Not As Sweet As I Used To Be

To-Do List for the Newly Widowed

2012-01-01T13:40:00.000-08:00

Cry.

Conduct the business

of carrying on without him.

Wear black

Deny.

Scream.

Vomit.

Listen to well-meaning strangers

say inane things like,

"Happy New Year!"

and

"Have a nice day!"

Try with all your might

not to punch them.

Sigh.

Cry.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Breathe.

Heart Broken

2011-12-26T19:14:00.000-08:00

Mark Bledsoe

1958-2011

William Mark Bledsoe died December 22, 2011 after a sudden and devastating illness. He died the same way he lived, surrounded by family and friends, love and laughter.

Mark was born July 9, 1958 to Bill and Memory Bledsoe in Tulsa. He was a graduate of Big Cabin High School, Rogers State University, and Oklahoma State University.

He was Executive Director and Lobbyist for the United Suburban Schools Association, and also an adjunct professor at OSU-OKC. Previously he worked for the Oklahoma Public Employees Association, which awarded him a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2005.

Mark was a member of the Putnam City School Board, the American and Oklahoma Societies of Association Executives, and Mayflower Congregational Church.

He was devoted to his family and friends and to pursuing his many passions: books, beer, baseball, church, history, politics, public education, Scouting, and following his beloved Cardinals and Cowboys.

Mark was preceded in death by his beloved sainted mother and sister, both of whom were named Memory Bledsoe. He is survived by his wife, Kimberlee Williams; his cherished daughter Grace Bledsoe; his father, Bill Bledsoe; his baby sister, Kathy Kostelnick; his favorite nephew and niece, Derek and Karissa Kostelnick; and a whole horde of aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends.

A celebration of his life will be held Wednesday, December 28, 2011, at 1 p.m. at Mayflower Congregational Church, 3901 NW 63rd St., Oklahoma City. The family has requested that “real fans wear orange.”

In lieu of flowers, please express your love to your spouse; if you are a Democrat, hug a Republican and vice versa; donate blood; support your local public schools and libraries; spend time with your kid; volunteer for a worthy cause; share a laugh with a friend. Memorial contributions may be made to: Deaconess Adoption and Pregnancy Services, 7101 NW Expressway, Ste. 325, Oklahoma City, OK 73132; or to the Putnam City Schools Foundation, 5401 NW 40th, Oklahoma City, OK 73122. Go Pokes!

Dry Spell

2011-12-11T15:34:00.001-08:00

This blog has been haunting me for a long time now..."Update me! Mwahahaha!". But I just have not had the energy or the inspiration. I started this blog to share some information about adoption, but with Lil Sweetie now 9 years old, it's just not foremost in our minds anymore.

And then I thought I would post about my creative endeavors, but my free time is such that I feel like it is often a choice of either being creative, or documenting my creative pursuits...there's just not time for both.

So I've been in a bit of a slump lately. A dry spell. Crunchy and brown like the expensive shrub pictured above, which perished in our heat spell hell of a summer.

Then I discovered the imake podcast, which led me to ravelry.com, which introduced me to attic24, which gave me the pattern and inspiration for this:

And just like that, I found my mojo.

-Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Remember This?

2011-08-28T14:14:00.000-07:00

Remember this? Remember snow and howling winds and bitter, bitter cold? Most people don't understand this about me, some even claim I'm crazy, but I long for Fall and Winter all year long.

My pasty, white skin was not meant for the harsh, bright sun of summer--I only burn, never tan. Sweating makes me itch. Mosquitos love me, and their bites swell up on me the size of quarters. I don't like to swim. Summer just has nothing to offer me that I'm interested in.

And this year has been especially brutal. A record-setting heat wave coupled with drought has made this summer unbearable to me. Walking outside is like walking into an oven. The air conditioning cannot keep up when it is over 100 degrees day after day after day. No matter what you do, count on sweating while doing it. I would like to kiss the person who invented ceiling fans. The nearby lake looks so desolate, what with its fishing dock sitting on dry land. The lovely (and expensive) bushes I planted so hopefully and lovingly this Spring are as dry and crispy as corn flakes, even though we watered them faithfully as often as the water rationing would allow

My creativity is dry and crispy too. Art and Craft have lifted me out of many a funk, if only temporarily, but this time I got nuttin'. I cannot find the energy to do much at all. I suspect I may be a wee bit depressed. The summer doldrums? Can I call in sick to work with that?

My husband's answer to everything is, "This too shall pass." Sometimes annoying, but always, ALWAYS true. And so I comfort myself by dreaming of nippy days and chilly nights, piling another blanket on the bed, digging out my fluffiest, warmest socks, and celebrating those wonderful gray days of Fall and Winter.

2011-07-31T15:12:00.000-07:00

"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself , I am large, I contain multitudes." ~ Walt Whitman

I am allergic to raisins.
I am not allergic to grapes.
Raisins are made from grapes, are they not?
I hate boxing and think it's barbaric.
If I leave a hockey game without seeing blood on the ice, I feel cheated.
I don't believe in astrology.
I feel a wee bit superior because I am a Scorpio, the sex symbol of the zodiac!
I am proud to have been born in the Year of the Tiger.
I feel sorry for all the Rats and Goats.
I am convinced that one reason for my happy life is that I live with a Horse and a Dog, which are both compatible with Tigers.
I don't believe in the Chinese Zodiac.
I am a "people person."
I need a lot of "alone time."
I am a Christian.
I love images of Buddha and Ganesha.
I believe in being polite.
I curse. I mean, I effin' curse a LOT.
My heart leaps at the sound of Native American flutes and drums and therefore I am convinced I was Indian in a former life.
I also believe that I lived in Czarist Russia.
When I was a small child, I talked constantly about the friends I had when I was a bunny, before I was a child.
A friend-of-a-friend who claims to be psychic showed me a mark on my palm that she says indicates I was a citizen of the lost city of Atlantis.
My daughter has the same mark on her palm.
When I met my daughter, I felt like we had known each other forever.
I do not believe in past lives.
I'm putting this list on the internet for the whole world to see.
I'm pretty sure this is the kind of thing that is interesting only to me.

Pot Holes on Easy Street

2011-06-19T15:59:00.000-07:00

Life has been a bit less than great lately. Things are not BAD--I'm incredibly blessed. Let's just say that Easy Street has developed a few pot holes lately. There is still uncertainty in my job, we're right in the midst of some painful anniversaries, and I've had a lot of trouble sleeping off and on. And let's face it, the view is less bright with bleary eyes, is it not?

When I start feeling this way, I think a lot about the late Peggy Chun, who inspires me greatly. No, not Connie Chung! Do you know who Peggy Chun is? I have to admit that I had never heard of her until just a few years ago.

Peggy was born in Oklahoma but made her home in Hawaii. When ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) took her twin sister, an artist, Peggy became an artist in tribute to her twin. She became a quite well-known and beloved artist in Hawaii. And then, she was diagnosed with ALS too. She kept right on painting. When she lost the use of her right hand, she learned to paint with her left. When that also became impossible, she painted by holding the paintbrush in her mouth. Eventually, ALS robbed her of that ability too. Did that stop her? Hell no! Peggy kept on painting by using a computer program that read her eye commands. The woman was incapable of breathing on her own, and yet she taught classes in painting. She wrote a book. She kept on living her life, communicating solely through eye movements.

Eventually it became clear that she was losing even the ability to control her eye movements, and that it was time to turn off the ventilator. But not before Peggy finished her bucket list. With the help of friends and family, she enjoyed a final tub bath, a campfire, a ride on the Superferry, and a going away party in her front yard that lasted all day and night, the electric cord to her ventilator run between the beer coolers. Her bucket list completed, Peggy passed away in November of 2008.

And so, on those mornings when I lie in bed, weary from lack of sleep, already stressed about the day ahead, wishing I could pull the covers over my head, I think of Peggy Chun. I think, if she could face ALS and say, "You will not keep me from the things I want to do, and you will not take me until I am ready to go," then surely to goodness I can drag my lazy butt out of bed and face those little pot holes on Easy Street.

The artwork that accompanies this post has nothing to do with Peggy Chun; it is art created by Lil Sweetie using an Iphone app called SpinArt. Peggy Chun's artwork is lovely and can be easily found by Googling her name...I just wanted to avoid infringing on any copyrights held by her family.

Nudges

2011-05-15T09:38:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about nudges lately. It all started with a book I read, Nudge: Improving Decisions about Health, Wealth, and Happiness by Richard Thaler and Cass Sunstein. It's classified as an economic book...not my usual genre by a long shot. But I saw some blurb somewhere about it which discussed how school cafeterias can encourage children to make better food choices just in how those choices are presented. For example, children are less likely to eat french fries if they have to go around to the back side of the serving line to get the french fries. Or, if the chocolate milk is moved behind the white milk, children are less likely to choose it, even though it still is easily available to them. Fascinating!

I've been completely mesmerized by this concept. How can I put this to work in my own life? Can I encourage myself and my family to make better food choices if I put the carrot sticks and the grapes front and center in the fridge? How can I use this concept to get my butt in bed at a decent time and finally get enough rest? I'm just obsessed with it.

And so I've also been thinking about nudges in a more general context. I really believe that God speaks to us through these nudges...a growing feeling that further and more invasive infertility treatment was not for us, a mention by a friend of an adoption agency looking for potential adoptive parents open to adopting a child of another race, and on the other side of that equation, a young woman with an unplanned pregnancy feels a nudge to contact an adoption agency. These nudges are miracles, really. You can't convince me otherwise.

But sometimes I ignore the nudges. And I wonder how it changes the course of my life. A few months ago, I woke up one day with a sudden feeling that I should send a friend of mine $200. For about two days, I could not shake the feeling. I didn't make a conscious decision not to send the money, but I hemmed and hawed and worried over how the friend would perceive an unexpected check in the mail--she is proud and I was afraid she might be offended. I never sent the money. In the intervening months, an unrelated series of events unfolded and now this friend and I are estranged. And I wonder, would we be if I had just sent that money?

I do know this, I do intend to listen more closely to those nudges in the future.

The photos that accompany this post have nothing to do with nudges, I just think they are pretty. I recently visited the Georgia Aquarium and was quite impressed. If you are ever in Atlanta, it is well worth the rather substantial cost of admission.

Why She Loves Me

2011-05-08T18:15:00.000-07:00

I feeds her.
I drives her places.
I cooks food of her.
I buys her clothes.
I nice.
I folds her clothes.
I clens the dishes.
I buys her book.
I is Awesome!
I make her lunch.

I asked her why she didn't mention the mother-daughter pedicures and she said because she didn't know how to spell "pedi." Ha!

Happy Mother's Day!

Possible Scenarios for Heaven

2011-04-17T14:29:00.000-07:00

Years ago, I read a blog post that touched me deeply. It was entitled “Possible Scenarios for Heaven” and it was and is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read. All these years later, I still remember it and think about it occasionally which is weird because I don’t even remember how I ended up on that blog.

In the past seven days, Mr. Sweetie lost his auntie, Birdie lost her mother, and my family observed the 20th anniversary of my beautiful little cousin’s accidental death at age 19. It’s been a hard week. So in honor and memory of Janie and Betty Jean and Kelley, here are my own personal possible scenarios for heaven:

You wake up every day to the smell of coffee and bacon, and warm peach cobbler with homemade vanilla ice cream is considered an acceptable substitute for breakfast.

Your front porch has a sweeping view of snow-capped mountains. Your back door opens onto the beach.

Baseball season lasts all year long, and you have season tickets right behind home plate for your favorite team, the Universal All-time All-stars. Your hot dog never grows cold, your beer never grows warm, and you catch a foul ball at every game.

Every day right after lunch, you sit at God’s feet while he brushes your hair and tells you how special you are. Then he gives you a hug and insists that you take a nap.

There is an enormous library in which every book you pick up is the best book you ever read. Included in this library are the answers to all the mysteries of the universe, no matter how big or how small, including whether Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, whether Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster exist, whether there is intelligent life on other planets, and where the missing socks go when you do laundry.

Heaven is a giant craft store that carries only your favorite colors of paints, yarns, beads, and other supplies, so that you don’t even have to look at the icky colors. You can effortlessly learn any art or craft that you like, and every project turns out exactly as you pictured it in your head.

It is always strawberry season.

You sleep at night on a screened in porch under a blanket soft and faded with age. Fireflies twinkle in the darkness until a gentle rain starts to fall on the tin roof overhead. From inside the house, you can hear a radio, softly playing Patsy Cline singing “Crazy.”

Ooh, look! Something shiny!

2011-03-05T15:15:00.000-08:00

What with the continued public employee bashing in the media, I'm feeling a little beat up lately. One of the joys of being an eensy bit shallow is that I find it quite easy to distract myself with shiny things.

So behold, my soldered pendants:

I'm still learning, still perfecting my soldering skills. And I'm having fun with it.

I'm still finishing up the Soul Restoration Workshop. It's officially over but I'm still working on the last few assignments. I just can't let go. It was that good.

And I'm art journaling up a storm. One of my journals is to help me with my goal to develop some better habits this year in the area of health. When I want to eat a cupcake or an enormous plate of nachos, I paint, cut, paste, stamp, or write instead.

Now if you will excuse me, I believe someone mentioned an enormous plate of nachos. (See, I told you I was easily distracted.)

I'm From the Government and I'm Here to Help

2011-02-27T14:02:00.000-08:00

I am a state employee.

Contrary to public opinion, I am not underworked and overpaid, nor do I gleefully mis-transfer calls, nor have I ever once sat around eating bon-bons. I work hard all day, every day, though not nearly as hard as the state workers who care for our veterans and disabled, maintain our highways, guard our prisons, and the myriad other hard, thankless jobs that state employees do. You may have read in the paper or seen on the news things that make you think otherwise, but for every crappy, corrupt state employee that makes the news, there are thousands of dedicated, hard-working, ethical state employees with their heads down working.

There are times the building I work in is uncomfortably warm or cool due to lack of funding for basic maintenance. I do without basic tools I need to do my job, because it's that or let an employee go and we are already understaffed as it is. I work on average between 40 and 50 hours a week; I get paid for 40. I take leave if I am 15 minutes late to work, regardless of how many hours I put in the day before.

My health insurance premium is exorbitant due to a state law that for years has disallowed our insurer to exclude pre-existing conditions. I know state employees with children with hemophilia, severe autism, and other heart-breaking conditions who went to work for the state solely for the insurance coverage--it's about the only way they could get it. I don't complain--it's a good recruitment tool.

I have excellent benefits and generous paid leave. The cash value of all of my benefits including salary about equals the salary alone I could get in the private sector. I get no bonus, no incentive pay. We pay for our own employee picnics and holiday luncheons--tax revenue cannot be used for such expenditures. State employees in my state have not had a raise in four years.

We have the authority to do what the law says we can do, no more or less. Often this stymies us in our ability to perform our mission. You know when you call the government and we can't help? It frustrates and pisses us off, too.

Why do I work for the State? Because I'm a bleeding heart liberal who wants to make a difference, because I come from a tradition of public service, because doing so allows me to practice my profession and still have a life, because unlike my experience in the private sector my client always pays my bill and never once sits in my office and bawls.

I'm not asking for sympathy. I asked for this job and all told, I love it. I'm just tired of hearing public employees bashed. It's a free country and you have every right to speak your mind. I'm just asking that before you bash public employees, educate yourself. Things are tough all over.

SRW Week #4 -- What I Learned

2011-02-06T19:24:00.000-08:00

I am incredibly blessed in that I have a number of people in my life who believe in me more than I believe in myself. (Robin, you are Exhibit A.)
The messages that hold me back are mostly coming from inside my own head.
I say really hateful, hurtful things to myself most of the time.
I really should stop that.
Mod-Podge is not so bad after all.

