that has such a status.

HR 213: Blitzing Washington

2009-06-26T08:45:00.000-07:00

Being a good doobie and researching things, I know that there are some tax benefits to adopting. I came across this blog entry by David and Cindy, and as soon as I was able, I found out where HR 213, The Adoption Tax Relief Guarantee Act of 2009, was: it's still languishing in the Ways and Means Committee in the House. It hasn't moved a muscle.

So I fired off letters to my three Washington representatives. I used my late mother's name in the letter to Jon Kyl; appealed to John McCain as an adoptive father; alluded to the fact that Harry Mitchell and his wife taught at my high school, and that my older siblings had his classes, in that letter and now represents my Congressional District. Simple, one page letters.

Then I emailed an Arizona Congressman who is a co-sponsor of the Bill, John Shadegg - and requested that he send an update since, at the time I wrote the letter, the online Bill tracker was down. Another simple, one page letter. Any more than that, it gets ignored.

But here's the phrase I essentially used for all four letters: "Since 2009 is already halfway over, it is imperative that attention be drawn to the House Bill, get it moving, have it bandied about, and get it passed before the sunset provisions of the 2001 Act take place in 2010." I also suggested that the relief be made permanent in each of the letters.

As a side note, isn't it stupid for something SO IMPORTANT to have a sunset date? As if the importance of adoption, and assistance for it, was temporary and therefore disposable! Sheesh.

I'm also going to put a bug in the ear of people who can make a buzz locally, so the buzz can extend to Washington.

As David and Cindy advocated sending letters to your representatives in Washington, I now would like to pass along the same advocacy on my page. Call and/or write your senators and representatives on Capitol Hill. Write your papers, talk to people, write advocacy groups, talk to local politicos on both sides of the aisle, make it known how important HR 213 is! Everyone in the adoption community needs to have attention drawn to this very important Bill.

Let me know what you're doing! How creative can you get?

Phoenix Adoption Seminars: Beverly Quidort

2009-06-24T09:13:00.000-07:00

One thing I have noticed is a complete dearth of advertised adoption seminars in the Phoenix area. The one I referred to in a previous post I wound up not being able to go to; I had to work late, and it was waaaaayyyy the hell out in the northwest valley. Besides, the information was published in the paper the same day it was held – hardly enough notice to get body and soul together.

I look online, and there just isn’t much. I do find a lot of information on past seminars and workshops... you know, from 2007 and 2008. That’s just not helpful.

However, lucky me! The SW and Agency strongly suggested attending the workshops held by Beverly Quidort (KEE-dorr) here in Phoenix, usually held on a Tuesday when there’s enough attendees. Her workshops have a cost of $30 for an individual and $40 per couple – extremely reasonable, considering the costs of other (past!) events I’ve come across.

So, in a shameless but unpaid plug, I’m sharing with you that DH and I are attending the following workshop she has scheduled for the first week of July. From the information sheet, here's the information:

ADOPTION, WHERE DO I BEGIN?
This workshop is for those who are pursuing a private adoption and are currently, or in the process of being certified. We will explore the value of networking as a way to let others know you are interested in adopting. Emphasis will be placed on The Birth Parent Letter, which is a primary networking tool. We will explore how to write a birth parent letter, what information should and should not be included, and who should receive copies of the letter. This is a practical, hands-on workshop, so bring your ideas for an evening of information and fun.

I think this is a really good one to start with (duh), especially since I’ve sort of hit a brick wall with my drafts of a PBM letter. Part of it, I know, is that everything is hanging in the air. I know that there’s no point in bugging SW for news; once they’ve submitted the report, it’s out of their hands and at the whim and manpower of the courts. Like I told DH, despite knowing it’s not an overnight thing, I’m impatient, excited, and oh so ready to move along in this journey. I want to know, dammit!

A little background on her: Beverly is a specialist in adoption, a mother to two adopted children, and has been in the social service field and adoption for over 20 years. She focuses on facilitation and counseling of the adoption process for birth parents, adoptive parents and the adoptee. Her expertise includes international adoptions, post adoption search, preparation of certification studies and other reports for the court, facilitation and counseling for hundreds of adoptions. So not only does she work the field, she has been there herself as she has two adopted children, and is imparting her personal experience. This is the kind of stuff I like to see when going to things like this: practical, hands-on experience.

I will say here that as a contact, Beverly is very responsive. I left a message, she returned my call within two hours. We played a little more phone tag, but we connected and she was very friendly and responsive, and eager to help.

Here are some of the other workshops she holds, scheduled for when there’s enough interest:

BIRTH PARENTS AND OPENNESS IN ADOPTION
Join us as we take a look at one side of the adoptive triangle - the birth parents. What is an “open” adoption? Are there different degrees of openness? Are there any benefits to having an open adoption? Are there any problems? What does openness mean to me, the adoptive parent? What impact does openness have on an adoptive child? What does the birth parent want? We will answer these questions and more during this interesting and informative evening. A panel of birth parents will join us, and share their experience and answer any questions first hand.

TALKING TO YOUR CHILDREN ABOUT ADOPTION
What do I need to know about parenting an adopted child? Adopted children go through different developmental stages. Some stages are common to all children, others focus on adoption issues. In this workshop, we will explore how to raise an adopted child in a healthy environment. Topics will include when and how to tell your child he/she is adopted, what adoption issues are raised during a child’s development, and how to present adoption in a healthy, positive way. Talking to your child about adoption will have a life-long impact on your child’s self esteem. Learn how adoption impacts your child’s life, and how you can support your child through the process of working through these issues.

If you live in the Phoenix area and would like to inquire about any of Beverly’s classes, please call her at (602) 861-3950. All of these seminars are held at 1118 East Missouri in Phoenix – just north of 12th Street and Camelback Road.

Happy Friday... A Crazy Weekend Coming Up

2009-06-19T09:06:00.000-07:00

I haven't gone anywhere. Just have been busy, and having a grand ol' time picking apart that awful book that really should have been titled, "Twenty Ways Your Adopted Kid Will Be Scarred For Life Because Adoption is Traumatic, Awful, and Miserable For the Kid." Stay tuned for my review which will be liberally sprinkled with snark and cussing.

The thought just flew through my mind that maybe, just maybe, this time next year we might be celebrating DH's first Father's Day. I don't think I've ever openly thought that in previous years. It's sorta mind-boggling. :)

Since SIL was insanely generous and kind in taking we ladies to Ireland, I figured (and DH agreed) that it was only fair that we pick up the bill for Father's Day. We picked this place at the mall where he and I had been pleasantly surprised at how good it was, as well as being reasonable. DH had not called his sister with the plans - I'd been trying not to be a nag, as he and his sister are something akin to oil and water - until Monday. By then, her selective hearing only heard that we were picking up the bill. So, when DH finally called her on Monday night, she completely steamrolled him and declared that we're not going where DH and I planned, but to the restaurant where Princess Entitlement works so she could be there. "I'll call [FIL], she said, and essentially hung up, giving DH absolutely no room for rebuttal.

Damn lawyers.

I was completely steamed. There was a part of my brain that wondered if this was part of the price for accepting her offer for the trip, but the rest of me was appalled at her presumption and rudeness. I was shocked at DH for not getting a word in - he's usually much more aggressive than that - but more shocked at SIL. I simmered all night. What really pissed me off was when, after completely upending what we had planned to suit her, she said condescendingly, "Oh, and Allie's father is welcome to join us."

W. T. F.??? Excuse me? As if my father's a second-class citizen. I was infuriated. I stormed upstairs and didn't talk to DH the rest of the night - not so much that it was his fault, but he happened to be the target.

Tuesday morning, I sent out an email that was entitled, "Sunday's Plans Stay As They Are." I was really proud of myself - I didn't say what I was really thinking, and didn't point fingers. I sent it to that whole side of the family. What I did say about the conversation was a) I didn't care for how it went down, and I hope it never happens again, b) plans stay as they are, period, and c) tough cookies that PE won't be able to join us - adulthood sucks sometimes.

Not a peep in reply. Not one.

FIL was peeved at SIL. He's tired of the PE-centric crap too, considering that PE has completely blown them off since she's been home from college. He was supposed to talk to her. DH talked to MIL after the stupid call, and he's not sure that she's on his side - she historically takes SIL's side, no matter what.

If I wind up taking just my dad, fine. I know he'll enjoy it.

I hate family holidays sometimes.

Stay tuned... scathing review to come. :)

I Don't Understand It Either

2009-06-11T12:25:00.001-07:00

I don't usually venture into politics, and am not going to get into my personal thoughts about politicians and their crap, but I wanted to quote this response to Julie's post today by Brigid:

I can't believe that in light of the huge push to ADOPT unwanted babies instead of MURDERING THEM IN THE WOMB the Right isn't pushing for more tax credits for adoption. It just isn't rational!

Without getting into murky political waters, I'll just say that I agree that it's a strange paradox. Someone I know who is a active in the local pro-life movement has not, as far as I know, addressed this issue. The lawmakers should.

And it's also strange: you would think that one of my US Senators, who is none other than John McCain (who is himself an adoptive parent), would be spearheading the adoption tax credit push and be vocal about it. I don't think he's even heard of it.

Go figure.

Book Report, First Impressions of "Twenty Things..."