SRW Weeks #2 & 3 -- What I Learned

2011-01-30T14:48:00.000-08:00

Looking back at my life, the times that seemed the most difficult were the times that moved me forward to better things.
It would be nice if I could learn lessons the easy way instead of the hard way.
I freakin' love art journaling!
Painting and coloring and cutting and pasting are not just for kindergarten any more.
Waxed paper between the pages of my art journal can keep them from sticking together and allow me to paint a lot of pages at once.
It is easier to hate the icky parts of myself than it is to love my whole self, icky parts and all.
Loving the icky parts is really, really hard.
I am really hard on myself.
Being really hard on myself is soooo not productive.
Melody Ross is a goddess with the hands of Martha Stewart and the heart of the Dalai Lama.

SRW Week #1 -- What I Learned

2011-01-16T15:31:00.000-08:00

I've been doing the online Soul Restoration workshop with the Brave Girls this week, and I have learned many lessons already. Here is a sampling:

Restoring my soul is time-consuming and exhausting.
I'm not such a fan of the Modge-Podge.
I'm more of a glue stick kind of a girl.
It's ok to go rogue and use the adhesive I like best.
Soul Restoration is not about adhesive.
Paintbrushes make me nervous.
Paintbrushes are for REAL artists.
Make-up sponges are really good for smearing paint around on paper.
Using make-up sponges instead of paintbrushes for smearing paint ensures that I get a lot of paint under my fingernails.
Paint under my fingernails makes me happy.
Make-up sponges are really, really cheap at Dollar Tree.
Cheap make-up sponges from Dollar Tree make me happy.
The wedding accessories at DollarTree make me sad.
Soul Restoration is not about paint brushes, make-up sponges, wedding accessories, or Dollar Tree.
I find it impossible to think of myself as an artist.
Thinking of creating art as "practice" is freeing.
I have a law practice and a spiritual practice and an artistic practice.
Calling it practice makes things seem less scary and gets me past my inner perfectionist.
Creativity is like a muscle...when I don't use it, it gets flabby.
The only way to get creative is just to dig in and start creating.
The more I create, the more creative I become.
I worry a lot about whether I am doing things the "right" way.
Soul Restoration is not about doing things the "right" way.
Soul Restoration is about doing the work, any way I can.

Duuuuudes, chill!

2011-01-09T09:51:00.000-08:00

I'm very disturbed by the tone of rhetoric in our country. I've been thinking about this for a long while. I know I'm showing my age, but I remember a time when our elected officials would stand up on the floor of the House or the Senate and say things like, "With all due respect to my esteemed colleague from the great state of Tennessee, I could not disagree more." Now it seems that we would rather scream at each other than listen and try to understand. We all have gotten so entrenched in the belief that our truth is the only truth, our way is the only way.

I know everyone thinks that lawyers are...how can I put this politely?...the south ends of north-bound horses. But I have to say that as lawyers, we are trained to go into litigation or negotiation and fight to the death, in (usually) a very civilized way, and then go have a beer together after. We don't take it personally. We know that there are many sides of every story, many viewpoints, many truths. (If you think of truth as having a capital "T", as in there is only one Truth, I invite you to talk to numerous witnesses of the same accident or crime.) I have seen lawyers argue vehemently and loudly in the courtroom, then shake hands and kindly ask about each others' families. I once witnessed two female lawyers argue so strenuously that I worried at one point it would come to blows, then go to lunch to discuss a concern one of the lawyers had about her children. I have seen lawyers take time away from their own practices to volunteer to go to court and ask for continuances for a sole practitioner who had a sudden, unexpected health crisis so that his law practice did not fall apart while he was ill. This, from lawyers who ordinarily were his opponents.

I'm never going to convince you that lawyers are great people, and that's ok, that's not my goal. I just want to point out that there are civil ways to disagree.

As if having a lawyer in the family is not enough to heap shame and ridicule on our family, my husband is a lobbyist. I'm pretty sure "lobbyist" is the only profession more hated than "lawyer." Mr. Sweetie sometimes amazes me by mentioning what a great guy Senator or Representative So-and-so is. I'll stammer, "But...but...his political beliefs are the complete opposite of yours." My husband will laugh and say, "Oh, I disagree with his politics, but he's a great guy!" Then he'll tell me about So-and-so's integrity, their intelligence, their good-naturedness (if that's a word), their volunteer work, their family. It seems to me that so many of us are slapping labels on people and discounting them because of this one label--You're a (fill in the blank--Republican, Democrat, Liberal, Conservative, Feminist, whatever) so you don't count. I love that the hubs is able to see people in 3D--yes, Senator So-and-so is a Conservative Republican but he is also a husband, a father, a volunteer, a coach, a friend, a helluva nice guy.

From what little I've heard, the shooting in Arizona of the Congresswoman and numerous others was due to mental illness and not a reaction to rhetoric, but still, it amazes me that this country has not seen violent reactions to the rhetoric. (Maybe we have, I tend to stay away from the news.) Can't we go back to a time when we could disagree with civility and honor? Wasn't our country founded on such ideals--"I disagree with what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it" and all that? Kindergarteners know you have to play well with others, why can't we? Our lives may depend on it.

Song for my Daughter

2011-01-04T19:09:00.000-08:00

In your laugh, there are a thousand butterflies.

And in your eyes glows my sun.

In your skin are all the silks and satins of all the world;

nobody else's skin was ever as soft as this.

And in your song

that only you can sing

are a thousand church bells,

backed by a thousand choirs,

lifted up by a thousand prayers.

In your breath is the smell of wisdom, sweet as fruit.

In your belly button is a little piece of lint.

And in your dimple,

the one by the corner of your mouth,

in that dimple,

right there,

resides my heart.

Merry Christmas

2010-12-26T08:28:00.000-08:00

Hope that your holidays are filled with

love and peace and magic.

The R-Word is not OK

2010-12-05T13:54:00.000-08:00

Click here for a link to an excellent post by my friend Robin. Let's stop using the R-word, shall we? And while we are at it, "That's so gay," is not an appropriate insult either. Go, read Robin's post, and spread the word.

On Hiatus

2010-11-21T17:32:00.000-08:00

Today is my birthday. I am 48 years old. Am I sad about being 2 years out from fiddy? No way. I'm ecstatic about turning 48. I'm not sure why. I'm sure that the death of my beloved sister-in-law, Memory, at the age of (barely!) 51 has made me more grateful for every year. Still, it's more than that. I've been thinking a lot about what I want from life, what is working in my life and what isn't. I'm turning inward, looking for answers deep inside. Looking for peace and stability--that small still voice within. It's awfully hard to hear it over the din. And that's why I have decided to take a break from this blog for a while. I've had a love-hate relationship with it from the beginning. I'm a very private person, so putting my thoughts out here for the whole world to see has been somewhat painful, even though I blog somewhat anonymously. It feels risky to put myself out here for all the world to see and comment on, and yet, it feels dishonest, this blogging anonymously. It's a quandry. And I have such limited time for creativity. Blogging seems to me to be a conversation, and so I am aware of my "audience." I temper my potty mouth, my political and religious beliefs, my thoughts, my soul. In my private journals and creative pursuits, I am most authentically me. And that's what I need more of right now. As the Peas say, Imma Be Me. Offline, at least for a while.

These Are a Few of my (New) Favorite Things

2010-11-07T07:49:00.000-08:00

Recently, at work, I talked the IT guys into giving me a second monitor. Oh my goodness, how did I ever function without this setup? I can have my legal research on one screen and the document I'm drafting on the other screen and glance back and forth between the two...no more minimizing and maximizing windows. And I'm printing a lot less, too.
Gin and Rosewater No. 12 fragrance by Tokyo Milk. Because I like smelling like I just stumbled out of a Tennessee Williams play.

Ingrid's Kitchen. I'm not a big fan of German food so I'd never eaten there until recently, when my friend Elle suggested we go there for lunch. Who knew they had sandwiches and cases and cases and cases of the most beautiful, delicious cookies and cakes and pastries? Yum!
My pimped-out planner. I was bored with the old standard page dividers so I took some thick, beautiful two-sided scrapbook papers and my tab punch and made my own. Now I look forward to planning my day. Ok, well, that's just a lie. But my planner sure is pretty!

Teachers Come in the Strangest Disguises

2010-10-31T15:49:00.000-07:00

I believe that many of the people who come into our lives come bearing valuable lessons, if we are just open to them. Some of the lessons are beautiful and some are painful, but they all move us forward on our paths.

One of these "teachers" in my life came in the most surprising package. EJ was one of my study partners my first year of law school. He is one of the crudest, crassest people I have ever met. He also is a master at developing mnemonic devices. Unfortunately, most of his involved terms for acts of sexual depravity such as I had never imagined. He would tell us the mnemonic device, then have to explain one or more terms used in it, then wait patiently while we stammered, "But...but...but why in the world would someone want to do THAT to another human being?"

At my law school, there was a food drive each semester. To support the drive, most of the professors agreed not to call on any student who brought two cans of food to class. So on one particular such day, I sat waiting for class to start with two dusty cans of green beans from the back of my pantry sitting there on my desk. EJ walked in and said, "Sweetie Pie, what in the hell are you doing, bringing dusty green beans for the food drive? Don't you know these are families--CHILDREN--who do not have enough to eat? They don't need your dusty green beans! They need protein for their growing brains and bodies!" Even though he was on a law student's budget, he proudly carried cans of tuna as his donation to the drive.

I was shocked. And ashamed. I knew he was right. I had just never thought about who was on the other end of my donation. But I have thought about it a lot since. And I am proud to say that I have never again donated dusty cans of green beans or dented cans of corn to a food drive. No, I usually donate either tuna or peanut butter. Or sometimes both. It's a lot more expensive but gosh, it feels good. So EJ, wherever you are, thank you for that valuable lesson. I have forgotten most of the vulgar terms you taught me but I have not forgotten the Lesson of the Dusty Green Beans.

Another Damn Recipe, Completely Inedible

2010-10-30T19:16:00.000-07:00

No alligator skin for us!

Seriously, don't eat the results of this recipe...

Last winter, my co-worker, Peggy, noticed the 4 band-aids on my fingers and asked what was up. I showed her my cracked and bleeding cuticles, and she gave me this recipe for smooth, hydrated skin. Lil Sweetie and I have been using this lotion for almost a year now, and have had nary an ashy patch since.

Take 1 tub of Vaseline and scoop it out into a bowl. Pour in 1 bottle of Vitamin E oil. Add 1 bottle of baby lotion, whatever fragrance you like. (Lil Sweetie and I like the unscented kind.) Mix together thoroughly. (I use an old hand mixer I no longer use for food.) Lil Sweetie and I like to put the finished lotion back into the Vaseline tub and baby lotion bottle 'cause we are "green" like that, but you can put it into whatever you like. And that's all there is to it!

In my wildest dreams, I never would have believed that this lotion would soak in and not leave you feeling all greasy, but it is really good stuff. Peggy swears she even uses it on her face but I can't personally recommend that.

Another Adoption Post -- Despicable Me

2010-09-26T16:43:00.000-07:00

A while back, Lil Sweetie and I went to see "Despicable Me". I was surprised that adoption was part of the storyline. Surprised because I hadn't already heard the adoption blogosphere outraged over the portrayal of adoption. (Then again, I haven't really been paying much attention to the adoption blogosphere these days.)

In case you haven't seen the movie, there are three little girls who live in an orphanage under terrible conditions. (I probably shouldn't admit that Lil Sweetie and I got a big laugh out of the "Box of Shame.") The main character Gru, an evil dude, adopts the three girls to further a scheme against his arch nemisis, Vector. When Gru begins to love the girls, his assistant Dr. Nefario has the three girls sent back to the orphanage.

Although that it is a terrible depiction of adoption, quite frankly, I loved the movie for its humor and sweetness (all things turn out right in the end). But of course I was worried about what Lil Sweetie's thoughts were.

In the car on the way home, we were discussing the movie, laughing over our favorite parts, and I told Lil Sweetie that one thing bothered me about the movie, which was that adoption doesn't really work like that--once you become a family through adoption, it's forever. No take-backs. Lil Sweetie said, "Yeah, but Gru didn't send the girls back, that other guy did." I was struck by her willingness to put the blame off on Dr. Nefario. (It's true that Gru was very glum about the whole affair, although he did nothing to stop it.) After a little more discussion, I was even more struck by Lil Sweetie's recognition that the story we had just seen was not HER story; that the adoption depicted had nothing to do with the way our family was created. It made me wonder if perhaps we adoptive parents aren't giving our kids enough credit when get up in arms over every fictional account of adoption?

My Not-So-Beautiful Life

2010-09-25T09:40:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. I have blog envy. Or maybe it's more accurate to say I have life envy. I read and follow all these incredibly beautiful blogs filled with gorgeous photos of crafts and meals and decorating and I turn green with envy. You see, my crafts turn out all wonky, my house is cluttered and layered in dust, and my meals are usually edible but not often terribly photogenic. It seems like I always have piles of bills to pay, mountains of laundry to fold and put away, and the papers...oh my Lord, the papers! What is it about elementary school? Lil Sweetie brings home 5-10 papers a day, half of which she can't bear to throw away. Sometimes when she is asleep, I take all but my favorite one or two and bury them in the bottom of the trash can where she can't see them. Aren't I terrible?! But if I didn't, we would have to move because this house would be filled to the gills with paper.

I go through spells where I feel guilty about my not-so-beautiful life but mostly I am forgiving of myself. It's not like I'm slacking off, lazing on the couch eating bon-bons. I work 40 to 50 hours a week, spend time with my kid and my husband, and although my house will never be featured in some glossy home decorating magazine, it's far from being the subject of an episode of "Hoarders". Do I sound like I have a chip on my shoulder? Maybe I do. I just can't for the life of me figure out how the beautiful people do it. I bet they have a secret club where they give each other tips on how to squeeze an extra 3 hours into each day. Or maybe they are secret polygamists and the sister-wives do some of the housework and cooking and decorating and crafting. Won't someone please let me in on the secret?

Another Hot Weather "Recipe"

2010-09-18T10:14:00.000-07:00

Mr. Sweetie was gone a few weeks ago and it was too hot to cook for Lil Sweetie and I, so we made muffin tin meals. Have you heard of these? You put a bunch of finger foods in a muffin tin and call it dinner. There are whole websites devoted to this idea--can you believe it? The attraction for me was that it was quick, easy, and we could make it relatively healthy. Here's a glimpse:

We put cheese, salami, carrots, celery, cucumbers, ranch dressing, tiny baby grapes, blueberries, crackers, and ok, I'll admit, a couple of cookies in ours. And if you choose the right glass, your drink will fit in one of the holes as well. Lil Sweetie loved helping make it, and gobbled up everything except for a couple of the crackers. It was quite satisfying and also portable...next time we are late to something and I have to feed Lil Sweetie in the car, I just might try this in lieu of a drive-thru window somewhere.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

2010-09-06T13:32:00.000-07:00

For starters, I didn't have a summer vacation. Wah! I did go to Denver on a business trip, where I saw this bewildering sign:

Since I couldn't figure out how to obey this sign, I rebelled and did a double pirourette in the street.

One of the Leaders of the Free World, my dear friend Tina Babe, drove down (up? over?) from Colorado Springs just to see little ol' me. Wasn't that nice? We had a nice visit, even if I did dribble mocha frappucino down my kiwi green sweater set. (I am just SO classy!)

Speaking of classy, this is the only way to travel:

My work is taking cost-cutting measures to the extreme:

I started art journaling (poorly, I might add):

An hour, a paper punch, and a Company Store catalog can be mildly therapeutic:

We explored new breakfast ideas:

The hubs sent me flowers:

I had another surgery on my monster eyeball:

And I avoided being eaten by a vampire:

How was your summer?

Slack Ass Pie

2010-08-14T19:00:00.000-07:00

It is hotter than lava-coated hell out there, y'all. I am not a warm weather kind of gal. Give me the dreary gray chill of November any day. So I have not been a happy little camper lately.