2009-06-10T08:01:00.001-07:00

I got through the intro and completed the first chapter—the FIRST CHAPTER!—of "Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew " last night. I have to say, without a shred of shame, that it pissed me off. Hugely. I almost hurled the book across the room. Instead, I set it down with control, and read the biography of Alice until I calmed down. I'll pick it up again tonight now that my initial feelings of resentment have calmed.

Being an avid bibliophile from an early age, I can’t ever remember a first chapter of any book pissing me off so much.

I honestly didn't care for the implication that I must feel guilty for "taking" the child from the birth parent, even though I haven't actually done it yet. I didn't care for Eldridge pushing the idea that the newborn has the memory in the womb of the mother's negative feelings about adoption, or a memory of being yanked, and that every adoptee is sad and confused and angry and damaged for the rest of his or her life. This is just the first chapter!

Out of curiosity, I went to Amazon and read the 184 or whatever reviews. Back-asswards, I know, but I don’t like being swayed by reviews before I buy a book – I like reading with an open mind. I'm glad to know that I'm not alone in sensing the negativity coming through the print. One reviewer said, "... [the book] made me as a prospective adoptive mother feel horrible and guilty for wanting to adopt a baby." That’s exactly how I felt as soon as I finished the first chapter.

That reviewer’s statement is especially damning because, in many of the reviews, you then have adoptees who are curious as to what Eldridge, a fellow adoptee and also an adopter, has to say, and some of the adoptees who posted are in turn adopting themselves; and a lot of them are saying no, adoption is not that negative. One even said, “I wanted to tell the author to shut up. I love my life. I love my parents. I wouldn't and couldn't have chose [sic] anything better.”

I have to get through the rest of the book. I want to give the benefit of the doubt. More later.

Amazon's Gonna Love Me

2009-06-03T18:46:00.000-07:00

I just finished my order on Amazon and bought some books.

I bought two of the same book - "" - one for me, one for Dad, so we can discuss the history of the English language.

Another book I bought is "Alice, Princess Andrew of Greece." Whozzat? you ask. Prince Philip's mother.

But more relevantly, I got "The Post Adoption Blues: Overcoming the Unforeseen Challenges of Adoption", "Adoption Is a Family Affair!: What Relatives and Friends Must Know ", and "Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew."

Yay! I have lots of reading to do. :)

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are + Other Tidbits

2009-06-01T21:10:00.000-07:00

Okay, folks.

You can run, but you can't hide.

You can put a bag or mask on your face, but that doesn't help.

The thing is, I can "see" you. I can see people dropping by from Massachusetts, Louisiana, Florida, Michigan, North Carolina and Canada. Yes, Canada.

Isn't the Internet a scary place?

Not here. Come on over and sit a spell.

Guess who has jumped on the celebrity adoption bandwagon? When I read that the wheel landed on Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban, I was surprised. From Vietnam, no less. On the other hand, Nicole's done it before, and it's not just a passing fancy. But then another source says their rep denies it. But the Embassy... but but but... I guess we'll have to stay tuned.

Octard has signed a contract with a British company to do a show.

The fact that no American TV producer would touch it with a ten foot pole speaks volumes.

Then we have Jon and Kate going down in flames. I don't watch that show. I don't even watch TV much, folks - but so much crap (read: PR?) has hit my newsgroups like a monster blizzard, and even I can tell you that Kate is a once-normal person who turned into a fame whore once things took off, and Jon is completely and utterly pussy-whipped, no spine at all. She treats him like crap and he just takes it. The kids are seeing this and God knows what effect it will have on them.

Are ratings - and therefore money - really worth it? Somehow I doubt it.

And, well, as you can figure, nothing yet. No surprise. Gah.

I'll be posting on the SB (sister blog) here in a bit. Getting back to work - that novel concept! - after being gone for ten days has gotten in the way. I have a post about a third of the way done.

Have a wonderful week, everyone.

Brain v. Heart

2009-05-28T08:43:00.000-07:00

It’s interesting to know something intellectually, but another to convince the heart of the thing.

My brain knows that the court has until late September to fire off the yea or nay (unlike Mrs. H., we didn’t get a draft or final of the SW’s report to the court – SW just said everything’s fine, nothing to worry about. Fat lot of help), and I know it. I know it!

So why, upon my return from Ireland, did I maniacally rip through the mail pile looking for the envelope from the agency with the good news?

My brain knows that an adoption, after certification, may take months or (God forbid) a year or two.

So why, when I passed by the baby department at Macy’s on the way to another department, smile to myself in anticipation as I saw all the little tiny clothes?

My brain still knows that a baby won’t be dropped in our laps in the next month.

So why do I pore over nursery ideas and color schemes, and am finding myself wanting to push DH out of that little room sooner rather than later? It's silly because it's still so early.

...and so on. I know what it is, intellectually: it’s FINALLY that silver lining that my poor battered heart has been looking for all these years, with all that heartache. It's the long-buried optimism daring to peek through my habitual cynicism.

It's a nice feeling. :)

FREE Phoenix Area Adoption Seminar - 630P TONIGHT

2009-05-26T08:04:00.001-07:00

Reading the Repulsive today, there was actually an item of interest. Quoted verbatim:

Give Back
ADOPTION SEMINAR

If you've considered taking in a foster child or adopting a child but want to learn more, there's a free workshop for you. Christ's Church of the Valley offers an orientation that provides information to households interested in adoption or in welcoming a foster child into their family.
Learn what you can do to offer one of the more than 10,000 children in the state's foster care system a loving, supportive environment. Meet at 6:30 p.m. today in the Children's Building, 7007 W. Happy Valley Road, Peoria.
Details: 623-376-2444, ccvonline.com

I'm going to try and make it. I need to expand my knowledge and contact base. But damn... Peoria isn't exactly close for me. Oh well. :)

First Post Back - !

2009-05-21T13:44:00.000-07:00

Thank you, thank you. Ireland was AWESOME, except for my MIL and her bullshit, which I'll post on later, and on my sister blog. If I ignore her shit, then the trip was great, and I would never have come back... if that was an option. I *heart* Ireland.

In previous posts I have given you a high level overview of an adoption situation that has come through the office. I only have the bare bones details, because things were so crazy yesterday.

In this next installment...

While I was out of the office last week, Boss got a phone call from "B," the BM. She asked, “Can we undo this?” and then later in the conversation she claims that she was on an anti-depressant at the time of signing over her rights. This is someone who went out of state and left her kid with someone else... the same someone else who has essentially been raising the kid because B just doesn’t have her stuff together...

I’m not sure what Boss said, but I’m pretty sure that he did say that once signed, it’s irrevocable. And he did say that to her in clear language prior to having her sign the releases. Once the conversation was over, Boss called adoptive parents’ attorney, who understandably flipped out.

I don’t know what was said and done next, but it’s enough to make my soul quiver...

I have read a couple of foster-to-adopt blogs this week (at random), and I will say to you who are pursuing that path: God bless you. You are of a stouter constitution than I.

I? I am a complete chickenshit. I can’t even contemplate an open adoption. Semi, sure; open, God no.

At least I admit it.

Boss had to leave the office early at a point earlier this week because his son had a thesis to defend. “Thesis?” I asked, thinking it was one of his older children in college (ha, like that happens in college anymore).

Nope. It was his sophomore in high school. In order to pass his humanities course at his private school, students have to do a research paper, and then the student must sit before a panel of three teachers and field questions, defending the paper.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wow! What a novel concept!

As I said to Boss, “Wow, you’d never see that in a public school.”

In a previous life, I was a teacher for a year. I loved it. You either have the touch for teaching, or you don’t; I learned that I did. I loved it, and had a great time with the kids... but I was scared out of education. It wasn’t the kids from a borderline-ghetto neighborhood (once the rules were laid down, they were great, if you don’t count the spec-ed kids who should never have been mainstreamed in the first place), and it wasn’t the hours-on-end job. It was the administration, and it was the parents. My God, the parents were awful. And it’s one of the things that my teacher friends have the biggest issues with.

And please do not get me started on the current state of education today. That will be a rant for another day. But:

Someone finally had the guts to write to the paper what everyone with a brain already knows. I will copy it here, because the archives get purged quickly. This was in Tuesday’s opinion section (5/19/09) of the Arizona Republic.

I have been teaching 5th and 6th grade for nine years in Phoenix. This is the first year I have been told to give grades. When I was in school you earned it.

Today teachers are not supposed to fail students, especially special-ed students, even if their lack of ability or effort warrants it. The new "inclusion" policy dictates they are placed with regular-ed students and expected to score as well. Sometimes they do, as many regular-ed students are lazy.

Not wild about handing out grades for nothing, I, in protest, gave some of the less capable special-ed students 100 percent on every assignment. This didn't sit well with the special-ed teachers, who told me these students should get C's.

I figured that failure to comply would earn me a visit to the principal's office and a half-hour tongue lashing during my prep period, so I gave them all 75 percent on every assignment, even if they didn't do it. The special-ed teachers liked this just fine. The underlying reality for teachers is that even if a student deserved to get a failing grade for lack of effort, you're not supposed to give an "F" on the report card.

The driving force behind all of this is that the principal's office doesn't want phone calls from parents complaining about their kid's failing grades. As long as I pass everybody, I won't have problems from the front office, or so I thought.

My latest visit to the principal's office resulted in a directive to make my class easier. A parent or two complained my class was too hard for their kids. These are probably the same kids that don't do their work. So how to stay out of the principal's office?

I give credit where none is due, and pass students on to the next grade at the end of the year whether they've mastered the skills necessary for them to be successful or not.

-- Jim Hull, Glendale

I thought this was pretty ballsy – not only openly telling the public what is happening in his school, but then he signed his name to it. Bravo, Mr. Hull!

For me, there’s nothing new within the lines of his letter to the editor. I know all about the passing-everyone/don’t-hurt-my-snowflake syndrome, about the teaching to a test, about the fallacy of mainstreaming. I also think that more teachers need to air the dirty laundry about what is truly going on in our schools – and shame those in charge into truly FIXING our educational system.

I’ll rant about education in general one of these days. Promise. But not today. :)

Pinning Down and (dreaming of) Setting Up

2009-05-04T09:47:00.000-07:00

I looked at that minute entry I posted last month to refresh my memory, and my heart sank once I realized that SW has until June 25 to file her report. Gosh, that’s so far away. I haven’t the slightest clue if she’s started working on it, is done with it and submitted it, or what. I have no idea, and it’s driving me crazy. I’ve just sent SW an email with a few polite and quick questions because my curiosity is piqued.

She replied about an hour later. She has submitted the report for review to the powers that be at the agency, and should be sent to the Court sometime next week. However, the bottom line is that the judge has 90 days from 6/25 to say yea or nay, but SW said that it’s usually much sooner than that once the report is in.

I said “OK, no big deal. Just good to know rather than wonder. :)”

And it’s not. I’m no longer hanging. It just boils down to the fact that we’ll be certified (or not! Gotta remember that vague possibility) on or before September 25.

While gathering a present for the christening party DH and I went to on Sunday, I tripped across my nursery theme: duckies! I love duckies, whether the cute ones in baby land or real live ones (I’ll have to get pics of the small gaggle that visits my favorite Starbucks every day looking for crumbs). The color yellow and ducks are both gender neutral, a must if one has not specified what gender one wants.

Since I tripped across my theme, the ideas have swamped my brain. I think I’ll do either cream or white walls with pastel accents and bedding. And there is plenty of cute duckie clothes and stuff out there... simple and easy.

I'll have to find the one big yellow duckie for the top of a shelf or bureau to preside over all.

I’m also a fan of the crib that morphs into a bed as the child gets older. Big fan.

Must find a good deal on one of those.

DH is all for it. He’s like me, very practical.

Because I’m a very practical perso... er, cheapo, I’m all about what hand-me-downs and outfits I can find at the Goodwill or other places. Babies grow so fast, and I refuse to spend what would be the equivalent of a mortgage payment on clothes that the baby would only wear for a few short weeks or a month. Naturally, there will be new, unworn, pristine things for the appropriate occasions; but for the everyday spit-up and other mess parade, there’s no point in spending beaucoup on things.

Nothing is being done for a long while, though. Certification first, the rest to follow.

Comfort Levels, a Sad Situation, and the Name Game

2009-04-29T08:27:00.000-07:00

If I were Johnny Carson doing Carnac the Magnificent, what would be the question? I didn't mean for the title to come out that way, but I'm leaving it because I like its silliness.

By the way, I know you lurkers are out there; my hit counter tells me so. Introduce yourself! I want to know who you are. You don't have to post, you can send me PM or email. Don't be shy! I don't bite. Promise.

Now, down to business.

I guess I’m feeling more and more comfortable with the topic of our adoption journey. I was talking to a dear friend who was joking about DINKs (double income, no kids) within another topic of discussion, and I said we might not be in that category for too much longer, and told her about our journey at a high level. She never got the chance to ask deeper questions than what part were we were at because she was making dinner and then had to go.

On the other hand, my in-laws have not brought up the topic once since calling us when they filled out the questionnaire. I asked DH why, and he shrugged. “You know how weirdly secretive they are about some things... maybe they’re still hoping we’ll have our own.”

“Yeah, well,” I replied, “We did too.”

Keep the good thought for a childhood friend of mine. Last week, she let the cat out of the bag that she’s pregnant. This week, she left a cryptic status on FB that sort of bothered me. Instead of embarrassing myself since we haven’t seen each other in twenty years by asking what she meant on the public page, I asked her via FB email what was up.

Her boyfriend is leaving her (I thought she was married – she listed a married name and listed herself as such... interesting, but I didn't pursue the topic). He’s going home. Home is across the Atlantic. And he’s going back to his ex. Ow. She didn’t say whether his departure is in reaction to the news that she’s pregnant, but I suspect it is. Obviously, she’s devastated.

Oh, and did I mention that she also learned last week she’s having twins? It looks like she’s going to have to raise them as a single mother. What a rough situation. Poor girl.

Not only in Blogland, but also among RL friends, we have seen parents-to-be put through the wringer. I have seen people who are normally not really so rude barge in when it comes to this topic. I have also seen some ask the people in Blogland for suggestions on what to name their child. I just sigh.

When my friends M and AJ were expecting their son, AJ’s grandparents were insistent on some ridiculously long and unpronounceable Dutch name (AJ is of Dutch descent, hence the nickname of “the Flying Dutchman” when we worked together many moons ago – mostly because of him flying off the handle). As it is, the boy shares his fine name with the heir to the Dutch throne, entirely by coincidence.

I think that when the time comes, we will keep our traps shut about the names DH and I have discussed. Maybe we’ll be snarky and say we’re thinking about Milton and Bertha, or Archibald and Gladys, or tell them if a boy, we’ll call him after great uncle Elbert... if a girl, after great-great-aunt Inez... you know, give out awful names like that, and enjoy the reactions.

Everyone has an opinion. I didn’t really mind what my sister named my nephew almost twelve years ago, since it was a family name on my BIL’s side of the family (even though it’s not my style). But if he had been a she, I would have objected strenuously to my sister, as she was dithering between Sierra and Cinnamon, with Cinnamon starting to pull away... until the ultrasound showed quite clearly that these names would not be needed, thank God.

Sierra was very, very trendy at the time of Nephew’s birth, and Cinnamon was – is –well... a pole-dancer’s name. The middle name my sister had chosen was her middle name, which is our grandmother’s first name. If it had been a girl, I would have always called her by the middle name in protest.

I'm hoping my brother and his wife pick a good name for the kid-to-be. My other brother's kids have great, timeless and ageless names that I would use if they'd not been named as such.

Amongst my RL friends, there are a lot of really nice names: Joseph, Sarah, Michael, Paul, Abigail, Emily, Juliana, Nicholas, Madeline, Amanda, Dennis, Caitlyn (missed the proper spelling by one letter), Jeremy, Sophia, Thomas... and the latest is Lucy Rose, which, while not something I would pick for my child, I think lovely and elegant and goes perfectly with the eight syllable surname.

There are many friends with the trendy and not-so-great names, which I will refrain from listing. The three that stand out are 1) a daughter with an ethnic name that will cause her to be teased in middle school; 2) the Sarah/Emily pattern (of which there are multiple kids by those names in our circle), which makes them the Jennifers of their generation; and 3) Brady, which is sorta trendy right now for boys.

Our tastes run to the traditional, not trendy. You will never see under our roof:

the –aden illness (Aden/Jaden/Caden/Braden and their awful alternative spellings)
the surname (Madison, Blake, Mackenzie, Addison, Riley, Mason, Hunter)
the place name trend (Brooklyn, Paris, Sedona),
the overused Old Testament names (Noah, Jacob, Caleb, Benjamin, Nathan)
the Regency Revival names (Olivia, Emma, Sophia, Amelia).
the “apostrophe catastrophes”
the name smooshes
the creative spellings
the superfluous Ys (Jordyn, Mykynzy, Mykah, Cydney, Blayre – oooh, spell check didn’t like these when I did the draft in Word).

And let’s not get into the Hollywood names that make your brain bleed, such as the mind-blowing Bronx Mowgli, Fifi Trixibell, Sage Moonblood or Petal Blossom Rainbow.

My kid’s name has to pass the President/Senator/Doctor/other prestigious job test. I took several “trendeigh” names, put them with some common last names, and am presenting them that way just for kicks:

Senator Paesley Zoeigh Jones.
Doctor Arrynn Xan Pappas.
Congressman Khassendra Parys Kelly.
Professor Raiden Baloo Rodriguez.
General Jayden Fenix Braylon Schultz.
Attorney Nevaeh Sawyer Brown.
President Krystofur Ace Thomas.

See? It just doesn’t work. It really doesn’t. My spell check went haywire when I wrote this list - always a bad sign. And yes, they are real names that real people have named their children.

Will I announce it on the Internet when the time comes? I think a fellow blogger has the right idea: leave it up on a post the first few days and then remove it, then use an initial or nickname from there on out.

Yay! They're in! ... And Some Reflections

2009-04-23T13:14:00.000-07:00

The two last references finally got their stuff in this week. One had turned hers in several weeks ago and it never got to where it was supposed to go. The other, who truly is a little dingbatty, just plum forgot; she actually drove to the agency and hand-delivered it. I love her.

I’ve sent an email to A at the Agency, asking him to confirm that he’s received them. He said he’s been flipping them to SW as soon as he gets them, so I forwarded his reply to me to SW so that we’re all on the same page.