It is against my religion to turn the oven on when the outside temperature is over 90 degrees, so Mama doesn't do ~~much~~ any baking in the summer. Aw, who am I kidding? I barely do any cooking at all. The only way I find summer the least bit bearable is to become completely sloth-like and move as little as possible until late September.

So I thought I would share my recipe for Slack Ass Pie. This recipe is one of those things where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Really. I wouldn't lie about ice cream sandwiches--I'm not a heathen!

Here's the recipe...

Take a pan (9x13, 8x8, loaf pan, whatever, it really doesn't matter) and cover the bottom with ice cream sandwiches. You may have to cut some up to completely cover the bottom. Then cover them with a layer of Cool Whip. Squirt some chocolate syrup and caramel ice cream topping on top...just squiggle it on. If you wanted to, it would probably be yummy to sprinkle some nuts or crumbled up Oreos or chopped up candy bars in there, but I'm a purist so I can't personally recommend it. Then do the whole thing again--another layer of ice cream sandwiches, Cool Whip, and chocolate and caramel sauce. Cover it and stick it in the freezer until you are ready to eat.

Honestly, some kind of magic happens in the freezer and it all kinda melds together into a yummy mess of goodness. I'm told this will last quite a while in the freezer if you cover it good, but we've always gobbled it up too soon to find out.

This recipe will take you less than 20 minutes, start to finish, and you will barely even break a sweat, even if it is 105 outside. You're welcome.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2010-08-08T11:31:00.000-07:00

The times, they are a'changin', that's for sure. The past three months have been just chock full of changes, and it has taught me a valuable lesson. I used to think of myself as someone who could roll with the punches, who welcomed change, but now I know that is complete and utter BS. Change stinks. It's difficult and messy. I do not like it, Sam-I-Am, I do not like to change, by damn!

I guess it all started when my much-admired Boss Lady announced her resignation. I loved my job as the number two lawyer, and I loved working for Boss Lady. I was quite happy with things the way they were. Boss Lady's leaving put me into a tail spin--I wasn't sure I wanted her job but I didn't want to work for a doofus. I finally decided to apply and after much trials and tribulation, was promoted into the job. Now I'm the supervisor of three employees and the head lawyer for my employer. Holy crap!

Still, other than losing my beloved sainted sister-in-law to cancer, most of the changes in my life have been positive ones. I shouldn't complain about getting a promotion at work or having to buy a new car to replace my hail-damaged one. These are first-world problems for sure. But I liked my old job and my old car, and I feel like I shed a perfectly good, comfortable coat for one that I'm not sure fits or is my style. I hope that one day I will look back on this period of my life as a time of great growth and opportunity, and see that all this stress was merely growing pains.

I Had a Beautiful Memory

2010-07-12T19:37:00.000-07:00

Memory Ann Bledsoe

1959-2010

My much beloved sister-in-law and friend, auntie extraordinaire, you took care of the world but it could no longer take care of you. Rest well, dear friend, and save us a good seat on the whale boat. We'll always have Alaska and our memory of you.

Where the Hell Have I Been?

2010-06-30T20:19:00.000-07:00

I have been inside my head, mostly, working through a few things. Letting some dreams go, dreaming some new dreams, and working through how to make some dreams come true. Feeling some things that have needed expression for a long time. Grieving some things. Creating some things that are just for me. Exploring my inner landscape. Taking a good, hard look at myself. Deciding to love some things that need loving, and let go of some things that need to be gone. Reclaiming my sovereignty and my power to banish things from my life that aren’t working. Finding the energy and strength to overcome the inertia that has overtaken my life. Sweeping cobwebs from my mind.

Confronting Prejudice

2010-05-10T20:20:00.000-07:00

The family and I were at a local restaurant, chatting away while waiting for our food to arrive. In the booth facing ours was an older gentleman who, I began to notice, was making faces at Lil Sweetie. He would wave, smile, wink--anything to get Lil Sweetie to respond. I kept a discreet but watchful eye, trying to determine if he was a perv or just a friendly old fart. At one point, Lil Sweetie said, "Do I even KNOW that guy?"

Eventually our food came and we dug in. While we were waiting for our tab, the elderly gentleman got up from his booth and headed directly toward ours. I tried really hard not to make eye contact, hoping he would pass us by. It was not to be--he was making a beeline straight for us. I smiled but inside I was cringing, thinking, "Oh no, this old geezer is not going to understand my family. He is going to assume that Lil Sweetie is a foster child or ask what country she is from or something equally stupid." But to my surprise, he complimented Lil Sweetie on her manners, stating that he could tell that her parents (gesturing to me and Mr. Sweetie) were raising her right. He then went on his merry way, while I sat there shamefaced, realizing that the prejudice I was forced to confront that day was my own.

Things That Annoy Me

2010-04-15T19:19:00.000-07:00

Don’t offer your kid to me unless you are seriously willing to terminate your parental rights and sign a Consent to Adoption. I don’t care how horrible the little bugger has been. As someone who struggled mightily and painfully for years to be a parent, you cavalierly saying, “Ugh! My kid’s been awful lately! Ya want him?” really pisses me off. My kid actually had her first set of parents walk away from her and she will carry that emotional burden her whole life. You joking about doing the same to your kid, especially to me, is just WRONG.
Likewise, don’t joke to me about being so broke you may have to sell your kid into slavery. Slavery is not funny or cute. Neither is child trafficking. Sadly, there are children in the world today being sold into slavery. Have the decency not to make light of the horror that is their lives.
Middle-aged women actually exist. We are not invisible. It is not cool to let me stand in line at the store for ten minutes, then the minute a man walks up behind me, open up an additional check-out line by saying, “Sir? I can help you over here.”
When we are in our cars and I stop to let you into my lane because your lane is closed due to construction, I do that because I am a nice person and I would like a little wave of appreciation in acknowledgment of that. When you don’t give me the wave, I feel like you feel you are entitled to go ahead of me and that makes me want to stomp on the gas and ram into your car.
It is not necessary to do construction on every street in my city at the same time. Planning, people! It’s a good thing.
If you want to stand around in large groups in public places, fine. But don’t block entire entryways, aisles, sidewalks, etc. It’s just plain rude. And blocking the exit point of an escalator is dangerous and stupid. See, I can’t really stop, no matter how dirty of a look you give me, as I’m on a mechanical moving apparatus that is about to dump me off right where you are standing.
Shrieking in a high-pitched voice, especially directly into my ear, is neither desired nor appreciated. I don’t care how close we are to missing the beginning of your favorite TV program.
If you are a place of business and are going to have a website (which you really should, by the way), then have the decency to put your address, phone number and hours on that website in a place that is easy to find. Why else would I be looking at your lame-ass website?
If you are literally a silly goose, you really shouldn’t casually stroll across a busy street during rush hour every morning. You have wings, use them! You are going to end up as roadway pate' one morning and that is going to ruin both our days.
A sports superstar screwing around on his wife is not news. Neither is a TV personality’s divorce from his SEVENTH wife. There is plenty enough real news in the world. Let’s stop focusing on the silly crap, shall we? And leave poor Sandra alone, for God's sake!
If you are a middle-aged woman with her own blog, who has found numerous things to be cranky about, it’s quite possible you need your hormones adjusted. Excuse me while I call my doctor...

Closing an Open Adoption

2010-04-09T20:13:00.000-07:00

As I've talked about before, we have had a semi-open adoption with Lil Sweetie's birthmom, Ashley.* In theory, that means that we share information, gifts, and photos with Ashley, but we don't know identifying information about her, nor does she know our last names or where we live. In reality, though, the openness in our adoption has mostly been on our side--in almost eight years, we have had one meeting and received one letter and one packet of photos from Ashley. In contrast, we have sent photos, letters, gifts, and examples of Lil Sweetie's artwork and school work a minimum of four times a year. (Not that I'm keeping score or anything. Ok, maybe I am.)

We've been going on this way for almost eight years. Then, a couple of the weeks ago, we received an email from the adoption agency saying that Ashley has chosen to close our adoption and no longer wants to receive communications from us. This was a complete surprise to us. We had no hint that this was coming. In fact, I didn't really realize that an open adoption could be closed. In hindsight, I probably should have realized that, as we have known of other adoptions where the level of openness increases as the adoptive parents and birthparents come to know and trust each other. It stands to reason that if the degree of openness can increase, it could decrease as well...I just had never thought about it.

So, it was quite shocking to receive that email from the adoption agency. I was pretty devastated at first. I felt like we had done something wrong, even though the adoption agency assures us that is not the case. And of course, I was worried sick about how this would affect Lil Sweetie. As usual, Mr. Sweetie talked me down off the ledge. He has such a knack for seeing to the heart of matters. Mr. Sweetie pointed out, rightly so, that I was upset about the loss of "what might have been", rather than "what was." Mr. Sweetie pointed out that Lil Sweetie's life is no different than it was before, and that she will probably not even notice the difference. For that reason, we have not yet talked to Lil Sweetie about all this. At some point, she will ask why we no longer send photos and letters and gifts to Ashley, and we will tell her that we have lost contact with Ashley and no longer know how to get things to her. And that is the truth.

Easter Weekend

2010-04-04T18:30:00.000-07:00

Before.

During.

After.

What a ham!

If you are spoiled, you might get to decorate some cookies.

If you are really spoiled, your Grammy will load up your fingers with frosting. Who needs cookies?

If you are really, REALLY spoiled, your Grammy will let you eat frosting off her fingers, too.

Hope you had a beautiful Easter!

Wonderful Weekend

2010-03-26T08:48:00.000-07:00

I find it's much easier to be happy when I am wearing my jammies. Hooray, hooray for vacation days!

My precious Birdie and I are headed to Texas tonight for Heather Ales Soldering Workshop. Can't wait!

The Highs and Lows

2010-03-22T19:33:00.000-07:00

Here's a blog post that I wrote a couple of weeks ago and never posted that explains why I haven't been posting lately:

Have you ever seen that TV show, “Hoarders”? That’s the way my mind feels—all cluttered and sad, with mouse droppings in the corners and evidence of insect infestation. It’s all musty and dusty and rusty up in here and I’d like to do something about it but I don’t know where to start. So I sit in the chaos and the clutter. I need some mental Drano, some psychic Ex-lax. It’s days like this that it’s easy to forget my theme for this year is “HOPE.”

And here's a excerpt from an email I wrote to a friend who jokingly asked if I were going to make croissants from scratch:

I will never stuff a mushroom. I will never make a turducken. I will never make croissants or homemade puff pastry. I will never personally roast a pig on a spit or bury a goat in a hole in my yard. I will ever pickle eggs. I will never egg a pickle. I will however, on occasion, stuff a pickle with pimento cheese. (Don't knock it until you've tried it.) I will never cook a rack of lamb. I will never make any form or flavor of aspic. (For the love of God, never ever EVER google the word “aspic”...the images are horrifying! I can never unsee them. I now suffer from Post Traumatic Aspic Disorder.)

I will never fry, saute’ or stuff a squash blossom. I will never make gelatin from scratch. I will never make chitlins, tripe, brains, kidney pie, tongue, blood pudding, or calf fries. Ditto re lamb fries. I will never make head cheese (see aspic, above). For that matter, I will most likely never make any form of cheese from scratch. Not that head cheese is actual cheese.

I very much know who I am and what I am about (and what I am not) in the kitchen.

So no, I will not be making homemade croissants. And you?

No Regrets

2010-03-02T19:51:00.000-08:00

This weekend, some men came and cut down a lot of dead branches out of our sweet gum trees. I was fascinated by the wood chipper they brought--they fired it up and it chomped up those giant branches and in no time at all, the branches were nothing but sawdust. I thought, "Wow, wouldn't it be great if there was a wood chipper for life?"

Then I remembered that I don't believe in regrets. Well, that's not entirely true. I don't regret the big things, like my disasterous first marriage. It hurt like hell going through it and I dang sure wouldn't want to do it again. But I don't regret it. I learned a lot. A LOT. It toughened me up, which I sorely needed. It wore off some rough edges. And it opened my eyes, which helped me recognize Mr. Sweetie as my Mr. Right. I think I would have passed right by him if not for the lessons learned in my first marriage.

Same thing with infertility...it wasn't fun, I have no desire to go through it again, but I have no regrets. Infertility was the road I had to take to end up here, as Lil Sweetie's mom, my personal pot of gold at the end of the infertility rainbow.

The things I do regret are the little things...the times when I was impatient and snappish and hurtful to others. Those are my regrets, and the things I would put through the wood chipper if I could.

Peaceful

2010-02-21T20:06:00.000-08:00

(Original artwork by Lil Sweetie)

Ordinarily, I'm all for going to church. I think it is important on so many different levels. But today, with a cold rain falling and everyone feeling slightly under-the-weather, we opted not to go.

Instead, we puttered around the house in our jammies, doing chores, playing board games, and enjoying each other's company. I had some soup going in the slow cooker, making the whole house smell wonderful and homey, the way my great-grandmother's house used to smell. Lil Sweetie and I made cornbread. It was a lovely, peaceful day.

Remodeling Update

2010-02-15T09:38:00.000-08:00

The remodeling project from hell is dang near done. It quite possibly would have been completed yesterday had we not had a pipe burst (completely unrelated to the remodel). Thank God Uncle Dave, our friend and contractor was here. He knew how to get the water to stop spewing and then he did a temporary fix on the thing. Do you know how much it would have cost us to have a plumber come out on Sunday evening? I shudder to think. All Uncle Dave charged us was a couple of cookies! Anyway, a closet was flooded so my decluttering goal got a jump start--I threw out a bunch of crap that I might have been tempted to hold on to otherwise...things aren't nearly so tempting when they are drippy.

Speaking of drippy, here's how we paid Uncle Dave for emergency plumbing services:

Our Valentine's cookies, like love itself, are imperfect and messy.

The closet part of the remodel is done so I thought I would give you a peek-a-boo. (This is not the closet that flooded, just so ya know.) Here is a pic of the closet before the remodel:

Here is a pic taken during the remodel, looking from Lil Sweetie's room, through the closet, into the bathroom:

And here are some "after" pics of the closet:

That top shelf in the very top of the photo goes all the way around the closet. You can't really tell, but the paint is a very light gray, called "Subtle Touch." (I so want a job naming colors of things. Wouldn't that be fun? But I digress.) Here's another view of the closet:

It's rather difficult to take exciting photos of a closet. But it is a big improvement. The closet went from a poorly designed regular ol' closet to a walk-in. I lost the coin toss for the closet, but did win the consolation prize of one regular ol' closet for my clothes and another regular ol' closet for my crafts. Everybody wins!

Here's another view of the closet:

But wait! What can that be in the corner? Let's take a closer look, shall we?

Well I'll be! It's a sparkly-eyed brown-bellied munchkin!

Happy Valentine's Day!

2010-02-14T20:06:00.000-08:00

Cookies and Baseball

2010-02-13T20:06:00.000-08:00

Lil Sweetie likes to play with my iphone sometimes. The other day, I found this series of text messages on it:

Lil Sweetie: Mr Sweetie hi

Mr. Sweetie: Hi baby!

LS: What

MS: How are u?

LS: Good

MS: Aren't the jonas brothers dumb?

LS: No.

MS: We should turn to baseball

LS: What

MS: Baseball!

LS: I hate baseball

MS: No, you love baseball

LS: No

MS: Yes, you love baseball

LS: No

MS: Yes, you love baseball

LS: Yes

MS: Yes

LS: Cookies

MS: Cookies and baseball

A Topic for Discussion

2010-02-07T19:46:00.000-08:00

I love quotes and collect them, but every once in a while, one gets under my skin and I just can't shake it. This quote from Steven Soderbergh has been haunting me for months now:

"What tragedy has [art] kept from happening? Tell that [that art makes the world a better place] to the 13-year-old girl from Somalia who got stoned to death last week after being raped by three men and then convicted of adultery, buried up to her head, and stoned in front of a crowd of 1,000 people. If the collected works of Shakespeare can't keep that from happening, then what is it worth? Honestly?"