SW just replied that she now has everything. I replied. “Very cool. Thank you.”

Now I can calm down and play around with the PBM letters and whatnot again.

There have been follow-ups to that situation I referred to in my previous post. Recently, B signed her consents and all that attendant paperwork, but the thing now is to get the father to sign his consent. The BF is not in the same state.

I was thinking about the potential (that’s still, at this point, what they are: potential) adoptive parents, the initial sense of relief they must have when their attorney said that B signed her consent and that it will be filed soon. Yet, until the father’s consent is mailed back from most of the way across the country, and only until the BF actually signs that piece of paper, everything is just hanging up in the air. The axiom about possession being nine-tenths of the law doesn’t apply.

I think about how awful it would be if the BF and his family suddenly decide to fight for the child. Here are the PAPs, bonding with the child, caring for it, taking it to the necessary appointments, introducing their “son/daughter” to everyone... but in the backs of their minds, you know that uncertainty is wriggling like a worm impaled with a fish hook.

...How awful it would be if the BF successfully challenged the adoption and was allowed to take the child after the weeks and months of bonding... how devastating.

But that’s the possibility we have to live with as we go through this process.

As I worked on the draft of the cover letter in this case, I’ve been struck by the fact that anything someone says—whether a lawyer, a counselor, a potential adoptive parent—to anyone in the position of giving up the rights to their child sounds trite. Not cheap, not insincere, just... trite. Overdone. Beaten to death. Is that because there aren’t words to suffice? That nothing anyone says will heal the hurt and ache, that hole in their life?

High sounding words of encouragement and allusions to loving sacrifice perhaps aren’t empty, but to me, as I pounded away on the keyboard, they seem to echo sadly through the birth parents’ view to a future without their child.

It’s important to remember the what-ifs in this process. And, as I’ve written before (and others have too), the one thing that adoptive parents lose sight of is the parental rights of the biological father. Chances are that the only contact adoptive parents will have is with the mother and possibly her family, so it’s easy to sort of block it out.

SW said it’s the one thing that consistently is left hanging in her experience, the termination of the BF’s rights. It’s the thing that drags out the process. Depending on the laws of the state, the time period for the father’s renunciation of rights may differ from the PBM’s. I think I’m going to create a to-do list for the process and check them off when the day arrives.

I get my car back sometime tomorrow...

Back to another weekend. Lots of yardwork to do. Staying home.

Have a great one!

Until next time...
Allie

TGIF... With a Vengeance

2009-04-17T10:23:00.000-07:00

The story of my poor car can be found here. $4,200+ worth of damage later, I won’t get my car back for two weeks. There’s a $1000 deductible. I hate Enterprise rentals because their shit’s never ready and their cars are usually filthy and stinky, but they’re convenient and close and have a deal with our insurance company.

Some advice: never get a Kia Rondo (the only car they had even remotely ready to take off the lot, and it was still dirty and gross). Small gas tank + V6 gas guzzler = quarter tank of gas used a day. Thank God the gas prices are low.

So AJ and M sent in their questionnaire; AJ called to tell me he had dropped it in the mail. So then I asked SW who else was missing. Oh, only the other two friends. Who have not responded to my email plea. Who seem to have fallen off the face of the earth. Which bothers me immensely. With a court date set in the near future. No complete sentences possible with my brain shivering.

I sure do have a rant boiling in my head, but I have to believe there's good reasons why they haven't turned their stuff in yet. There has to be.

I’ll tell you, it’s been very hard with a situation at work. There has been a young lady (for purposes of this story, “A”) who came to see Boss, with her sister (“B”) in tow, about putting B’s baby up for adoption. A has been the facilitator... and to make a long story short, B’s life and family is such a mess, and she’s so young, that the only option has been to put the baby up for adoption. They’d already had a couple selected but just needed an attorney to protect B’s rights. B already gave the baby to the adoptive parents before they’ve been certified, so it’ll possibly be a guardianship to adoption situation. In the meantime, they have the putative fathers to deal with, so it’s not as cut and dried as one might think.

But yeah, as B wavered about the potential parents, she was looking at a couple of the profiles just for variety. It sort of stung to know that we weren’t in the mix - not because we were an option ... I knew B had already chosen someone – but because we’re just not there yet in the process to show a profile.

Since the cat (Boss) is away, this mouse is taking a sanity day at home after this Thursday to Thursday week from hell.

Have a wonderful weekend!

Everyone Has One

2009-04-11T19:24:00.000-07:00

I check my phone at one-ish (I'd left it in my car, as is my habit on weekends), and my friend AJ left a message. He said "I'd really love it if you'd call me back."

Considering I had just talked to his wife M (see previous post), I wondered what was going on. So I call back.

"I feel really really bad, " he said. "I looked over across my desk the other day and realized your questionnaire was still here." He had callled the agency and the guy who answered (A, the intake facilitator there - a really nice man) essentially told him to complete it and send it in.

I about died, but held myself together. "Um, yeah, get that sucker in. She uses all the questionnaires to do her report to the court, so hurry up," never mind that they are the ones I've tapped as potential guardians for our future baby (as I am for their son). So he's filling it out as we talk.

He teased me: "I'll only recommend you if you take my son for two weeks on your own, no help, no nothing, and make it through." He's too funny, especially since their small son (almost two now) is the mellowest baby on earth. And, after reading the question as to how a child would fit into our lifestyle, he joked about putting, "going to bars, getting drunk, slapping guys around... the kid will be fine." Very funny, AJ. But he and M were contrite and panicky.

But yeah... here I am thinking the report was well on its way to Court, and this setback (if you want to call it that). Strange thing is, I haven't heard a thing from SW that anyone's was missing. Hmmm. And I did send her an email this afternoon after the phone call to tell her that she will be receiving that one early in the week . I think I'd better call A on Monday and see what's going on, since SW didn't reply to my last email a couple of weeks ago.

And I'd better call my other references, just in case.

*sigh*

State of Suspense

2009-04-10T08:59:00.000-07:00

Since we’re now in that la-la land between the two homestudies and court certification, it’s been hard to pick a topic for this end of things.

I have lots of material for my sister blog (which I haven't posted yet), including venting about the effin' idiot who backed into my car yesterday in the parking lot at work. They (in a truck or SUV, since the impact point was too high to be a car) hit my rear bumper so hard that they shoved the front end into the curb, thereby ripping off the undercarriage cover in the front, as well as effin' up my bumper and trunk to the point I can't close it. That was the frosting on my Thursday, a long and difficult day as it was.

I hate when that happens.

I bought Scrapbook Factory 4.0 with the intent of making our profile book, our announcement letter to family and friends that we’re going to adopt (to be sent out when the Court certifies us), plus the incipient idea that I would start a little book for the adoptee to be. I wanted something that would look at least somewhat professional. I wanted a nice toy, too.

I am shamelessly plugging this product. I’m just fudging with it and I know that I have only reached the tip of the proverbial iceberg... but it is SO EASY and so much fun! When it comes to physical paper scrapbooking, I suck big time. I just don't have the eye for it. But using this program I look like a damned professional. And I could flip it into .pdf format if I want, which is great.

Of course, I’m so chicken that I have only used templates thus far.

But I will tell you this; it is FRICKIN addictive!!! I bought it a week ago Sunday, when I was still housebound by my back, and after I loaded it I was on. it. all. freaking. day. I had a blast.

I was not, however, expecting this wonderful program to fuel an obsession about all things adoption. You know that state: once the ball is rolling, you want to absorb and read and write and ponder and blog and read and think... I played with the PBM (the proper term, as I’ve read) letter, a letter to family and friends, then this, then that. Then I started reading site after site after site, and my butt didn’t move all day. It went into a second day.

I had to stop myself. It's just not healthy. It’s just too early in the process to become so immersed in thinking about it.

Just wanted to drop in and say hi. I hope everyone has a blessed, quiet, and uneventful Easter weekend!!

What a Minute Entry Looks Like

2009-03-31T20:14:00.000-07:00

This is what I received in the mail today.

This is the Court's acknowledgment that they have received our application and that the agency is now under Court order to complete and submit the supplement home study report.

Yes, I blotted real names and numbers out. :)

More than anything, this unremarkable looking paper makes it all concrete.

Woot!

Home Study, Part Two - The Flash

2009-03-27T15:58:00.001-07:00

We went to pick up our tax returns at noon. Taxes are what taxes are, and there were no surprises (ouchie!!!).

The best thing to come out of it was that the accountant was an adoptive mother whose daughter was placed with them back in December. We had a nice discussion, and I asked if it were open, closed, or somewhere in between.

It's "semi-open"... but it's not the best of situations. The BM recently called to say that after an altercation, several family members landed in jail, and one of them was the one who paid the rent. The accountant said that it was an exercise in setting boundaries, and I could see DH blink. Yeah, it's going to be interesting.

At three, SW was wonderfully punctual once more. We chatted over lemonade and Mexican wedding cookies.

In less than an hour, we completed our second home study.

"You have homework for me?" And so I handed her our questionnaires. She uses them to fill "holes" in her reports, so she didn't read them there. I asked about the application, and she said it was already sent off on the 16th, and SW said that we should be seeing a minute entry here shortly that it had been received. She confirmed that the fingerprints came back, and that the CPS background check came back also.