What do you think? Do you agree with Mr. Soderbergh? I love the humility in that quote, but at the same time, I respectfully disagree. I think we couldn't possibly bear to live in a world in which a 13-year-old girl is stoned to death, in which hundreds of thousands die in an earthquake, unless that world also included the collected works of Shakespeare and Mozart and Monet. Somedays, it's only the collected works of Shakespeare that keeps us all from flinging ourselves head first out the nearest high window.

Your thoughts?

Things to Do When You're Snowbound

2010-01-29T15:16:00.000-08:00

Just give in to it and let the snow pile up.

Have your mother dump a load of laundry, still warm from the dryer, on you.

Wrap her clean, warm panties around your head.

Sit still and contemplate how pretty your glossy black feathers look against all that snow.

Leave a door in your heart (and your playhouse) open.

Be really annoying while looking really innocent.

Lick someone's paw.

Lick someone's face, even though they pull away.

Yawn your stinky dog breath in someone's face.

Sit around looking really sleepy and bored.

Hug your dog and sass your mama.

Sweep the car.

Scrape the ice.

Lose your gloves and use your mama's gardening gloves instead.

Practice your photography skills.

Catch snowflakes on your tongue.

Let the snow wash over your face.

Make your mama put down her camera for a snowball fight.

Accept the things you cannot change and let the snow pile up.

Proud Parent of a Terrific Kid - Redux

2010-01-28T12:32:00.000-08:00

That's my baby on the second row, right next to the principal. That's right, MY baby!

I Love My Kid

2010-01-23T13:29:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we were talking about places we would like to visit. Lil Sweetie said, "What's that state with the hamsters? Oh yeah, I want to visit New Hamster! "

This kid never disappoints me with her ability to make me smile.

Be It Resolved

2010-01-22T19:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I was having lunch with my friend, T. T. masquerades as a mild-mannered bureaucrat and soccer mom, but secretly she is a sage. There we were, having lunch at a local bakery and chit-chatting, when the most profound statement fell out of her mouth. What she said was that her New Year's Resolution was to fix the things that weren't working in the lives of her and her family. Eureka! Isn't that the best New Year's Resolution ever? I mean, it just sums it all up, right there.

In contrast, my New Year's Resolutions are not profound in the least. (Although next year, I may copy Ms. T. Seriously, hers is the best New Year's Resolution I've ever heard.) So, what are my resolutions? Well, for this year, I hope to shed a lot of excess baggage. Meaning clutter and weight. It’s difficult for me to put this out there, as I’ve struggled with my clutter and weight issues for years. I have a lot of shame around these topics, particularly my weight. Putting this out there is scary. What if I fail? Like I have so many times before?

And, I don’t want to turn this into a weight loss blog. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but I don’t want to obsess about my weight and what I’m eating and how much of what kind of exercising I’m doing. I probably think about food too much now—I read cookbooks for fun, y’all! Fattie porn! But I don’t want to replace that kind of obsession with an obsession over calorie counts and fat grams and carbs. I want to devote more of that emotional and intellectual energy on living my dang life! I want my thinking and actions around food to just be normal. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

So, I don’t have a food plan or exercise plan per se. I am working a program called “The Grown Up Girl’s Guide to Weight Loss”. I’m not dieting, I'm making better food choices. I’m being gentle with myself. I’m giving myself credit for the things I do right, not beating myself up for the things I do wrong. I’m taking baby steps. I’m thinking long term. I’m expecting results to come, but slowly. And I’m hopeful.

Happy MLK Day

2010-01-18T19:14:00.001-08:00

"I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality... I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word." ~ Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

You Are My World

2010-01-15T18:49:00.000-08:00

My heart bleeds for the people of Haiti. I watched footage last night of attempts to free an 11-year-old girl from the rubble. Her cries haunted my dreams. I don’t accept that there is nothing we can do—we can pray, we can pony up some cash, we can encourage others to do the same. Please help in the ways that you can.

“We are inevitably our brother's keeper because we are our brother's brother. ” – Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

How Do You Know When It’s Over?

2010-01-11T20:05:00.000-08:00

How do you know when it’s over? How do you know when love has died? How do you know when you are in an abusive relationship? If you are asking these questions, is that a sign?

And no, I’m not talking about my husband. I’m talking about Stinky Weaselton, the hound from hell. Due to her love of writing implements and dancing on tables, it’s quite possible she is the reincarnation of Zelda Fitzgerald. I hear she was a real bitch, too.

Seriously, if you leave a pen, pencil, crayon or marker out anywhere, Stinky will find a way to claim it and chew it up. I have caught her up on the coffee table, the end table and the kitchen table nosing around for writing implements. Eww! Who wants a dog up on their kitchen table?

In addition to the writing implements, Stinky has also chewed up numerous popsicle sticks she pulled from the trash, two blankets, a doll, a stuffed pig, two pairs of shoes, two packs of gum, several tubes of lip balm, two towels, and a plastic breath mint container. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m convinced the dog pees out of defiance. If you do not pay homage to her by petting her and loving her and telling her she is pretty, she will pee on your rug. She is sneaky about it, too. Little jerk!

The dog is also in love with the sound of her own voice. After two hateful letters from the City, we can hardly let her outside. Stupid Yappy McBarkerson!

Stinky is going to have to find a new place to live. I can no longer tolerate her drama, her destructive behavior, her complete defiance of the rules of our household. She is a bully and a nuisance and I just cannot love her. And all God’s creatures deserve to be loved. Surely there is a masochist out there looking for a dog.

The Leaders of the Free World

2010-01-10T15:04:00.000-08:00

Why do my friends and I call ourselves the Leaders of the Free World? Well, one of us (I’m being purposefully vague here) was in therapy and looking at why she was so staggeringly successful in some parts of her life and so ahem, not as successful in others. Her therapist said, “Well, why would Bill Clinton have sex with an intern? Because to everyone else he was the Leader of the Free World, but deep inside, he still felt like Bubba from Arkansas.”

So ever since she shared that with us, when one of us is having a crisis of confidence, someone else always pipes up and says, “You are NOT Bubba from Arkansas! You are the Leader of the Free World!” Somewhere along the line, we just started referring to our group collectively as “The Leaders of the Free World.”

The name is so fitting because I am thoroughly convinced, that given enough free time, we could solve the problems of the world. Collectively, we are that damn smart and wise and talented. If someone would just put us up somewhere with about a month’s supply of beer and snack foods, we could have the economy rebounding, the Middle East settled down, and the health care bill all figured out. President Obama? I hear Camp David is lovely this time of year!

Counting My Blessings

2010-01-09T19:18:00.000-08:00

After all the whining in my last post, perhaps I should brag a little about all that is going right in my life:

The hubs—Mr. Sweetie. I rag on him a lot, but he is a real stand-up guy. I’ve known all along that he was a boy scout (and I mean that both literally and metaphorically) but the past year has really revealed his true colors, and they are beautiful. This man has dropped everything to be with his sister as she goes through cancer treatment, even giving up his season tickets to OSU football to be with her. And this is a man who HATES hospitals and LOVES OSU football. He did some things to ensure that she got treatment that were gutsy and daring and brave. They are too personal to go into here, but I truly believe that my beloved sister-in-law might not be alive today if he (and a few others) hadn’t committed daring acts of courage. He is truly my hero.
Lil Sweetie, of course. She is my sunshine, the light of my life, my saving grace. She challenges me and amuses me and at times, infuriates me, and I adore her more than life itself.
My mama. I don’t know how I would have gotten through the past year without her. She held my hand through 3 surgeries, helped me raise my kid with Mr. Sweetie gone so much, and most of all, loved me, even when I was a whining, sniveling wet mess of nerves. Which I’m ashamed to say was far too often in 2009.
My girls, Lise and the Leaders of the Free World. I have the most amazing bunch of women in my life. They are beautiful and strong and wise and they love me, I mean reeeeeeally love me, which profoundly amazes me when I stop to think about it. There is nothing these women haven’t done for me, wouldn’t do for me. It’s quite humbling. And awe-inspiring.

Goodbye and Good Riddance!

2010-01-05T20:13:00.000-08:00

I’ve never been so glad to see a year in my rearview mirror as with 2009. Ugh! With apologies to Charles Dickens, it was the best of years, it was the worst of years. Mostly the worst of years. My beloved SIL’s cancer diagnosis tops the list of suckage that was 2009, but there was (is) also the never-ending bathroom remodel, not to mention the never-fully-healing detached retina. (To be clear, the retina has reattached. But I still can’t see clearly. And it sucks! And it’s been months and months. And it sucks!) In addition, in 2009 my other beloved SIL (hi Milly!) went through a lengthy and difficult divorce, as did a dear friend. Another dear friend is still in the midst of a divorce and a third precious friend (hi Robin!) is nursing her mother through a terrible illness. In 2009, my sister-friend learned that it is only a matter of time before she must undergo a serious surgery. And then there is my much respected and adored boss, who lost her father in 2009 AND is going through a difficult divorce. I watched so many people I love go through so much stress and pain in 2009. And it sucked! Have I mentioned that 2009 pretty much sucked?

Surprisingly given the level of whining in that last paragraph, I am feeling hopeful about 2010. I just love a bright, shiny new year, don’t you? I love New Year’s Resolutions and goals and make them all the time...for New Year’s, for Chinese New Year, for the beginning of the school year, for my birthday. I have no problem making goals and resolutions. I just have trouble keeping them. But I never give up hope. And so that is my theme for 2010: HOPE. Hope that better days are going to come. No, hope that better days are HERE.

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

2009-12-25T17:17:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, y'all!

The Kid

2009-12-11T19:46:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading "The Kid" by Dan Savage, and I loved it. It's an adoption memoir--one of my favorite genres. Or would that be a sub-genre? Anyway, this one has a bit of a twist, as the adoptive parents are a gay couple and the birthmom is a "gutter punk."

I learned a lot from "The Kid". For example, I've always wondered why it's politically incorrect to say that someone "put up" a child for adoption. That's the term I had heard my whole life, and it never occured to me that it was hurtful or to wonder where it came from in the first place. Well, according to Dan Savage, it has its origins in the orphan trains, when city folk would place adoptable children on trains headed out west. At each stop, the children would be "put up" on platforms and the rural folk would come look them over to see which ones looked like they'd be good farm hands, and those were the children who were adopted. It's no wonder that term is seen as offensive.

In "The Kid," I thought Dan Savage did a wonderful job in being frank and funny and brutally honest. Read what he has to say about why open adoption is important:

"But to see Melissa's pain at the moment she gave up that baby, and to feel pain ourselves at that same moment, drove home the logic of open adoption, its absolute necessity.

"In a closed adoption, we wouldn't have witnessed the moment our son's mother gave him up. That we saw what we did, however painful, is to the ultimate benefit of the kid in the car seat. The idea of starting off as his parents without experiencing what we did was suddenly unimaginable. One day, D.J. may worry that his mother didn't love him. Because of open adoption, we'll be able to sit him down and tell him about this day; we'll be able to describe the moment Melissa gave him to us, and how hard it was for her. We won't have to guess at what it was like, or tell him that we're sure his mother loved him. We know she loved him; we saw it.

"And seeing how hard it was for Melissa to hand us her baby, and knowing that we would never have been a family if she didn't trust us with him, how could we even think of denying her the right to see her baby as he grows? Having seen what we did, how could we begrudge her visits, pictures, or phone calls? After what she had given us, how could we deny her anything?"

Adoption is ultimately based on loss, and as adoptive parents, we often forget that. Someone else's loss is our gain. And it's not just the birth families that feel loss; our children feel loss too. That's not to say I don't think adoption is a good thing--I think it's one of God's perfect miracles, like taking two wrongs (infertile couple and unwanted pregnancy) and making a right. But at the same time, I believe that it's good for us as adoptive parents to be a witness to the loss and the pain underlying our miracle, to recognize and honor it, to never forget it, to not pretend it isn't there.

Find My Family

2009-12-10T20:06:00.000-08:00

So, last week, I watched a new TV, "Find My Family," fully expecting to be outraged. I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised. I missed it this week, so my opinion is based solely on the first episode, but I thought that the show was pretty good.

In case you don't know what I'm talking about, the show reunites adult adoptees with their birth families. In the first episode, an adult adoptee knew that she had an older birth sibling. The show found not only her older brother, but also a younger sister that she did not know about. In the other storyline, an black adult adoptee who was adopted by a white family was reunited with her birth mother. Both stories were heartwarming and in my opinion, portrayed adoption in a positive light.

I think any time you put people in an emotional personal situation on TV, there is some element of exploitation, but again, I think the show took the high road. Do any one see it this week? What did you think?

Fall, Y'all

2009-11-27T12:47:00.000-08:00

Fall is my favorite time of year. That first morning that I wake up to a chill in the air, I swear I get all giddy inside. I pull out my thick warm socks and my winter robe and my chili recipe and I am in heaven, I tell you. I love the crisp, cool days and the autumn leaves and the football and the pumpkins and the Halloween costumes and Thanksgiving. Lord, do I love Thanksgiving. Doesn't it seem fitting that our country, home of the Free and the Brave and the Fortunate, would set aside a day when the whole country would give thanks for our blessings? And then follow it up with a day of greed and conspicuous consumption? Only in America!

This has been a hard year in so many ways but I have much to be thankful for. My beloved sister-in-law is in the fight of her life against cancer but is WINNING! While she has lost so much (her hair, her independence, the use of one of her legs, and much more), she is with us and planning for the future and for that we are grateful beyond belief for we cannot imagine a world without her in it. My kid is happy and healthy, my marriage has survived some difficult times and seems all the stronger for them, I am blessed beyong belief by a wise and wonderful group of friends. What more could a girl ask for?

New Look

2009-11-25T20:20:00.000-08:00

Bear with me while I play with the look of my blog. From the beginning, I wanted a cupcake to go with my "sweet" theme and Mr. Sweetie's complaint gave me an excuse to find one. I love the cupcake but am not so sure this has helped the readability of my blog. And now I've lost all my gadgets! Definitely a first world problem.

A Question

2009-11-24T20:29:00.001-08:00

Does anyone have trouble reading my blog? Mr. Sweetie was complaining that it is difficult to read, but I just suspect he is allergic to pink.

Dear Lord, Forgive Me

2009-11-24T20:24:00.000-08:00

I allowed my child to dress up for Halloween as an OSU cheerleader. (When she first said she wanted to dress up as an OSU cheerleader, I suggested the cow costume. She and Mr. Sweetie were Not Amused.) Where oh where did I go wrong? From the time she was a newborn, I have been singing her name to the tune of "Boomer Sooner." And yet, the child has rejected my beloved Alma Mater for a place where it's Halloween every day of the year.

As if this wasn't bad enough, last weekend Lil Sweetie made an obscene hand gesture (the "hook em horns" sign). Gasp! I danged near fainted but pulled it together enough to sing to her the "Don't Send My Boy to Texas" song. What more can a mother do?

Happy Anniversary!

2009-11-22T20:08:00.000-08:00

On this date in 1997, Mr. Sweetie and I stood up in a restaurant (the dearly departed Terra Luna), surrounded by a few close friends and family who thought they were there for an engagement party, and got married.

I highly recommend the surprise wedding. The only people who knew we were getting married that night were our pastor, the restaurant owner, and us. It took very little planning and effort, but it was really special. I don't think anyone there will ever forget it!

So, twelve years later and we are still going strong. I don't know exactly why we work, but I have some clues. One is that Mr. Sweetie is generally the most easy-going, laid-back person. He is easy to please, difficult to tick off, and very good at going with the flow. (How many cliches can one person work into a sentence, I ask you?) Which leads me to another reason why we work--we complement each other. He is easy-going; I am wound too tight. Which means he regularly talks me down off a ledge and I make sure that the bills get paid on time.

I have several dear friends and family members who are either newly divorced or are going through a divorce. And I know it is hard for them to get back out there. God knows it was for me. (This ain't my first rodeo. Mr. Sweetie's neither.) But one thing I learned this time around is to give the good guy a chance. I can't say that it was love at first sight for me, although it was like at first sight and respect at first sight. (Don't worry, Mr. Sweetie would tell you the same thing about me.) But I genuinely liked Mr. Sweetie and could see that he was a hell of a guy. So I gave him a chance. And I'm so glad I did! It's like Cynthia Heimel says:

"You never get anywhere until you figure out the difference between passion and compassion. Love affairs that begin in passion burn themselves out real quick, like blue stars. You gotta watch out for them, hon, they can burn you up too. But then there's the love affairs that begin in compassion, those are the ones you want to find. They just build and build into real passion and then, well, then it's like you can just drive into the sky, right up into and right past those blue stars."

Happy Birthday to Me!

2009-11-22T19:45:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 47 years old! 47!!! When did I get to be that age? And when do I start feeling like a grown-up? I keep thinking one of these days I will wake up and I will know what I'm doing. Inside, I feel like I'm about 33, or whatever age it is when you feel like you are starting to get your poop together but aren't quite there yet.

I've been thinking about 50. Only three years away! I feel like my first 25 years, I spent being too nice, being a doormat for anyone who wanted to wipe their feet on me. Then I got up off the floor and have spent the last 22 years being SuperBitch. The pendulum swung too far to the other side. I figure I've got another three years to figure out how to live in the middle. As my friend Carie says, "There is some liveable space between 'bitch' and 'bowl of jello' and I aim to find it."

National Adoption Month

2009-11-22T09:57:00.000-08:00

November is National Adoption Month. In celebration, here are my thoughts and personal experiences with some adoption myths:

Myth Number 1--Adoption takes forever if you want a newborn. My experience: We applied to the adoption agency May 17th and brought a newborn baby home June 14th. (As they say in the weight loss ads, results may not be typical.)

Myth Number 2--Adoption costs a lot of money. My experience: Our adoption cost approximately $12,200, $10,000 of which we got back as an adoption tax credit. Two hundred dollars of what we paid was for medical fees that our HMO should have covered for Lil Sweetie's newborn care in the hospital after she was born. However, our crappy HMO went bankrupt and the adoption agency asked us to pay the medical expenses even though we were not legally obligated to, so that the adoption agency would maintain a good working relationship with the hospital. So we did.

Myth Number 3--Adoption fees are unethical; it is in essence "buying a child." My experience: Adoption fees cover all kinds of expenses of the birth mother and the adoption agency. Our adoption agency helps many women who decide to parent their children. It provides support groups for birthmoms who struggle after placing a child for adoption. It serves as a go-between for semi-open adoptions like ours. It provides educational and social events where adoptive families can meet other adoptive families. It provides search services for adults who were adopted and wish to search for their birth families. I have no regrets or concerns about the adoption fees we paid...we have gotten way more than our moneys worth of services for that fee.

Myth Number 4--Adoption itself is unethical. My experience: Actually, I think there is some truth to this one. It all depends on the adoption professional you choose to use. Our local adoption agency is incredibly ethical. Pregnant women who come to them in crisis are offered options and support, regardless of whether they choose to parent their child or place the child for adoption. I love that the adoption agency continues to provide services to Lil Sweetie's birthmom seven years later. However, some adoption agencies and lawyers pressure women to place their children for adoption, and do not offer any support or services to the birthmom once she has terminated her parental rights. I would advise anyone considering adoption as either a birthparent or an adoptive parent to choose your lawer or adoption agency wisely.

Myth Number 5--Birthmoms are either young girls who got themselves in trouble, or crack whores. My experience: Birthmoms are teenagers, women in their 20's and 30's and 40's, military personnel who aren't yet ready to parent, rape victims, drug addicts, deeply religious women who have never tried drugs or alcohol, women whose families are complete. There is no typical birthmom.

Myth Number 6--The birthmom will come back and reclaim the child later. My experience: Birthmoms don't want to or aren't able to parent the child, that's why they place the child for adoption. And at least in Oklahoma, the adoption laws do not allow an adoption to be "undone" unless the birthparent can prove fraud or duress. Generally speaking, in Oklahoma, if the termination of the birthparents' rights is done correctly, the adoption cannot later be set aside.

Bathroom Redo

2009-11-21T13:33:00.000-08:00

Quite some time ago, we discovered a leak in our bathroom. The leak had been going on behind the walls for some time without our knowledge, so when we discovered the leak, we also discovered a nice little science project inside our bathroom walls. Lovely! Next thing we knew, we were looking at a complete bathroom remodel, whether we wanted one or not.

Lucky for us, a very dear friend is quite handy and offered to serve as our general contractor, which would save us buttloads of money. (That's a technical, contracting term.) However, our VDF (very dear friend) has a real job so we knew that the remodel might take a while.

Way back in August, when I was at home lying on my left side due to the bubble in my eye, a team of workers came over and destroyed our bathroom. Not that it was very nice to begin with. Here's how it looked before they started:

And here's how it looked when they were done:

And that's how it looked for the rest of August. And September. And October. There are some very good reasons, all of which we understand, and yet, we just want a nice place to shower and pee. Is that too much to ask?

Lately, work has started again. Hallelujah! Our VDF has promised us a completed bathroom by Christmas. Another very dear friend is a talented artist and has made us a custom mirror that is our "inspiration piece" for the bathroom. (Is it possible to watch a little too much HGTV?) Here it is:

Try to ignore the relection of the TV and entertainment center and just look at the pretty mirror. The photo does not do the mirror justice. Here's another pathetic attempt to capture it's beauty with my poor photography skills:

It took me forever to pick out tile but I finally did. Here it is:

The charcoal gray tile will go on the floor. The light gray will go on the shower walls. The glass tile is intended to be a decorative accent to tie the two together. I have no idea what paint color we will use. The bathroom is small and dark so I want to use something light, but you enter the bathroom through the sage green master bedroom, and I would like the rooms to complement each other but not be matchy-matchy. Any thoughts?

Help! A Monster Ate My Blog!

2009-11-21T13:01:00.000-08:00

Original artwork by Lil Sweetie.

She appears to be heavily influenced by Picasso, which is weird since she has never heard of him.

A Spider Ate My Blog!

2009-11-08T19:25:00.000-08:00

Original sculpture by Lil Sweetie

Here's Blood in Your Eye

2009-11-04T20:03:00.000-08:00

Just an update...

The doc says my continued vision problems are just due to a lot of blood in my eye. (Oh boy!) It should resolve in time.
Mr. Sweetie is home! Mr. Sweetie is home! Life is so much better when Mr. Sweetie is home.
My beloved sister-in-law is doing better. The chemo appears to be shrinking the tumor. She still has a long road ahead but things are looking hopeful.
Work is going better. I had a big win this week. A weird win, but a win nonetheless. To quote one of my favorite movies: "I love winning! It's like, better than losing."

Weird Weekend

2009-10-25T20:19:00.000-07:00

Things that probably should not have happened this weekend:

Lil Sweetie singing "I like big butts and I cannot lie, you other fellas cannot fly, when a girl walks in with a pretty good chin and farts in your face."
Dreaming about Rhinestone Abraham Lincoln. All I remember is rhinestone-covered replicas of the Lincoln Memorial, a dread "the emporer has no clothes" feeling around my friends who were very enthusiastic about this endeavor, and (with apologies to Glen Campbell) singing "Like a Rhinestone Lincoln." I still can't get that stupid song out of my head.
A drastic reduction in my vision in my right (bad) eye. It's like I'm looking underwater. I worry that I may have another tear to my retina. Fun times.

Gone Too Long

2009-10-25T20:10:00.000-07:00

Mr. Sweetie has been gone so long. Absolutely weeks and weeks. (Ok, only in Sweetie Pie time.) He is in Houston helping out his sister who is receiving cancer treatment. A noble and worthy cause, one for which I am gladly willing to sacrifice.

However, I am not cut out for single parenting. I lose patience with Lil Sweetie, there is no one to step in when I lose my cool and need a break. I don't ask for much, but just to get to go to the bathroom without being forced into cookie negotiations through the door. When Mr. Sweetie isn't around, it's the little things that fall by the wayside. The laundry is never completely done, the mail stacks up, the dogs start to stink.

I know that some people do this all day, every day. There should be a Congressional Medal of Honor for single parents. And the families of our troops, who add the worry about the safety of their loved one to their never-ending list of things to do. Other days, I am too sweaty and petty to care about anyone's pain but my own.

More Stinky and Dogboy

2009-10-20T20:33:00.000-07:00

Pet Parade

2009-10-20T20:22:00.000-07:00

This is Dogboy. He is so ugly, he’s cute. He is a great dog, the Cary Grant of dogs. He is suave and debonair and always carries a handkerchief. He hover-sits so as to not wrinkle his trousers. He is extremely low maintenance. He would rather die than potty in the house.

This is Stinky Weaselton. She is the Amy Winehouse of dogs. Don’t invite her over, she will get drunk and throw up on your rug. She pees out of spite. She was Catherine the Great in a former life and has a vastly exaggerated sense of entitlement. She demands your attention every minute. She has every bad habit a dog can have—she’s a barker, she’s a digger, she’s a chewer and a trash picker. We thought of the people we hate most in the world and put their number on her tag, but we can’t get her to run away. She’s an a-hole.

An Important Question

2009-10-20T19:59:00.000-07:00

As children, we color, cut, and paste regularly. We squeal with joy when an adult pulls out the glitter or paints. We skip, we laugh, we dance. When something moves us, we mooove. We don’t stifle the urge to laugh, to cry, to wiggle our bodies to the beat.

As adults, we say, “I’m not an artist...I’m not a dancer...I’m not an athlete.” We decide that glitter is messy and a waste of money. We take up hobbies and take lessons and practice, practice, practice, striving always to improve, turning our hobby into work. We pass by playgrounds without any temptation to swing upside down from the monkey bars. We never skip. When moved, we choke back laughter or tears. We stifle the urge to wiggle to the beat.

Why?

I Call B.S.

2009-10-20T19:56:00.000-07:00

When Lil Sweetie was a babe, people told me it was important to talk to her, that it would help her develop her language skills. So I talked to her constantly, giving her a running play-by-play of what we were doing, what I was thinking and feeling, what we were seeing, etc., etc., blah blah blah. I have now decided this theory is utter B.S. because I now have a 7-year-old who chatters constantly. CONSTANTLY. I am now treated every waking moment to a running play-by-play of what we are doing, what Lil Sweetie is thinking and feeling, what we are seeing, etc. etc. blah blah blah. Why wouldn't she think this is normal behavior? It is often very entertaining but on occasion, I could really use a few moments of peace.

Keeping Up Appearances

2009-10-14T19:34:00.000-07:00

I used to try my darndest to always look put together. I shaved my legs every day, even in the dead of winter. I didn't leave the house without my hair and makeup done. I was raised to be a Southern lady and that's what I did.

I never felt like I was particularly successful at it. I always felt like I had a run in my stockings and lipstick on my teeth. But I made the effort.

Nowadays, I have decided that it is ok for my outsides to match my insides, for my appearance to look as frazzled as my mental state. Consequently, I have been going to work with no makeup. No one seems to have noticed. But I have had a lot more time in the mornings for reading and relaxing.

I'm not sure what the lesson is here.

More Therapy

2009-10-11T14:40:00.000-07:00

Here are some more things I have been playing around with. From this first one, I learned that photos and gel medium do not mix. Next time I want to use a photo, I will make a color laser copy of it and try that.

This next one I have shown before, but I thought it was missing something. Milly was right, it need something gold and so I added a gold cross I had in my scrapbooking stash. It doesn't show up well in the photo but I think it helps provide balance.

This one is just something I was playing around with. It's not my favorite.

This one happened by accident and I like the way it turned out.

This one is a nod to that quote by Ghandi, "Be the change you wish to see in the world."

This last one is another happy accident.

I've always thought of myself as "not artistic" but now I've decided that everyone is artistic. Don't get me wrong, I have no delusions. I'm just trying to embrace the fun and play and creativity that I see Lil Sweetie use everyday. I think it's a shame that so many of us give that up as adults and I'm trying to reclaim some.

Why is Open Adoption Attractive?

2009-10-07T19:32:00.000-07:00

JemJam asked an interesting question. She says, "It seems that an open adoption would be complicated and emotionally exhausting, could you enlighten me as to why this is attractive?"

One reason why open adoption is attractive is that in US domestic adoption, the birthmoms generally get to pick the adoptive family. If the adoptive family is strongly opposed to an open adoption, they may eliminate themselves from consideration. I hate to put it that way--it's sounds so crass. But when you are desperate for a child, it seems a small price to pay to agree to send someone some photos or to meet with them on occasion.

But the most attractive thing about open adoption for me, is that I truly believe that it is what is best for my child. Lil Sweetie does not remember a time when she didn't know she was adopted. She has had a photo of her birthmom in her room since she was a baby. We have detailed medical information from her birthmom, and her birthmom has been good about calling the adoption agency and asking them to pass on additional information on occasion. As questions come up for Lil Sweetie, we have access to answers we might not have otherwise.

Contrast that to the way most adoptions were handled when I was a kid. I remember hearing horror stories of kids who did not know they were adopted until a mean older cousin told them at a family gathering, or they came across their adoption papers in snooping through their parents things looking for their Christmas or birthday gifts. Adoptive families had little or no information about the birth family, including medical information. There is even a book (Identical Strangers by Paula Bernstein and Elyse Schein) about twins who were placed for adoption with different families who were never told their child had a twin.

In addition, open adoption is better for the birthparents. Ashley doesn't have to wonder about how Lil Sweetie is doing; she gets regular updates. As I stated in my earlier post about open adoption, Ashley is somewhat of a stranger to me, but I love her fiercely. She did a very brave and beautiful and difficult thing when she placed her baby for adoption. If sending her photos and letters on occasion makes this difficult thing the tiniest bit easier, I feel like I owe her that.

But mostly it's about my kid. Lil Sweetie doesn't have to wonder about why her birthmom decided not to parent; she has a letter from her birthmom that explains it. She doesn't have to wonder whether her birthmom loved her, I can tell her how bitterly Ashley cried when she let her go. She doesn't have to wonder where she gets her lefthandedness from. She doesn't have a fantasy that her birthparents are secret royalty that will come back to claim her and place her in rightful place upon the throne; she knows who she is and where she comes from. That, to me, is what makes open adoption so attractive.

The Creepy Mom

2009-10-06T20:13:00.000-07:00

Please, please, for the love of all things holy, PLEASE do not tell me how hot you think one of the Wiggles is, how attractive you find Zac Efron. It's inappropriate and wrong and more than a little bit creepy. Besides, Corbin Bleu is the hot one.

Listening To...

2009-10-04T19:06:00.000-07:00

"I didn't know your mother
But this is what I have been told
That she cried and she cried
When she gave you up at three days old
She was from the countryside in Cambodia,
A farmer's wife with too many mouths to feed
She wanted you to see a better life

Love takes the best of you, Love takes the best of you
Love takes the best of you, Love takes the best of you

Now you don't look like me
And baby we don't look like you
But our love is so complete
It don't matter eyes are brown or blue
There are people in this world
Who won't understand this family
We'll protect you where we can
Sometimes you'll have to stand and help them see

'Cause love takes the best of you, Love takes the best of you
Love takes the best of you, Love takes the best of you

Every night when I watch you sleep
I want to watch over you forever
Keep you safe with me
And I wish I could promise you a beautiful world
That would never break your heart
Maybe that's what we are here for
We try and fix what comes apart

Love takes the best of you, Love takes the best of you
Love takes the best of you, Love takes the best of you"

~ "Love Takes the Best of You" by Catie Curtis

Open Adoption

2009-10-01T19:54:00.000-07:00

I’m a big fan of open adoption, but I will be the first to admit it ain’t easy. We have a semi-open adoption with Lil Sweetie’s birthmom, which means we send her letters and photos and gifts through the adoption agency but do not know her last name or contact information. Or that’s the way it is supposed to work, anyway. The hospital left the bracelet on Lil Sweetie when I brought her home from the hospital and so I know that she was once “Baby Girl X”. The adoption agency said that happens a lot.