As for what comes next, SW said that she'll do her post-submission report, send it into the Court, and then it's a waiting game, as the Court has 60 to 90 days to grant the petition. Once the petition has been granted, we will receive a letter from the agency that we are now certified and that a child may be legally placed in our family.

We talked about the intended audience for the birthmother letter. One thing she was vehement about: to not use a wedding picture in the letter. Why? Because in her experience, the implications of a wedding picture can and does offend the BM. It's not an outright thing, but it's taken as passing judgment on the BM's life and their actions. I thought that it was interesting.

I brought up what Clio said, in terms of the common misperception of the vast majority of birthmothers being very young. Not so, SW said. She said that many times it's the college student with a particular goal they're going to meet, come hell or high water, or the young, twenty-something professional who doesn't want a barrier to the upper echelon in the field... and a recent one, she said, was a married couple who already had grandchildren who didn't want to raise another child (as shocking as that might be--really? Wow), so they gave it up for adoption. I thought that was wild, but who knows what lurks in another's heart?

She also touched upon the sad fact that when it is a young, J.uno-like BM, the pressure to keep the child or abort it is unrelenting and the option of adoption is not usually communicated (my boss would call it the "keep it or kill it attitude"). It's initially the parents applying the pressure, but it's also the friends who have babies, which is now the norm and not shocking at all. SW commented that a year later, when the novelty has worn off and the care of the child is a drudgery and keeping them from their social activities, that they become resentful, and usually dump the child on the grandparents who insisted that the teen keep the child... who in their turn become resentful that they now have to raise the child they insisted their daughter keep. However, it's the sad fact that many of the young girls are not aware that it is a legitimate option for their child. Social workers at the hospital are not permitted to broach the subject, and neither are hospital workers.

We touched upon our selection of a guardian, about the level of openness we were comfortable with (and talked about the good and the bad, the triumphs and the pitfalls, and even fielded the question about what we would do if, when the child was 11-ish, and after a long period of time where the BM had disappeared but suddently resurfaced, what would we do?) about good sources for networking, about what point would we tell the child he/she is adopted, and she gave us some locally-based organizations that help place for adoption.

In any case, everything is moving along as it should. Praise God!

I was reading BB's post from 3/25 on an adoption topic that had crossed my path earlier this week (re the birthmother's perspective). But she said something so poignant, and so in alignment with what I thought in my heart and mind, that I wanted to quote a section of it here:

What really bothers me about all this stuff is that there really isn’t anything I can do about any of the pain. I can choose my agency carefully (and finally be happy with that choice for all the right reasons). I can and will have an open adoption. I can and will build the best relationship I can with my child’s birth family. I can and will make sure they get counseling. I can and will make sure it is ethical. I can and will be constantly open and forthcoming with my child about their story. I can and will be as open-minded as I can about everything adoption. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be pain and regret and sadness. And that sucks!

And yes, it does suck. And no, Bri, you don't think too much! I'm glad you posted on this. I'm glad that I'm not alone. **HUGS**

A post on this exact topic was percolating in my brain, but she beat me to it, touching upon so many of the fears and concerns rolling around in my head after reading a similar post/article elsewhere that it was awesome to see that I wasn't crazy.

So now I get to start playing around with the BM letter. Thank you to all the friends in adoption blogland who have given me the heads-up - I'm not starting this part of the journey blind. Thank you so much.

Stay tuned.

As Promised: Questions from Questionnaire

2009-03-24T17:10:00.000-07:00

Before I launch into my diatribe... what in the hell happened to the blogs I follow? They just disappeared??

Grrrr....

As promised, I said I would do a post on the autobiographical questions given to us from SW almost two weeks ago now.

When SW gave the sheets to us, I glanced over them. Not so bad, I thought, shouldn’t take that long. See for yourself the innocuous looking questions that have turned my answers into a tome.

Part One: Autobiography

Length of time you lived in your birthplace.

Areas of the country you have lived in, amount of time in each area, and reason for the move.

Names and grades of the schools you attended , and the city and state where the schools were located. Also list special recognitions, interests, and activities in school.

Memories growing up: one memory from elementary school years, one from teenage years, and one during early adulthood. What comes to mind re these periods in your life? They can be positive or negative.

Describe your father. How would you describe his personality? What type of work did he do when you were growing up? Is he working now? What was your relationship with him like? Did you two do anything special when you were growing up? Was your father involved in your interests when you were a child? How would you describe your current relationship with your father? How often do you and your father have contact?

Answer these same questions for your mother.

What was your family like growing up? Did you do things together as a family? If yes, what? What activities did your family enjoy doing?

Describe your current relationship with each of your siblings. How often do you have contact with them?

Work history, beginning with first job you had. Name employer, dates employed, type of work done, hours worked. What is your current work schedule? Have you ever been fired, or resigned knowing you would be?

List any other information that would help the Court in knowing about you. This would include issues of abuse (substance, sexual, emotional, etc), as well as significant events, circumstances or beliefs which have impacted you and/or your family.

Part Two: Present Marriage

When and where did you and your spouse meet? Be specific.

What attracted you to your spouse?

How long did the courtship last? What types of things did you do during your courtship?

Did you live together prior to your marriage? If yes, what were the reasons that led you to your decision to live together?

When and where were you married? Briefly describe the ceremony (church ceremony, civil, big wedding, small? Family and friends?)

What adjustment problems did you have when you first began living together? How were those problems solved?

What issues do you and your spouse regularly disagree on?

How are conflict and day to day differences resolved in your marriage?

Describe your spouse as a wife/husband.

Describe your spouse as a parent. If not presently a parent, how would you imagine your spouse to be a parent?

See, they look innocuous. But they’re sneaky. An answer seems simple, but then you want to fully explain yourself, and BAM! There’s half a page written and you're not close to done. The initial questions are tough if you grew up an Army brat or whose parents moved around a lot. Also, if you have a lot of siblings, some of these get rather lengthy.

But yeah, I'm on my 1,085,629th revision of the paper, and I feel like I'm right back in school: it's due on Friday at three! haha

For all that, DH hasn't even touched his yet. Oh boy.

I'm laid pretty low by this cold that DH brought home. Going to take a nap now.

Short Friday Post

2009-03-20T12:53:00.000-07:00

Since Boss has disappeared for the day, and since it's been relatively quiet, I'll just give you these blurbs:

√ I dropped a check off to the agency during my lunch hour on Tuesday. While I was waiting for the receipt, I glanced down and saw the note on the intake sheet that the criminal check has already come back. Very good! I smiled. Nice to know things are going along as they should.

√ Talked again with my sister — this week has been all about the infighting and b.s. when it should be a happy week—but the topic did turn again to our incipient adoption process. She said some really cool things, and then the ignorance cropped up again: “if anything happens to you and DH, then CPS will take your children and put them in a foster home!!”

*FACEPALM*

But then again, she thinks that as the future executor of Dad’s (meager) estate that she’d just be able to split everything up and walk away. Nooooo; there would be a house to sell, etc. She’s really super smart in some ways, but in some ways she’s completely clueless.

Oh boy. Guess I should buy her the book, huh? Probably should buy a crate of the books.

√ Hmmm let's see... my reference folks have all checked in to say they've gotten them, and will return them ASAP. Awesome.

More to come when I get it.

Have a great weekend!

Home Study, Part One

2009-03-16T16:46:00.000-07:00

As I previously wrote, I took a half-day off to get everything ready (for the second one, I’m just taking the day off... not fighting it). Just as I had figured, Boss waltzes in 10 minutes before I was due to leave, so I just left right then and there. He has a bad habit of trying to cram things in just before I’m due to leave, and I was already a nervous wreck and I was SO not in the mood for this crap.

Driving home on the freeway, I was in a quandary: I needed to eat something for lunch, but I didn’t want to burn too much time, and I didn’t want to stink up the house with something like pizza or Mongolian stir fry. I settled for a small salad from the salad bar at the store with no dressing (as is my habit), picked up some crackers, cheese and fruit, and went home. Crammed the salad in my mouth and went to finish up the house.

I know that unless it’s a normal state (you know those OCD types!), the house does not need to be picture perfect. However, there was still laundry thrown every which way on the cedar chest, laundry on the couch, and the bed needed to be made, etc. I worked a minor miracle in the bedroom, although I never did get the laundry truly put away. I just folded it neatly in the basket and set it on the floor on the far side of the cedar chest.

Washed dishes, cut the melons (the cantaloupe and yes, watermelon, were to die for and I had to resist nibbling. Made iced tea (I had asked SW her preferences). Et cetera – you get the idea.

When I finally sat down at 2:55, I was tired!!

Of course, the doorbell rang at precisely 3:01. Very punctual. And meeting SW was almost like old home week – in the past three years we’ve worked with one another on various matters via the law office I work for so it was not like meeting a complete stranger. We chatted about this and that... and when it became apparent that DH was (unsurprisingly, because of distance and traffic) late, she started the questions with me.

(I’m just listing the general lines of questioning. It wasn’t as machine-gun as it appears. It was very relaxed, very cordial, lots of open discussion.)

Have I ever been arrested? Been reported to CPS? First job? Where was I born? How long lived in my hometown? How is my relationship with my parents? I had mentioned that my mother had passed, so we discussed her cause of death and the reasons for it. How many siblings? Where was I in the pecking order? Schools I attended? Activities and sports involved in? What college(s) have I attended? Places I’ve lived?