I feel a little guilty about that, but you can’t unring a bell. I just try to be extra-special careful not to reveal the name of Lil Sweetie’s birthmom to anyone. Only a few very close friends even know her first name, and I think only me, Mr. Sweetie, and my mother know the last name.

We have had one meeting with Lil Sweetie’s birthmom, Ashley (not her real name). She requested it when Lil Sweetie was about 6 months old. The meeting was at the adoption agency and a social worker was there to help us along but it went fine. We ate pizza and cookies and Lil Sweetie played on the floor with her toys and looked adorable, and I took a jillion photos of her with her birthmom, and that was it. I was afraid that Ashley might cry and it would be difficult, but her reaction seemed to be more of disbelief, like she couldn’t believe that this creature had actually come out of her body. There are two things that I remember vividly from that meeting. The first I am ashamed to admit, but I was secretly pleased that Lil Sweetie seemed to prefer me over Ashley. How ridiculous is that? As if it were a competition! Ashley will always be Lil Sweetie’s birthmom and I will always be the mother who raised her. Both roles are important. I know that intellectually, but emotionally, I guess I had a fear that some instinctual bond would draw Lil Sweetie to her birthmom and leave me out in the cold. Silly!

The other thing I remember vividly is that Ashley said that Lil Sweetie looks just like Ashley’s mom. I am so curious about this woman! I would so love to see a photo of her. I would so love to know what her deal is, as she has refused to acknowledge that Ashley has a daughter she placed for adoption. But that is a whole ‘nother story, one that I am not privy to.

When Lil Sweetie was about 4 years old, Ashley requested another meeting. We agreed, and it was all set up. Mr. Sweetie and I took off work because the meeting was going to be held during business hours at the adoption agency, and we arranged to pick up Lil Sweetie early from pre-K. Because Lil Sweetie was old enough to understand more of what was going on, we let her know that we were going to see her birthmom and let her be somewhat involved with the planning. I thought it might be a little awkward, so I let Lil Sweetie pick out party supplies and cupcakes, thinking that would give us something to do. We also packed up Lil Sweetie’s scrapbook thinking Lil Sweetie could show it to Ashley and it would give them things to talk about.

Well, at the last minute, Ashley called the adoption agency and cancelled. I have to admit I was livid. On one hand, I can imagine that meeting your 4-year-old birth child would be extremely difficult and would bring up a lot of emotions. But my job is to look out for Lil Sweetie, and I was terrified that this would scar her in some way.

But Lil Sweetie handled it like a trooper. We went ahead and picked her up early and told her we wanted her to be the first to know that Ashley had had something come up at work and could not make the meeting after all. Lil Sweetie’s biggest concern (that she vocalized, anyway) was whether she was still going to get a cupcake. I think at the age she was, she didn’t understand enough to feel rejected by Ashley’s cancellation. I think she just picked up her cues from us, and we acted like we were little disappointed but ok with the cancellation and so she was too.

I do want to mention how great our adoption agency was. I spoke to the Director about my concerns over the cancellation, and in my anger, I have to admit that I mentioned that all our correspondence with Ashley was one-way, that she had never sent a card or note or anything to Lil Sweetie ever. The Director assured me that she would not allow another meeting to be scheduled without first meeting with Ashley and making certain that she felt she could go through with it. She also told Ashley that it wasn’t fair to Lil Sweetie for the openness to go only one way. One of the many things that I love about our adoption agency is that I feel they are extremely fair in advocating for both the birthmoms and the adopted children. I also think it is amazing that years after Lil Sweetie’s adoption, they are still here for us, facilitating our open adoption and offering advice when we call with adoption-related questions.

Even in light of the cancelled meeting, I still am a big fan of open adoption. I think it is healthier for Lil Sweetie that she knows her birthmom’s name and has photos of her. So far, Lil Sweetie has not wanted to write Ashley on her own, but she often tells me things to say to her or questions to ask when she knows I am writing her. She helps me pick out gifts for Ashley and often gives me a picture she has drawn or some schoolwork she wants to include in our package to Ashley. I just think it is good for Lil Sweetie that her birthmom is not some scary concept to her but rather a real person with a name and a face.

I won’t lie and say it is easy. It is odd. In some ways, I have such love for Ashley. She did a beautiful thing when she gave her child a life and a family. I know it was terribly difficult for her, and yet she did it anyway. I love her fiercely for that. I feel almost maternal towards her. On the other hand, she is very much a stranger to me. I know her favorite color and what kind of pizza she likes and I have a vague idea of what she does for a living, but that’s it. This makes gift purchases extremely challenging! I get frustrated for her when she makes bad choices in life. (We hear vague references to what is going on in her life through the adoption agency.) I want her to make good choices and have a good life, both because she did an extremely difficult and beautiful thing and I think she deserves it, and also because I want her to be someone that my child can be proud of. So it is very odd having such intense feelings for a person who is basically a stranger to you.

So, our open adoption is far from perfect. Still, the only regret we have is that our adoption is not MORE open. Most adoptive families we know feel the same way. If that doesn’t speak well for open adoption, I don’t know what would.

Play Date

2009-09-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling so verklempt lately. Yesterday I had another procedure on my eye for a tear in the retina. It was very Not Fun. So today, I had a play date. With myself. No, not that kind, you filthy monkey! I made stuff with paint and glue. I am not all that artistic, but I've decided that the process is the point, not the outcome. I had fun painting and pasting and at the end, I felt decidedly less verklempt. And that, was definitely the point.

This first one is supposed to be about Hope but the words smeared a little.

I like the effect of the smearing on the word "Fear" in this next one. I think it works. It needed something else so I added the postage stamp and now it makes me smile because I think "fear of postage" when I see it.

This next one is not about anything, but I like it. The background is sort of bright pink and tangerine and I really think the postage pops on it.

This next one is about Faith, and I cut the edge off when I took the photo. It's missing something, I think, but I haven't figured out what yet.

This last one features a horoscope I liked. I only believe the good ones. I doodled on this one a little, which is a challenge for me. I have absolutely no talent for drawing whatsoever.

I don't know what to call these. I started off trying to make Artist Trading Cards but the small size intimidated me so these are a little bigger. Altered Index Cards? I know, I'll call them therapy.

God bless Oklahoma

2009-09-20T14:22:00.000-07:00

So yesterday, I was shopping at Target. I was on the household cleaners aisle with no one else in sight. Here's what happened:

Me: ACHOO!
Random stranger on the next aisle: Bless you!
Me: Thank you!
RS: You're welcome!

I just love living in a place where random strangers will bless you for no reason other than that you happened to sneeze.

How Blue Can I Get?

2009-09-13T14:16:00.000-07:00

I love the blues. LOVE them. I love how blues singers take a bad situation and just WALLOW in it, even as they sometimes poke fun at themselves for doing so. Singing the blues just cheers me up, it really does.

"I'm gonna lay my head on some lonesome railroad line and let the 2:19 train ease my troubled mind." Now that is some wallowin', don'tcha know!

So, lately I've been singing the blues a lot. My eye is still healing which is making many of my favorite things, such as crafts and reading, rather challenging. (Also, y'all, get up right now, close one eye and try to clean your bathtub. It can't be done with one eye! I never knew so many things required good vision!) My sister-in-law's situation has not changed, and I'm just frustrated as hell about it. (I can't imagine why getting treatment for cancer takes so dang long. I mean, I know the process can be a long one, but why does just getting starting take so dang long? I'm pretty sure people have been cured of cancer in the time we've been waiting for her to start treatment.) I'm worried about my other sister-in-law, who just went through a divorce, is juggling a job and two kids and a sick sister. I'm worried about my hubby. And my father-in-law. Lil Sweetie's birthmom is going through some hard times. The bathroom remodel has completely stalled. There are mice in my garage and the dogs have fleas and I'm pretty sure locusts and frogs must be right around the corner.

Life is just hard right now. It really is. And the weird thing is that it is hard right now for so many people I know. Although I don't actually believe in astrology, I'm pretty sure the stars are out of alignment. They must be. We are just going through a gigantic cosmic shit storm.

But that blues song I quoted above?* It goes on to say: "I won't be blue always, you know the sun is gonna shine in my back door someday."

*"Trouble in Mind" if you were wondering, recorded by such greats as Johnny Cash, Nina Simone, Janis Joplin, Muddy Waters...sheesh, who hasn't recorded it?

So just let me wallow for a little while. I'll be all right. (And just to clarify, I have no actual intention of laying my head on any railroad tracks, although I do enjoy singing about it at the top of my lungs.)

Attachments

2009-08-20T19:20:00.000-07:00

Well, the doc says my retina has completely reattached. Hallelujah! I'm very disappointed that my vision is still not back to normal but the doc says that my eye is still healing and to be patient. Patience is not something that comes easy to me. I would like my vision to be back to normal NOW, please.

Today was my first day back at work. It went well. I am so blessed to have a job that I enjoy, working with bosses and coworkers I like and respect. The older I get, the more I appreciate the little things. No, that's not right. The older I get, the more I realize the little things are not little things at all.

A Feeling of Detachment

2009-08-03T13:36:00.000-07:00

I always felt like I got cheated in the grandparent department. My mother's parents both died when she was a child so I have no memory of maternal grandparents. From what I've been told, my father's father was a rascally ol' toot when my dad was a boy, but by the time I entered the picture, Granddaddy had mellowed into a fine imitation of Santa Claus. The man spoiled me rotten. But alas, he died when I was in second grade so I didn't get to have him long. Maybe on some level he knew, and that's what all the spoiling was about.

So that left Grandmother, my father's mother. Not Grandma, not MeeMaw, no it was Grandmother or nothing, and you better make sure to enunciate the "d" in the middle or she would be sure to correct you. She was not the traditional granDmother at all...no cookie-baking for her. She was tall and thin and always perfectly coiffed and dressed. She smelled of cigarettes and permanent solution (she was a hairdresser by trade, a career woman before her time).

She felt it was her personal mission in life to improve the people around her, which sounds admirable but is not much fun actually. Try writing your granDmother a letter, only to have it returned with the grammar, punctuation and spelling corrected for your betterment. Ah, fun times.

One of her quirks was that she was the self-appointed guardian of our eyesight, and she was always, ALWAYS telling us not to rub our eyes, lest we get a detached retina. Apparently one of her "patrons" as she called them, got a detached retina and it was her goal in life to prevent that fate from befalling anyone in her family.

Ok, so fast forward a bazillion years and we come to last Sunday, when I suddenly lost part of my vision in my right. Oh no, I thought, I've detached my retina! Well, low and behold if that wasn't the case. GranDmother is up in heaven tsking away and saying "I told you so" right now, I just know it.

So, I have had some horrible medieval torture devices used on me in the name of medicine and am now recuperating at home where I must rest on my left side for the next seven to ten days. Not as easy or as restful as you would think.

To top things off, my beloved SIL has a malignant tumor the size of a grapefuit and a benign tumor the size of a watermelon, both in her abdomen. She is in the hospital awaiting a battle plan. Prayers and healing thoughts are encouraged and appreciated.

Whose Story Is It?

2009-07-22T19:18:00.000-07:00

In my work, the concept of sovereignty comes up often. I like the word, and I like the concept—independence, self-governance. I often remind myself that Lil Sweetie is a sovereign being. (I borrowed that idea from an essay I read entitled “The Doing of the Toes.” It was delightful. I wish I could find it again so I could give proper credit or better yet, link to it. It was a wonderful essay. You should read it. But I digress.) Of course, being as Lil Sweetie has just turned 7, she is not completely self-governing yet. But I like to be reminded that she is her own person with her own thoughts and feelings and that I would do well as her mother to honor that in age-appropriate ways.

See, I have issues with boundaries. Due to my own issues, I never know where the boundaries are, where they should be, how to honor them. It’s a constant struggle. And one way in which I struggle with them is not knowing how much to share about Lil Sweetie’s adoption. It is my story and Mr. Sweetie’s, and certainly OUR story, meaning it belongs to all three of us to be sure. But above all, it is Lil Sweetie’s story.

And it is really important to me that she own her story, that she knows she has the right to choose with whom to share it. But I worry that I undermine that when I do such things as...um, I dunno...WRITE ON MY BLOG ABOUT IT.

In my defense, one of my purposes in writing about it is to combat the misinformation out there about adoption. Granted, we had the world’s quickest and most easy adoption. Our experience is certainly not typical, but neither are those that are featured in made-for-TV movies.

Also in my defense, I would like to say that there are aspects of Lil Sweetie’s adoption that for various reasons are too personal or too sacred to be shared beyond the closest friends and family members.

I have been thinking about this whole subject a lot recently because Mr. Sweetie was interviewed by a local media outlet for a story they were doing about adoption. I had hoped that he would talk to Lil Sweetie about it before he agreed to the interview, because at 7, I think she is getting to the age where she should have a say about how much of her story we share. Mr. Sweetie chose not to. The interview was focused more on the good and bad of the adoption process rather than Lil Sweetie’s specific story and he knew it was going to be going in, so I am ok with his decision. But still, it brought up (again!) for me the whole issue of where the boundaries should be.

So, am I dishonoring Lil Sweetie’s sovereignty and right to her own story when I blog about it? What do you think?

An Update on The Orphan

2009-07-16T19:02:00.000-07:00

Molly has a link on her blog to a petition you can sign, asking Warner Bros. to donate some of the proceeds of the movie to help orphans around the world.

Love Letter to Oklahoma

2009-07-16T18:49:00.000-07:00

Oklahoma has been very hard to love lately, what with it being one-hundred-and-freakin’-eleventy-‘leven degrees and all. But I love Oklahoma, I do. I didn’t always, but I do now.

In fact, a while back I was working on a little love letter to Oklahoma, and gosh darn if I can find it now. But Holly’s blog post reminded me of it and so I thought I would recreate it now.

Dear Oklahoma,

I love you, you know I do. You don’t always make it easy with the ice storms in the Winter and the tornadoes in the Spring and Fall and the unrelenting heat of the worst of your Summers. But oh Lordy, do you make up for all that with your skies! A girl can breathe in Oklahoma. I lived in Georgia for two years and I’m sorry, but Georgia skies are a pale imitation to Oklahoma’s, I don’t know if it’s all the humidity in the air or what. Oklahoma’s skies are the same vivid blue as her flag. And they go on forever. From anywhere in Oklahoma City, if you want to go downtown just spin in a circle until you see skyscrapers, then head toward ‘em. It’s that easy.

“Oh give me land, lots of land, with starry skies above,
Don’t fence me in,
Let me ride through the wide, open country that I love,
Don’t fence me in...”

And the sunsets! I’ve been to Hawaii twice, and Hawaiian sunsets don’t have a thing on Oklahoma’s, except for maybe the beautiful beach in the foreground. (Oh, that little thing!) If you tried to paint an Oklahoma sunset, there is just no way for it to look like anything but the worst black velvet painting, what with the blues and purples and pinks and golds and peaches and reds. Even the real thing just doesn’t look real, except that it is. You know you are an Okie when you get a phone call from someone you love saying, “Quick, run outside and look at that sunset! God is showing off today!”

Even the thunderstorms are awesome, when they are not spinning off tornadoes or pelting your roof and your car with hail. The sky turns that fearsome green and black color, looking all the world like the Wicked Witch. If the way your insides feel when you get diarrhea were a color, it would be just the same shade as an Oklahoma thunderstorm. The wind stops sweepin’ down the plain and it gets still and quiet and even the birds stop singing. Then BOOM!!! All God’s power unleashed. And the Earth puts off that thankful smell for the rain.

But the very best thing about Oklahoma is her people. Even though it ain’t easy being a flaming liberal in the buckle of the Bible belt, Okies are the very best people I know. Have you ever heard that saying, “As long as I got a biscuit, you’ve got half?” I don’t know who first said it but I’m just positive he or she was an Okie. Okies will give you the shirt right off their back, or the biscuit right off their plate, if you need it.

When the bombing happened in ’95, you couldn’t get within a block of the Red Cross for all the Okies standing in line for hours to give blood. I personally know several people who worked all day long at their regular jobs, then went down to the convention center where the out-of-state rescue workers were being housed to make sure they were being fed, rested, massaged, shaved, manicured, and basically had anything and everything they needed or desired. A former beau of mine had a concession in the convention center and stayed down there for a solid week, sleeping on a little cot when he wasn’t serving up slushies for free. He said the rescue workers had a terrible job to do and if it helped them one iota to have a free slushie, it was his honor to give it to them. My cousin and her kids baked the medical examiners tons of cookies and brownies for the same reason.

And it’s not just big disasters that bring out that kind of behavior in Okies. It’s just the way they are. I guarantee you that plenty of people in my neighborhood do not approve of the couple who fly their gay pride rainbow flag right there under the American flag in their front yard. But I also guarantee you that if my gay neighbors needed help, the entire neighborhood would set aside their tsk-tsking long enough to give them whatever help they needed plus a little extra just in case.

Okies speak to you when you pass them on the street. When a bunch of Okies get in an elevator, they don’t all face the front, they face the middle so they can have a little conversation, no matter whether or not they know each other. Okies still pull over as a sign of respect when they see a funeral procession. Not only do Okies still salute the flag, but they know every word of The Star-Spangled Banner (well, the first verse anyway) and stand up and sing along loudly and badly at the ball game, and will give you the evil eye if you don’t, too. Okies say “Yes, Ma’am” and “No, Sir”, in addition to “fixin’ to,” “y’all,” “yeehaw” and “yesireeebob”.

I have a theory about why Okies are the way they are. Native American culture is a big influence here, and just about everybody claims some Indian heritage whether they are on the rolls or not. And the pioneer spirit is also alive and kicking. Both of those cultures relied on connections and interdependence—the neighbors, the tribe. If you were homesteading and a tornado took your house, your neighbors came and helped you build a new one ‘cause if they didn’t, you were gonna die. So I think it’s in our history and our culture and our nature and our blood to look out for one another.

I saw a storyteller here in Oklahoma City probably ten years ago. I can’t remember her name or where she was from, but I remember she was headlining both the storytelling festival and the boat and tackle show. From here, she was heading off to some Scandinavian country. She told the crowd that she was going to wear her Oklahoma City hat and when people asked her about good ol’ OKC, she was gonna tell ‘em:

“The city is spacious,
The people are gracious,
And they throw one hell of a boat and tackle show.”

And that right there just about sums it up, y’all.

Questions, Straight Up, No Answers

2009-07-10T19:24:00.000-07:00

There is a new horror movie coming out soon called “The Orphan” and some members of the adoption community are up in arms about it. The story is about a couple who adopt an older child who is “not what she seems” and horror and mayhem ensue. The trailer originally included a line about how it must be difficult to love an adopted child “as much as your own” but the trailer was changed to take out the line after complaints from the adoption community. (And thank goodness! Why does that notion--that you can’t love an adopted child as much as a biological child--persist?)

But I digress...

I have mixed feelings about the whole uproar over “The Orphan”. Typically, it offends me for people to protest a movie they haven’t even seen. I’m all about thinking for yourself, people. If you want to protest a movie based on your own observations, that’s one thing. But to protest a movie because a magazine or your adoption agency or your preacher told you to…I guess I’m just the kind of person who wants to see for myself.

But on the other hand...

There is a huge problem with finding homes for older children who are available for adoption. I am not proud to admit that one of the reasons that we wanted to adopt an infant was because we did not feel equipped to raise a child with attachment disorder or other mental and emotional issues brought on by parental neglect or abuse. So our adoption choices were influenced by negative stereotypes and assumptions. I know we are not the only ones. Is it right for Warner Bros. to put out a movie that perpetuates these negative stereotypes and assumptions?

But then again, if your decision to adopt is negatively influenced by a fictional story, how motivated were you, really, in the first place?

North to Alaska

2009-07-07T16:35:00.000-07:00

So, lucky me! I just returned from a family vacation to Alaska! In addition to Mr. Sweetie and Lil Sweetie, I was accompanied by my FIL, my two SILs, my nephew and my niece. I know for some people, a vacation with the in-laws would be hell on Earth, but I am exceedingly blessed when it comes to Mr. Sweetie's family. I didn't know just how blessed until I spent seven days on a cruise ship with them! After seven days of constant togetherness, we are all still on speaking terms with one another...how's that for family harmony?!

Here is Lil Sweetie in front of our ship.

We started in Seattle.

Our first stop was Juneau, but I did not get many photos there. I wanted to focus on the experience and not on trying to snap the perfect photo, hence the no photos thing. We went on a whale watching tour and were fortunate enough to see 5 whales, including a mom and calf, and a juvenile who played around near the surface for quite a while which gave us a great opportunity to see him and listen to him breathe. So cool! We also saw bald eagles and seals.

Next stop was Skagway, where we took a train up into Canada on Canada Day. (How cool is that?!) As you can see, it was gorgeous up there!

Can't you just imagine that cool, clear air?

I really want to go back. Immediately. I mean RIGHT NOW.

We also went to a place called Liarsville, which is set up like a gold mining camp. We got to pan for gold. Alas, Mr. Sweetie and I are going to have to come up with a new plan for retirement. Lil Sweetie scored enough gold to pay for seven minutes of college.

Next, we toured Glacier Bay. The water was the most wonderful shade of milky blue, and although I tried and tried, none of my pictures did the color of the water justice. They say the milkiness is due to the silt coming off the glaciers. We spent a lot of that day just hanging around our balcony, enjoying the beautiful views. Cruising out of Glacier Bay, we saw and heard a bunch of seals, and a whale breached near our ship.

Guess where our next stop was? You'll never guess. Go ahead, try!

We just walked around and shopped. One little shopping area was called Creek Street. Guess why?

Lil Sweetie tried on hats at The House of Negotiable Affection.

I just love me some boats at harbor. Yummy!

I warned Lil Sweetie not to hug the bears in Alaska, but alas, I forgot to tell her not to let the moose hug her.

Our final stop was Victoria, British Columbia. I wish we had stayed there longer. It was a lovely town. Unfortunately, the ship sails at the appointed time with or without you, and we chose "with".

Sunset over Victoria, B.C.

We ended up back in Seattle, and had just enough time to visit Pike Place Market before heading back to Oklahoma.

It was a wonderful trip!

Conspicuous Families

2009-06-15T18:57:00.000-07:00

As I’ve discussed before, I have a prejudice of sorts about people who are not willing to adopt transracially. I’m trying to be less judgmental about it and so I try to understand by coming up with various theories about why people are not willing to adopt transracially. One my theories goes like this:

When you adopt transracially, you are “putting yourself out there” in a way that people who adopt children who look like themselves are not.

You give up a little bit of your privacy. The most casual observer sees my family—white dad, white mom, black child—and probably makes all kinds of assumptions about us. Just by looking, one would guess that Lil Sweetie is not our biological child. People sometimes incorrectly guess that Lil Sweetie is a foster child or a grand child. People may guess that Mr. Sweetie or I are infertile. People sometimes wrongly assume that Lil Sweetie was not born in the U.S.

To adopt transracially, you have to be comfortable with people looking at your family differently, being curious about your family, making assumptions about your family. You have to become comfortable with your infertility (if you are infertile) and not mind people knowing or guessing that some of your parts are broken. You have to be comfortable with strangers asking questions. Well, I guess that’s not true...you don’t have to be comfortable with it. But it’s gonna happen, so you have to be prepared.

I thought I was prepared. My standard response to nosy questions from strangers and acquaintances has been "Why do you ask?" Sometimes people say "Because we are thinking about adopting," in which case I try to answer their questions. But most of the time, people are too embarrassed to admit "Because I’m nosy" and so they sort of mumble something and scurry away.

But I wasn’t really prepared for questions from children. I remember when Lil Sweetie was just a baby, an older child at the day care/private school asked, "How come you got a black baby?" My mind raced through possible responses, none of which seemed appropriate, and then I finally blurted out, "Because some families are chocolate and some families are vanilla but my family is chocolate-vanilla swirl." It satisfied the kid and she scampered off so that has become my standard response to most questions from kids. Sometimes, though, a kid will ask something like "How come her mama couldn’t take care of her?" Those children I want to give a pinch to (at least when they ask the question in front of Lil Sweetie) but I just say that I am her mother and I take very good care of her, thank you very much, and if they have further questions about adoption, they should ask their mom or dad.

This weekend, we attended the Africa West festival here in Oklahoma City. And we got more than a few looks from people. Friendly looks, but still looks. People notice us. After seven years, we are used to it. But I can see that this is not for everybody. For people who are extremely shy or extremely private, the conspicuous aspect of transracial adoption would probably be a nightmare.

Which is a shame, because transracial adoption has enriched my life so much. It has enriched the lives of many people I know. It opens up whole new worlds, when you adopt a child of another race. It’s sort of like that moment in the Wizard of Oz when the film switches from black-and-white to color. I hate to sound like a moron but there were all kinds of things happening in the world that I knew little about, or that I knew about but didn’t take personally. Now as the mother of a black child, I follow news events affecting African-Americans more closely, I study black history more diligently. I speak up about things. I question things. I’m more curious, not only about African-American culture, but all cultures.

It amazes me how people grow when a baby of another race enters their life, even peripherally. Friends and family now notice how rare it is to find a birthday card with a black child on it, or how black Barbie doesn’t have black features, or they get irate because there is no black Disney princess. A friend who is a staunch Republican sent me a copy of President Obama’s signature because she knows how meaningful it is to us to have a black President.

So yes, the fact that we are a multi-racial family makes us conspicuous, and occasionally invites comments and questions that we would just as soon not have to deal with it. But the rewards of being Lil Sweetie’s mama are soooooo worth it.

Creative Pursuits

2009-06-07T19:47:00.000-07:00

So, my cousin S. and her hubby both turned 50 recently and I wanted to acknowledge this milestone in some way. After much thinking, I came up with an idea: A Midlife Crisis in a Box!

Here's what I came up with:

It was surprisingly easy to find a cheetah-print box. The label I added myself.

Here's what it looked like inside the box:

Here is a close-up of some of the items:

Some temporary tattoos, some magnetic earrings that can be used anywhere you can get 'em to stick, and some red hair dye. I added a sticker to the red hair dye that said, "Nothing says 'Cougar on the prowl' like dyed red hair."

Of course, there had to a motorcycle and a sports car, right? Then, I found some silly things at the dollar store...I added a label to the "pocket volcano" that said, "Because you have to explain those hot flashes some how!" The boy and girl were original "grow your own law enforcement officer" (no respect to law enforcement, but huh?) and "grow your own best friend." (So sad!) I took them out of the original packaging and turned them into "grow your own boyfriend" and "grow your own girlfriend." So much more convenient than trolling in bars or online!

A midlife crisis so often opens up a whole can of worms, which I conveniently included. I just took a little tin intended for organizing scrapbooking supplies, filled it with gummy worms and slapped on a label. The "martini seeds" label says, "Plant seeds in glass of vodka or gin. Fertilize with vermouth." Then there is the Po' Boy Brand Viagra for "when your get up and go has got up and went." It's full of green M&Ms.

My favorite part was the do-it-yourself plastic surgery kit. It's duct tape. The label on the bottom has instructions which say "For liposuction, breast reduction, tummy tuck: Wrap tape around offending body part 'til it don't stick out so far. For face lift or breast life: Hike offending body part back up where it used to be and secure with tape."

I feel kind of bad because I'm not sure my cousin liked the gift that much. But I had a great time putting it together!

The Doing of the Hair

2009-05-29T19:43:00.000-07:00

By far, the biggest challenge for this little ol’ white lady in raising a daughter of color is the hair. Oh my goodness, the hair. Such a challenge!

I know that I have spent hundreds of dollars on hair products over the years. I had no idea what I was doing and was susceptible to the advice of every black grandma I ran into. Lil Sweetie, bless her heart, didn’t have much hair for the first three or so years of her life. And what little she had was so delicate. It was like trying to comb out cotton candy, constantly twisting up on itself into little knots and then breaking off the minute I tried to comb it. I combed that baby’s hair twice a day and it still knotted up.

But I tried. God knows I tried. I greased that baby’s head every day and once a week, I would wash her hair and put a heavy duty conditioner on it, slap a shower cap on her and leave it on a good while, then rinse that out and put a leave-on conditioner in her hair. Those were some challenging times. I remember one time, she decided after I got her hair lathered up that she was DONE. Well, I couldn’t leave shampoo in her hair and I really couldn’t wash it without conditioning it so we struggled and fought through the process. When Mr. Sweetie got home later, Lil Sweetie ran to him and gave me a dirty look and said, “Mama hates the baby.” Ouch!

You need to know that hair is vitally important in the black community. If your child’s hair is a mess, you are not a good mother. Period. And I believe that goes double if you are a white lady raising a black child. In my experience, that is just the way it is.

Friends, caregivers at the daycare, all kinds of people tried to help. One friend took me to the black hair care store, and Lordy is it different from the places where I buy my hair products! You can buy hair in there in any color of the rainbow, beads, things that look like medieval torture devices. It truly is a whole different world. It’s a great place to get cute barrettes and pony tail holders, though! So cute! So cheap! So many choices!

I finally found a woman who was going to help me with Lil Sweetie’s hair. A professional. I don’t care how ridiculous it was to take my 3-year-old to the hair salon, I needed HELP, y’all. So off we went, and Lil Sweetie got braids which looked cute and worked well for a while.

And it was such an experience! I liked putting myself in a situation where I was the only person of my race in the room, because that is my daughter’s experience some of the time and it seems only fair. Sometimes I got some funny looks but for the most part, people were kind to me and my child. And just like the beauty supply place, things were different. There were red-hot instruments that made hair smoke! There was also Patrick the Chicken Man, who came in with his ice chest full of barbecue chicken wings that he would sell you to snack on while you sat under the dryer. I’ve gotten my hair done my whole life but that was my first introduction to Patrick the Chicken Man. But dang those wings were good!

So the braids worked well for a while and then Lil Sweetie’s hair started falling out all around her hair line. I think it’s called losing your edges. Miss Hair Care Person #1 said Lil Sweetie’s hair needed a break from the braids and a relaxer was the answer. I did not want to ever put a relaxer on her hair. I figured that was Lil Sweetie's decision to make, when she was old enough. But here was a professional, convincing me that this was the thing to do. So I did. And it was cute. 'Til it started breaking off.

Then, one day, a woman approached us at McDonald’s and begged me not to put another relaxer on Lil Sweetie’s hair. She (of course) was a hair care professional and gave me her card. Coincidentally, we had an appointment at the beauty shop later that evening. I was so confused! Maybe it’s silly to pray about your daughter’s hair but that’s what I did. I told God of my confusion and asked him to show me what to do.

We drove over to the beauty shop and it was dark, locked up tight. I had never before seen it empty like that. Not even Patrick the Chicken Man was there. We waited 15 minutes past our appointment time and then I said, “Thanks, God, for showing me so clearly that this is not the thing to do.” So I called the McDonald’s lady and booked an appointment with her.