Then we started on my work history? We were at about the middle of my life’s work history when DH came in. So she picked up with him, same lead questions that she started with me.

Then it was our marriage: When? Where? Any other marriages? How did you meet? How long have you been together? What attracted you to your spouse? Did you live together before marriage? How did that come about? Marital problems? Ever been to counseling? Methods of conflict resolution? Things you argue about? (funny question, because we don’t argue, not really).

Then it came to the nitty gritty: Why are we adopting? How many children would you like to adopt? Would you consider siblings? Color/health/background of child would we willing to adopt? Parenting philosophies? Discipline methods? Child care options? Have insurance? How much, what kind, with what company? Do we have a will? Who would be the guardian? Religion? Schools? Alternative day care? If one spouse dies, does the other have means of supporting the family? What do you think will change as parents, what will not change? Impact on lifestyle?
SW strongly advocated attending adoption seminars and parenting classes, but reiterated that they are not mandatory.

She reviewed the financial worksheet, filled some holes, and then gave us three things we needed to do for the 2nd home study: a) discuss and agree on form of openness we’re comfortable with, b) make a decision as to who the guardian of any children should be, and c) completing the autobiography questionnaire she gave us (which I’ll cover in another post here shortly).

Finally, she toured the house. Downstairs, up the stairs and into each room, discussed what room a child/children would be in, back down. She loved how big our yard was for an early 1990s house. She admired its roominess and said aloud that there was plenty of room. We said that we bought this particular house so that when the children came, we wouldn’t have to move. Of course, we thought we’d had kids long before this, but oh well. She smiled.

This phase lasted about an hour and forty five minutes. We scheduled the second home visit for the 27th. In the meantime, she would send out the questionnaires to the references, make sure our fingerprints came back, and submit the application to the Court this coming week.

After she left, I blinked in stupefaction for a moment. It’s real. It’s really happening! It’s on its way!

Wow!

Afterwards, DH and I went to Streets of New York to drink a pitcher of Killians (where else can you find $10/pitchers of decent beer these days???) and shared a pizza to not only deflate from the interview, but to come down from a very busy week.

One down, one to go.

Saturday morning, I sent out a heads-up email to the five people on my reference list:

Good morning, everyone:

[DH] and I had our first home study visit yesterday afternoon, and at the end of it (which went very well!), our case worker from the adoption agency said that she would be sending out the reference checks/questionnaires this coming week.
I'm just sending out a heads up so you know what it is when it comes to you.

The case worker will be sending our application to Court also this coming week, so the ball is now officially rolling.

Let me know if you have any questions! Thanks so very much to all of you for your help.

Love,
[Allie] (and [DH], of course!) =D

I got some a couple of pretty neat replies, the first from my dear friends in CA:

Congrats from all of us. Let us know what happens. We're excited for you.

And from my MIL:

What great news! Keep us informed as the process enfolds [sic]. Good luck and all our love!

Next Up: the autobiographical questionnaire homework.

Finally Friday

2009-03-13T09:13:00.000-07:00

Where did this week go??

First, I’ve been looking for a template that was neither too girly nor too boyish. I found this nice shamrocky thing on TCBOTB – so yeah, while it’s supposed to be for St Paddy’s, it also satisfies my neutral-gender-color requirements. Besides, I have a nice healthy dose of Irish in me, so I can have shamrocks if I want.

In time I’ll find a nice yellow or green to use, but for now, this works.

Tense but not, hyper but not, nervous but not, worried but not... just suspended until it gets itself done. I’m doing a half day at work so that I can finish off the little things I need to do at the house before SW gets there. The house is clean... just needs to be finished off. I know it doesn’t have to be perfect, but I do need to straighten some things. And maybe do a quick zip of the mower in the backyard I haven’t had time to do this week.

I warned DH to do some research and be somewhat prepared for the types of questions we might be asked. He’s chosen to be insouciant. I can’t do anything about it. Oh well.

On Monday, I talked to my sister. Dad has let the cat out of the bag re our decision to adopt.
I was miffed... and miffed specifically at Dad. I told him weeks ago that DH and I weren’t going to say anything until we were certified (and also to not take away the sunshine and excitement of Baby Brother (“BB”) and his wife— YSIL = Younger Sister in Law, as opposed to BP’s (my next eldest brother’s) wife, OSIL or Older Sister in Law—exciting news, due in October), and assumed that I was speaking to Dad in confidence because I had asked him not to say anything for a bit – but Dad blathered to Sis, and I know Sis can’t keep her damn trap shut to save her soul.

I really am vastly disappointed.

I will give Sis credit where it is due - she was excited and supportive and she does understand, she really does. She tried in vain for a second child.

But what I found even more irritating than the loose lips was Sis starting with the ‘they can take your baby away!’ crap regarding domestic adoption, plus the ignorant, insensitive garbage I have seen other adoption bloggers write about regarding adoption in general. *facepalm* I went “No, no, no,” and proceeded to tell her process a, b, c... very frustrating. I guess I’d better get used to it.

BP apparently told Sis that she and I need to hold a shower for YSIL. WTF? As if. Whatever. The presumption is not to be believed! On top of this is the fact that any relationship I might have had with her was destroyed by BP’s interference and BB’s jellyfish spine where BP is concerned. Any chance of a relationship was destroyed long before I met YSIL, and at this point, I’m just not trying. I sent a card, said to let us know where she’s going to register... we’ll send a gift and whatnot, but if BB isn’t going to meet me halfway (as soon as I heard the news I texted him congrats; not even an acknowledgement he got it. Pissed), then I’ll just take the polite high road.

Sis said no, we’re all the way across the country, so how in the hell is that going to work? And why does BP care if YSIL has a shower or not? He wouldn't give a flying damn about mine. Grr.

Julie from alittlepregnant doesn’t like “O.ctom.om” so I’ll employ my alternate name for her: Oc-tard. Well, anyway, Oc-tard supposedly is getting a new, half million dollar home according to the stories on the internet on Tuesday. Supposedly it’s in her dad’s name. How is this going to work when their other house is under foreclosure? Now, as of yesterday, she says that she’s the one paying for it. And how is she going to manage that on a long term basis when she’s not working and probably never will? Helloooooo...

How is that this mentally unstable POS can get away with this? It’s ridiculous – DH and I have to spill our financial, marital, career, and personal guts to just get certified for adoption later today, and... grrrrrrrrr she pisses me off.

If California’s version of child protective services releases those babies to her, my faith in my fellow man will plummet. Not that that faith is very high as it is—true to my cynical nature—but my God, have mercy on these poor children, all fourteen of them.

Speaking of internet sites, I have seriously considered doing our own website for an extension of our profile. Web hosting is not expensive, and I can get either templates or a publishing program (done it before with FrontPage) and do it that way. Still mulling it over.

I plan on adding to the blogroll. Lots of good stuff out there. If you see the additions in the near future, and you don’t see yours (not because I haven’t read it, but because of my brain farts in forgetting where I've been), drop me a line at allies (dot) open (dot) arms (at) gmail (dot) com.

I’ve decided to let the matter re MIL’s BFF on FB hang for a little while. The request isn’t going away. It’ll linger there until either she shoots me a message or the day comes where I feel like dealing with it. It’s not that I have anything to hide, but it’s a different venue when you have friends on there and other people closer to you compared to when you have someone with questionable loyalties. My friends and cousins and I can be as irreverent or borderline naughty as we want. It’s the same with my boss: he’s on FB now, and as his son told him, “I’m glad you’re on FB, but no, I don’t want you as my friend there.”

So it’s the same with Boss’s son: I like being able to vent about my boss or my mother in law or various family members in my status now and again. I can’t do those things if there are certain people wanting to be my friends. I know you can restrict access to your pages to a point, but probably not restricted enough for my tastes if I were to add either Boss or Honorary Aunt.

I haven’t told DH that Honorary Aunt has made the request. I’m not sure he’ll care either way, but I don’t want to turn it into a big deal, either. I think I’m just going to sit on it awhile.

Have a great weekend. I'll let you know how it goes this afternoon.

Ack!

2009-03-10T15:48:00.001-07:00

Tangent: this post has nothing to do with adoption... (non-adoption related post - should we give posts like these the nickname "NARP" next to the title?)

My mother in law's oldest/best friend found me on FB. I like her, a lot. She's an honorary aunt, and she's the one included in the Ireland trip as outlined in my sister blog. She's nice, awesome, cool, smart, active, and we always talk up a storm.

My concern? That she'll report to MIL every little thing I post. Gadzooks.

I'm mulling it over for 24 hours.

Should I friend her?

What Cost Parenthood?

2009-03-06T09:38:00.000-08:00

As is my generally everyday habit for the last four or so years, I’ll go to the blogs I have followed for all this time, then go to my new adoption blog friends, and from there (when I have time) I follow some random links to other blogs to see what other people are saying about TTC/adoption/etc. There are a few that made me so grateful that I haven’t gone down the rocky, perilous path of medical intervention to have a baby.

The common link to those who are going through the various types and speeds of reproductive medicine, many times, is this soul-searing anger. And if the poster has gone through multiple procedures without success, it builds into a towering rage.

I get it. I really do.

I get it because it is me, too. I have despaired, I have raged, I have pleaded to the indifferent and strangely mute Invisible Entity of the Vast Universe to change this horrible, ghastly, lonely sentence of infertility. I have deeply mourned the loss of the dream. And only recently—meaning the last few months—have I come back from that dark side of the moon where I was all alone.

And only I could change my mental state.

Recently I was perusing the blogs of those going through the tortuous reproductive needle dance with the theme of Drugs and Needles and Retrievals, Oh My! And as I read once more of the regimens that these women are going through, and the searing, all-encompassing fury and frustration when it’s yet another negative. And I read about all the money burned, personalities changed, friendships and family ties incurably altered, and finances and mental well-being ruined, because of that fury, that keening wail, the justified railing at fate.

Once more, as I read these entries this last week, I was at peace with the decision to not even go down that road.

At what cost will some people pay to achieve parenthood? It’s a good question, and a necessary one, especially if they honestly don’t have insurance coverage or money to do the procedures. How many marriages have been destroyed? How many homes lost, how many savings accounts stripped, how many defaulted loans? How many lives will never be the same?

I remember one blog that I had followed in the days after my own devastation: one day, she just quit. Done. Gone. Everything came to a sudden stop. Her marriage was in a shambles, their finances a wreck, and she was so mentally and physically destroyed by that last negative pregnancy test after that last procedure that she deleted her blog suddenly one day, never to return.

I still think about her, and wonder how she’s doing, and if she’s picked up the jagged pieces of her shattered life.

Somewhere there’s a happy medium. But:

Somewhere, there has to be a certain amount of self-honesty—a self-honesty that I am just not seeing in many of these stories.

Somewhere, people have to be brutally honest with themselves and say okay, no, this is just not meant to be. There has to be another way.

“No” statements that need to be said to oneself are:

No, I refuse to be unhappy
No, I won’t sacrifice my marriage/partnership.
No, I won’t destroy my home life.
No, I won’t wreck my social life
No,
I won’t destroy my relationship with my parents and parents-in-law and extended family
No, I will not have this terminally negative outlook.
No, I won’t ruin every occasion by thinking about what should have been, could have been, or
was supposed to have been.
No, I don’t want my relationships with my siblings and friends to change for the worse, permanently.
No, I don’t want to become a bitter, angry, lonely person.
No, I don’t want to ruin my working relationships.
No, I don’t want to shun friends and events because I’m miserable.

...and so forth. Go ahead, add your own. At some point, if you are an infertile (man or woman!) who has turned to adoption to build your family, you probably have said something like this to yourself at some point, even though it might be buried in the subconscious.

Don’t jump my plenteous ass, though – I do realize and understand that there are those who will not, cannot, and shall never consider adoption for whatever personal reason(s). Everyone must do what they are given to do.

This is just my take on it.

Even when those people who have sacrificed so much to give birth to child of their dreams, at what cost has it been? What cost is too high? What down the road will suffer?

You know, as a fellow infertile, that I had the same thought burning a hole in my brain that these people do: I want to try for our own child first. I want to bear a child that carries our genes. I want that precious moment when I, when DH sees our child for the first time after he/she is born. And so on.

It took time—and a lot of sour, bitter, angry heart’s blood— to realize that it just wasn’t in the cards.

I will say that had I married a lesser man, I wouldn’t have a marriage. It’s been a rough ride. And he is wonderful and positive and confident in the road less taken.

It’s taken me the better part of four years to be comfortable, and yes, happy, with the decision to adopt. Am I really happy about it? I’m happy because of that peace that descends once a decision is made. I’m happy that we will still have a family together, although created differently than what we originally had in mind. I’m happy that I have a placid home life. I’m happy to be able to offer that happy, placid home life to a child or children. I’m happy I have a husband I’m still crazy about, and happy that I haven’t destroyed our relationship. I’m happy our finances are intact. I’m happy we have a house with a yard.

I’ll always mourn the fact that I won’t experience pregnancy and birth. I’ll always mourn that a child we raise won’t have my mother’s hairline, or DH’s big and beautiful brown eyes, or the looks from either side of the family we would be searching so expectantly for. It was a shattering thing to come around to, but I’m there, finally.

It’s okay now. DH was always on board (hell, he suggested it first, remember) with the decision to adopt, and we are going into it holding hands. I’m confident, he’s confident, we’re not at all nervous for the upcoming home study next Friday, and I have no doubt we’ll be certified in due time.

But that acceptance, as so many know so well, has come at a high price. The price is surrendering a part of lifelong dreams... but such is the human spirit that a heartbroken person can overcome crushing sorrows to build a new dream.

Rolling the Ball

2009-03-03T12:20:00.000-08:00

At a little after 9:00 am this morning, the work phone rings. I answer in my suitably professional manner, of course. I assumed it was going to be Boss, checking in.

“Allie?”

“Yes?”

“This is [Social Worker], I just left a message at your house and thought I might be able to catch you at the office. I’d like to set up your first home study visit for next week...”

We chatted a little bit, and I said I had to consult DH in terms of day and time. I clarified the hours she was available and the days of the week, had a nice bit of conversation, including joking about my boss a bit (as she knows him well), and she said that the first visit will essentially cover the paperwork. After that, a second visit will be scheduled.

After we hung up, I grinned hugely, and squealed with glee.

Trying to get DH pinned down will be something else. When one is a chief-officer level in the corporate world, one does not necessarily get to pick one’s hours. Yesterday was another super-stressful day where the mental aftermath woke him up at four this morning. Poor baby. The good thing is that he likes the people he works with, which is his saving grace. It’s just that the department is such a cluster that he’s going to be digging himself out for a long while.

Talking to a friend of mine that did an international transracial-transcultural adoption many years ago, he had this advice for me from our FB chat this morning after I got the call:

C: dont be surprised by the questions.. very personal.. and financial

Allie: oh yeah, been doing the research

C: when I went through it I was very angry.. that they asked me about financial stuff.. felt it was very unfair when others could have kids by sitting on the same toilet seat without having a dime to their name

Allie: yeah i know the feeling... very much so... that's what dh's initial reaction was

C: if he needs to talk and blow off steam.. you got my number I understand.. and can let him
know / validate his feelings

Allie: you’re awesome

Later in the exchange after discussion my potential attendance at a seminar, he said,

C: play the game and make the effort.. just like a job interview. .. only for parenting. Sucks, but that is what it is

And he’s right. That’s an unfortunate way to put it, but he is right.

I’m prepared, I think (is anyone really prepared for these? Nooo...). I’m afraid that DH is not, and has not done the exploration into the topic that we had discussed. I don’t want him freaked, I don’t want him pissed and stressed at the intrusive nature of the proceedings. I thought it was very awesome of C to offer his ear like that, because DH may just need that.

(Yeah, I'm still working on the paperwork post. Have to pull out my handy-dandy lil binder and review it)

Edited to Add: Next Friday is Part One of the homestudy. Holy cow, that's coming up fast! :)

Q&A

2009-02-26T11:43:00.000-08:00

I figure that I’ll address some questions that I’m sure my lurkers are asking (I know you’re out there).

How’d you find an agency?
I work for an attorney that does adoptions here and there, and I used the agency that he’s used for years, in its various forms and reformations and name changes. The core of very competent people have always been the same. I have worked with them on some files and I’ve always liked their professionalism, so for me—us—it was a no-brainer.

What attorney will you be using?
After discussing it with the caseworker we’ll be working with, it turns out that there is no ethical conflict if my boss is my attorney in this matter. It’d only be a conflict if he represented the birth family at the same time.

What’s the back story on your infertility?
Read here. This is my sister blog where I purged a lot of this poison before I realized that I really shouldn’t blog about adoption in a place that has “fail” in the URL.

Did you do any treatments?
Short answer is no. Follow the link in the previous question for details.

How long did it take for you to come to the decision to adopt?
Well, I passed the four year mark of the ectopic this last September (Sep. 2004-Sep. 2008). In the ensuing four years, there hasn’t been a single peep in terms of conception. Not even a suspicion. I know that if I could get pregnant, then there was a way to keep pregnant... but if I can’t conceive at all, then it looks pretty bad.

Then, in September 2008, we had our first orientation for adoption at the agency. So in these past four years, I’ve been to the dark side of the moon and back, and have returned a little worse for wear. But DH is completely on board with the adoption end of things.
A mark of how much my mental health has recovered: when my dad passed along that my little brother will become a father later this year, I was genuinely pleased and excited, without a single speck of the “why not me?!” or any resentment or anger that crosses every infertile woman’s mind at some point in that hell. I was proud of myself when I realized it, and am proud of how far I’ve come.

Have you told anyone?
My dad knows—he also knows about our problems conceiving. DH has mentioned it at a high level to his parents, but not in any detail as far as I know. I haven’t told my siblings, and neither has he. We both have certain friends that we’ve confided in for sanity’s sake. Until the home study is done and the certification complete, it’ll probably remain that way.

Feel free to ask away.

Coming up: a rundown of the adoption application from my perspective.

Information Requested

2009-02-23T13:18:00.000-08:00

Today, I continued my hunt for good internet resources. Through a blog that referred to the boards for iVillage, and it looked promising. The link itself was sorta ‘meh,’ so I clicked the link for their adoption main page.

Seriously? What a cluttered pain in the ass. Ads here, a column there, and no rhyme or reason. Very annoying. Just crap everywhere. Needs a serious revamp.

One story has pieces only a third of a page long, but it has four total pages, all of which are a third of a page long. FAIL.

One part of that same article went to a link that went nowhere. FAIL.

Articles that have a teaser that never gets revealed. FAIL.

Maybe the message boards are better. While they’re clunky, and only have 4 posts per page (probably because of all those damn sigs, tickers and blinkies), I already found some good info from various posters. But it is a headache.

Do you have suggestions for resources?

One of the topics in the article I referred to above was “Prepare yourself for private questions.” It listed one as “What was the most difficult problem you and your spouse ever had to face, and how did you resolve it?”

This question alone has me scratching my head. DH and I have an idyllic marriage. Honestly. I know it sounds very Pollyanna and naive, but it’s true. We rarely “fight.” When there is a conflict, it’s more like two irritated cats hissing at each other with a swipe or two of paws, but no claws, no fur flying. We always wind up purring and licking one another, figuratively of course. Our house and life and our relationship are very peaceful. We dislike discord and politeness is the rule of the day.

Have we had disagreements? Of course, don’t be silly. We’re still humans, not a pair or paragons.
If anyone’s difficult, it’s me. By the end of our lives, he’ll probably deserve canonization. But I’m not a stark raving bloody bonkers bitch, either.

Back on semi-topic, though. If that question is a taste of the flavor of questions that we’ll face, I need some heads-up. These are questions that require some forethought to answer.

What were some of the difficult questions in your home study?

Allusions to Flight, Illusions of Flight?

2009-02-19T07:53:00.001-08:00

I was enjoying the exhilarating flight on Tuesday after turning in the application, and really loving that feeling that finally things are going my/our way after all these years. Yesterday, I was still skimming the breeze, gradually descending to a peaceful landing, envisioning my rhetorical feathers ruffling pleasantly in the breeze, and enjoying the aftermath of a wonderful, peaceful soar.

Then, early yesterday afternoon, in a back and forth email with DH, he said, "[I'm] stressed out, not sleeping well, everything [department] related in this place is a disaster. I seriously was thinking of finding another job last night...they want to speed everything up to get it done and I can only be in so many places at once."

We knew when he took this position that it was not going to be a cakewalk. Even before he officially started there at the end of December, they were hitting him up on how to handle this crisis and that crisis. So, the ensuing chaos in the department he took over isn't really surprising. What he didn't realize was that they want all sorts of things implemented before an upcoming company-wide event that is about eight weeks away.

DH is in a particular field where impossible expectations are the norm, where people not in that field honestly think what they want can be done in a day or week and not have to expend money, whereas the truth is that it takes weeks or months, and is usually rather expensive.

The relevant point in all of this is that if he's voicing the thought that he'd seriously considered looking for another position seven weeks after starting this one--even momentarily--it puts everything we've planned in jeopardy. The Ireland trip, the weekend in Chicago DH wants to do this summer, my weekend in Indy with my girlfriends this fall, and most importantly, the adoption.

At one point after I got home from work, I lost it. I brayed like a donkey, wept like a shattered child. I'm so fearful that the pattern of plans and dreams being taken away in these last ten years was resurfacing, and with that dark thought I pretty much crawled up the stairs to the guest room and wailed like a child. The surfacing dread came to the fore that if everything goes to shit, we'll have to pass on adoption again... and the certain knowledge that if we don't go through with it now, in this time frame, it will never happen.

After I crashed down to earth in a violent explosion of feathers, I tried to get ahold of myself. I told myself that I'm overreacting, and I'm catering to my wide streak of native cynicism. And yet... yet... there's that streak of deep knowledge of my dearest husband, who is the most mellow, self-sufficient, and engaging of people, is drowning in this lake of job-related despair. If he's being affected that badly, then it is that bad. I know all about jobs that just suck the soul out of a person, where the job is in your head 24/7, and not in a good way--I've had two of them, and at the end of those horrible days, I would go to the bedroom and cry stormily and be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. So yeah, I know all about it. Been there, done it, completely get it.

And so between dealing with the upwelling of my fears and trying to tamp down my cynicism, I'm worrying about DH.

I had bought things for dinner - I was going to make the beef kabobs and the brown rice we like so much. I was such a wreck that I couldn't bear to go down to the kitchen and get it started. I stayed upstairs, stared at the screen, tried to gather my wits that were scattered like the feathers that scattered upon impact. DH said he was heading home; I had to get my brain in gear and my emotions in check--he doesn't need me freaking out too.

When I heard the garage door open, I raced downstairs so that the lights were on and everything would seem normal. The last thing I wanted to do was add to his stressors.

I suggested we go out and talk over a beer, not because we're alcoholics or need the buzz, but because we'd be out of the house, away from the phone, the TV, the computer, and other distractions. It is literally a single beer each together when things are out of whack. There's just something about the ritual of talking over a beer in our relationship that calms the nerves and settles the frazzled brainwaves for us. He had Coors on tap, I had a bottle of a local beer, and we each ordered salads, nothing heavy. We both were so overwrought we could barely think of eating anything heavier than lettuce.

I did not speak to him of the crushing fears in my mind; instead, I found out what was bothering him so much, and why, and why the situation going nuts.

His "problem" (if you want to call it that) is that he does not normally like to play the heavy, doesn't prefer playing the asshole (even though he's fully capable of it as a Jersey Boy), but I think the situation, and the position, requires him to be a hardass. He said that even his immediate supervisor said he has to become more aggressive and push things through, and said that he, the supervisor, would back him up.

My advice was to essentially agree with his supervisor, and for him to push back on all the people trying to dump on him, as his title and his position does allow for that. It's clear that there can only be three or four major projects on at once with the skeleton crew he has, and that he has to pick the three/four and make it clear that nothing else is on the plate until one of the first four get done. And delegate the hell out of things--he's dealing with things now he shouldn't even see unless it's at a boiling point, since he is now upper management, and things along that line.

By the end of the beer and salads, he felt better, and because he did, I did. We both felt lighter, more positive, and more ready to deal with things.

We both went to bed relatively early last night.

Since DH had not slept worth a damn in previous nights, I asked him this morning how he'd slept and how he felt. "I slept wonderfully; I feel fine."

"See?" I said, "You need to vent to me sometimes and not hold it in." Ha, pot meet kettle.

I was very glad he had sleep--he does not function well without it.

All sorts of smiles, hugs and kisses before I left for work.

Now that I've recovered from the abrupt end to my flight, my outlook is better this morning. I've found my feathers and are sticking them back in with superglue and needles. The world is not ending, at least not yet, and everything is intact this morning.

Okay, Now That I'm Set Up...

2009-02-17T20:46:00.000-08:00

Howdy.

I realized today in my whirling mind that a blog that mentions adoption really shouldn't have "fail" or "failboat" in the title. My sister blog is here, and that's where I'll opine on topics other than the ride ahead in adding to the family.

If you don't want to go back and read, don't worry. I'll migrate some of the relevant material here.

"Meant to Be" is a central theme of DH's and my life together. One step, one decision, and we would not have the wonderful, blessed marriage today. We had that discussion - what if I'd not come back to Arizona? What if he'd stayed back east? And the answer to that interminable line of questions is that everything we did was meant to happen.

And it has taken several years to come around to the concept that perhaps there is a cosmic reason why I have ovarian cysts, and why those cysts have turned my fallopian tubes into spaghetti. Is there a satisfactory reason? No, and I don't think there ever will be.

It has taken several years to come to terms with the fact that we will never have our own, biological child. How far have I come? This past weekend, my brother called my dad (Dad got dibs on being told first, which is awesome) to tell Dad that he and his wife are expecting their first child, due in October. And you know, there was not even a single twinge of envy in my heart, not one blip of rage. I was honestly, genuinely happy at the news. In my heart I know that I have come so far.

Today is the beginning of the next chapter of our married lives.

During my lunch hour, I went by the adoption agency to drop off the application packet. It's kind of like an comfy old pair of slippers, mostly because I've dealt with this agency during the course of my work. The folks there are a known entity, and my boss has been dealing with and through them for many years. Therefore, I'm fortunate to not have that gaping maw of the unknown in terms of having to shop for an agency.

And see, that's another thing that's meant to be: almost three years ago I interviewed for a job. At the end of the interview I told my now-boss that my mother was terminally ill. I said that she could go tomorrow, next week, next month, who knows. And he didn't blink. He hired me when other firms would never have touched me because of that tottering situation. I started work on a Tuesday, and my mother died the following Sunday. Ten days off and again, not a blink. Three years later I'm still profoundly grateful for Boss's generosity and understanding--pretty rare for a lawyer.

The next turn of meant to be that Boss is a lightning rod for a certain organization that has an early influence in some birth mothers' decision to place their child for adoption. Also, in the course of my work, the office has done a handful of adoptions, so I have been exposed to the process here and there. You must understand that at that point in time these occurred, adoption was not yet a viable option for me; I was still grieving for my loss in an ectopic, and grieving that I had not conceived after that, not once.

So these examples of meant to be heighten my certain faith that adoption is indeed meant to be for us.

Join me as our journey begins on this partly cloudy, breezy February day in Arizona.