Oh my goodness, I do not want to relive the horror that was the McDonald's lady's attempts at doing Lil Sweetie's hair. Suffice it say it was not a positive experience.

So, I was whining to a friend at work who happens to be black, and she handed me a business card. Glory Hallelujah! Third time is a charm! Miss Hair Care Person #3 is the best. She is sweet to my child, and Lil Sweetie's hair is longer and healthier than it has ever been. I spend close to a $100 a month on my daughter's hair and I make no apology for it. It is worth every damn penny.

Gotcha Day

2009-05-29T19:10:00.000-07:00

Ugh. I hate that phrase. Hate. It. In case you don’t know, “Gotcha Day” is a term that people in the adoption community use to describe the day that an adopted child joins his or her adopted family, and/or the day that the adoption becomes finalized. Many adoptive families observe Gotcha Day with special celebrations, such as a special meal or lighting a candle or giving small gifts.

I have no problem with the idea of “Gotcha Day.” I just don’t like the name. To me, “Gotcha Day” sounds like the kid was snatched up off a shelf somewhere. To me, it reeks of possession, of ownership, of child as chattel.

We were lucky to bring Lil Sweetie home about 36 hours after her birth, and so it never made sense to us to celebrate the day she joined our family, just two days after her birthday. Especially since the spoiled little darling’s birthday celebration tends to spill over several days anyway. However, the day that our adoption became final is a very special day.

You need to know that way before Lil Sweetie was born, Mr. Sweetie and I were married in a surprise wedding ceremony in November 1997. All during our courtship, I had been pressing for marriage and Mr. Sweetie had cold feet. But once he made up his mind, he wanted to get married RIGHT NOW. I suggested we wait a few months until Valentine’s Day (shut up) but he would not hear of it. It had to be immediately, if not sooner. Hence, the surprise wedding so that we could have our families there without a lot of planning and rigmarole.

Much to our dismay, Mr. Sweetie’s beloved, sainted mother suddenly and unexpectedly passed away December 17th, just about three weeks after our wedding. We were so grateful that we got married when we did, so that she had been there for our wedding.

Since then, December 17th has always been a hard, bitter day in our family.

Fast forward five years to December 17, 2002. We had learned the best way to handle the grief of that day was just to power through as best we could, so we were going about our usual routine. About mid-way through the day, I got a phone call at work from Kiera at the Local Adoption Agency. She told me that the judge had signed the order making our adoption final and Lil Sweetie was now and forever a permanent part of our family. Such joy! I could not wait to call Mr. Sweetie and give him something to smile about on that hard, bitter day.

So even though I don’t like the term, December 17th is our “Gotcha Day.” Sometimes we celebrate it, sometimes we don’t. But December 17th is always a day full of Memories for us.

Ten Things I Wish I had Known When I Graduated from College

2009-05-26T19:49:00.000-07:00

Here is something I wrote for another young cousin who just graduated from college:

Ten Things I Wish I Knew When I Graduated College

1. There is nothing to be scared of. The economy was bad when I graduated from college, too. And still, companies kept hiring people, I found a job, and look at me now, all these years later, I’m a mid-level bureaucrat! But the important thing is that I’m employed and happy, even after starting off in a bad economy. You’ll be just fine too.

2. You get do-overs in life. If you get out there and decide that you hate the choices you have made, you can always choose differently—different career, different degree, different apartment, different city...

3. Nobody knows what they are doing. When I was your age, I kept waiting until I knew all those things I thought grown-ups were supposed to know, like how much car insurance you really need and how to negotiate a better rate on your credit card. I finally figured out nobody knows what they are doing and we all just sort of make it up as we go along and somehow it works out ok.

4. Nobody knows what they want to be when they grow up. Many people change careers several times during their working lives and the world does not come to an end. It’s true.

5. Writing things down seems to make them happen. I don’t know why this works but I swear to you it does, and I’m not usually a believer in New Age woo-woo stuff. I just know that when I have written down what I wanted my life to look like, darned if I don’t go back a few years later and re-read it and realize that my life looks exactly like what I wrote down. (Note to self: Write down what life looks like after winning the lottery.)

6. Good credit is a wonderful thing to have. Boring, but true. Pay your bills on time, don’t get behind, don’t bite off more than you can chew. When you have good credit and a crisis comes along, you can get a loan for the things you need, if it’s the kind of crisis that can be solved (or at least made better) through the purchase of goods and/or services. Life is just easier when you have a good credit score.

7. Don’t worry about what other people think. Usually, other people are too worried about what everyone thinks about them to figure out what they think about you. The people who matter will love you and the people who don’t love you, don’t matter. I swear this is true.

8. Say yes. Your dream job opens up but you are afraid you won’t even get an interview? Apply anyway. You are dying to take an art class/horseback riding lessons/a scuba diving course but are afraid you will look ridiculous? Sign up anyway. Want to vacation in Paris but don’t speak a word of French? Book the vacation anyway! Except in regards to dubious sexual partners, criminal activity, pyramid schemes, and illicit drugs, people rarely regret saying “yes” to things.

9. Baby steps. Many things in life are frightening when you look at the big picture. So break it down into baby steps. For me, law school was scary so I didn’t even think about it, I just took the LSAT. Then I applied to law schools and looked into financial aid. Then I enrolled. Baby step by baby step, I graduated from law school and passed the bar. I speak from experience when I say the baby step method can also be used to find the love of your life, purchase a home, and adopt a child.

10. Don’t forget who you are. You are a smart, talented, beautiful young woman with unique gifts to share with the world. And no matter what happens in life, you have friends and family who love and adore you.

Ten Things I Wish I had Known When I Started College

2009-05-26T19:43:00.000-07:00

This is something I wrote for a young cousin of mine who just graduated from high school:

Ten Things I Wish I Knew When I Started College

1. The Trilogy of Education. There are three main things to do at college: study, sleep, and party. But there is time to do only two of these three things in a day. Some kids choose to sleep and study. They are boring and have no fun. Some kids choose to sleep and party. They are called “drop outs.” Some kids party and study, which leads to crankiness and dependence on caffeine. For a successful college experience, study and sleep during the week, then sleep and party on the weekend.

2. Don’t be a stranger with your professors. Go by during office hours and ask a question now and then. Eventually you will need a reference for a scholarship or job, and a professor will be far more willing to write you one if they know who you are! I have also known professors to allow a student who was one or two points away from an “A” or a “B” to do some extra credit to make up the point and get the higher grade.

3. There is no reason to feel lonely when you live in a dorm. Pop some popcorn in the microwave and hang out. Soon, someone will be asking, “Can I have some of that?” The smell of popcorn is hard to resist.

4. Don’t drink trashcan punch at a party. There is no telling what is in it. Seriously.

5. Nobody knows what they want to be when they grow up. It’s ok if you don’t either. Try out a major and if it doesn’t work out, change your major to something else. Changing your major is not the life crisis some people make it out to be.

6. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. There are all kinds of resources at college. If you are not doing well in a class, ask your professor or your advisor what to do. If you are sick or depressed, go to the student clinic. Take advantage of the resources available to you.

7. Baby steps. Some things are overwhelming if you look at the big picture, so break it down into baby steps. Don’t freak out over having to do a term paper. Just pick a topic. Then do your research. Write a first draft. Edit your draft. Turn it in. Done! See? Baby steps!

8. College is easy. Go to class and pay attention. Do the reading and the assignments. That’s it. If you do these things, it is almost impossible to flunk out.

9. Don’t forget why you are there. College is “adulthood light,” adulthood with a safety net. Everyone is hoping you will succeed but everyone is ready to help you if you take a misstep here or there. Practice being a grown-up, then act like a kid again. Repeat.

10. Don’t forget who you are. You are a smart, beautiful, talented girl. You have great things to offer the world. You can achieve just about anything you set your mind to. Most of all, you have friends and family who love and adore you.

Again, With the Book

2009-05-16T20:44:00.000-07:00

George Corrigan would wake his young daughter with "Lovey, let's get to it! It's gonna be a great day!" Mr. Sweetie wakes up Lil Sweetie every morning with "Wake up! Something GOOD is going to happen today!"

Good daddying just makes me go weak in the knees. How 'bout you?

How Lucky Am I?

2009-05-12T19:31:00.000-07:00

This is Kelly Corrigan writing about her dad in her memoir, "The Middle Place," but it just as easily could be written about Mr. Sweetie:

I think people like him because his default setting is open delight. He's prepared to be wowed--by your humor, your smarts, your white smile, even your handshake--guaranteed, something you do is going to thrill him. Something is going to make him shake his head afterward, in disbelief, and say to me, "Lovey, what a guy!" or "Lovey, isn't she terrific?" People walk away from him feeling like they're on their game, even if they suspect that he put them there.

That is Mr. Sweetie to a T. Mr. Sweetie has much the same personality as my dear departed golden retriever. He bounds into a room, full of enthusiasm, with a big smile on his face. If he had a tail it would constantly be wagging. When you call Mr. Sweetie on the phone, he answers as though you were the one person in all the world he was hoping to talk to, as though there is no one else in the world he wanted to hear from but you.

When we visit with friends, he invariably walks away saying, "Now they are good people,"--"good people" being his highest form of compliment.

Don't get me wrong, Mr. Sweetie has his faults, and I could list them, every one. But I won't.

Remember the Barren and the Birthmoms

2009-05-06T19:43:00.000-07:00

As we celebrate mothers, motherhood, and all things MOMMY this Sunday, please remember those struggling with infertility. I have spent the Mother’s Day church service sobbing in the bathroom after the pastor had all the mommies stand and be recognized. I know I am not the only one.

And don’t forget the birthmoms. They are judged so harshly, so unfairly. How many times have I heard someone say, “How could anyone ‘give away’ a child?” And I say to them, only the very best mothers can. Motherhood is the ultimate sacrifice. At its core, motherhood is nothing more than agreeing to put another’s needs ahead of your own, putting yourself through heartache and pain if it is necessary for the health and happiness of your child. If one truly believes that they do not have the resources necessary to raise a child, that their child is truly better off being raised by someone else, how can a good mother NOT “give away” her child? That type of sacrifice is the very essence of motherhood.

And don’t think that birthmoms do not grieve for the children they have placed for adoption. The birthmom I love and others I have met grieve daily, even as they know that they made the right choice for their children.

Remember the Barren and the Birthmommies. On Mother's Day and always.

*******************************************************
A note about language:

In this post I have used language that some may find inappropriate. Please note that many in the adoption community do not approve of the term “give away” and prefer “place for adoption” or “make an adoption plan.”

Also, as an infertile woman myself, I like the word “barren.” It’s old-fashioned and quaint and makes me think of my uterus as a type of desert, which I think can be quite beautiful in its stark emptiness. I also feel like it links me to all those barren sisters in the Bible. Gosh, God do love a barren gal, don’t he?

However, if my choice of terminology has offended, I deeply apologize.

Thoughts on a Recent Read

2009-05-03T20:15:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading this book, “Happens Every Day” by Isabel Gillies. It was so good, although I can’t tell you why. I mean, I could if I knew but I just can’t figure it out.

I love reading memoirs, although they make me feel somewhat guilty. So many times I feel voyeuristic, as though I am seeking entertainment through the emotional pain of others. Perhaps that is because I am! Aren’t I?

“Happens Every Day” is a woman’s account of her first marriage falling apart. It was a very quick, easy read. Maybe because I have lived that story myself. I could relate so much to the author’s story...her suspicions regarding her husband’s relationship with another woman at his work, her disbelief that her marriage was falling apart, her conviction that if she could just find the right thing to say or do, she could reverse the path they were on and save her marriage. Been there, done that, got the emotional scars to prove it.

I just can’t decide if it’s fair or foul to write about such a thing. The author uses pseudonyms for her husband and the woman who became his next wife, but still, I’m sure they are pretty identifiable to family, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, neighbors, etc. I thought the author did an admirable job of treating her ex pretty fairly. She does not portray him as a monster, nor does she treat herself as much of a victim. I’m not sure how she pulled that off, actually! Still, I’m not sure I could do it, or would want to. Although my first marriage ended many years ago, I’m not sure I would want to knock myself out to portray my first husband in a positive light. He broke our vows and he broke my heart and I feel no obligation to sugar coat it. On the other hand, his “crime” was being a mediocre husband. That doesn’t really call for a public flogging, does it?

I just can't help but question the author's motives for publishing this book. Why put this intimate personal information out there for public consumption? On one hand, it's a little appalling, but on the other...gosh, I love the idea of revenge by publication! I think I will start threatening that, when people won't bend to my will. My battle cry will be, "This is going in my memoirs and then you'll be sorry!"

Adoption Prejudices

2009-04-28T13:39:00.000-07:00

I used to be very judgmental about people who would not adopt a black child. I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around it. But then I realized that I have prejudices too, just different ones. I am ashamed of this but we said we would not accept a child with severe non-correctable medical issues or who had been exposed to a lot of drugs during the pregnancy.

At one adoption workshop that Lil Sweetie and I attended as part of the adoptive parents panel, another couple was there with their baby who had been exposed to drugs and alcohol during the pregnancy. Afterwards, they came up to me and told me how brave they thought I was for adopting a black child. I told them I thought they were the brave ones—that we had not been willing to accept a child that was drug-exposed. They were shocked and defensive and more than a little offended, I think.

Now I think that God puts those fears or prejudices in our hearts to get the right babies to the right people. I was meant to be Lil Sweetie’s mom and those other people were meant to parent their little man. If I had been willing to adopt a drug-exposed infant and they had been willing to adopt a black child, things might not have worked out the way that they did, the way that they were meant to.

I also think that if you don’t think you can parent a black child, then you have no business trying. As much as it upsets me, I now thank God that people are willing to be honest about what they are willing to take on in an adopted child. As a friend who is also an adoptive parent told me, a sense of obligation is a poor substitute for love.

Am I making excuses, explaining away my own and other’s bad behavior? Probably. These are things I am still working through.

How I Became a Mom - Part 7

2009-04-24T14:17:00.000-07:00

The baby I drove home that day was our dear Lil Sweetie. She came home in a borrowed car seat because we had no time to buy our own. She came home with no crib to sleep in and only two pieces of clothing to her name. Within hours, my cousin had come over with the cradle her children had used, a dear family friend brought over a huge sack of infant clothes that his daughter had outgrown...love and support and other necessities just flowed to us. We no sooner realized we needed something than friends or family was knocking on the door to deliver it. My in-laws drove 4 hours round-trip to bring a crib and high chair and presents and hugs. I have a friend who says “People are just no damn good.” Well, I’m here to tell you he is WRONG.

Mr. Sweetie was still on his business trip in North Carolina and would not be home for another three days, so my mom moved in to help with the baby. My dad built Lil Sweetie a website so that Mr. Sweetie could see his daughter from halfway across the country.

I won’t lie, the first few days were ROUGH! I was overwhelmed. And I had no idea what I was doing. The first diaper I ever changed was Lil Sweetie’s that first night I first met her in the hospital! Plus, Lil Sweetie seemed to have her days and nights confused. She would cry and cry all night long, then want to sleep all day. Don’t get me wrong, I was deliriously happy, but I was also tired, stressed, and overwhelmed.

I have heard some adoptive parents say that they didn’t bond with their child right away, but from the day I brought Lil Sweetie home, I adored her. I thought she was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. I could not believe that she was mine. And actually, she wasn’t. Her birthmom, Ashley, would not terminate her parental rights for another three weeks. And the birthdad’s rights were not terminated until months later. We had to sign papers stating that if the birth parents changed their mind before terminating their rights, we would return Lil Sweetie to the adoption agency within 24 hours. I told Mr. Sweetie that I would sign their little paper but I was NOT giving Lil Sweetie back. He gulped and imagined Lil Sweetie and I in Mexico; himself sitting in a jail cell. If it had really happened, I’m sure I would have done the right thing but I am just as certain that it would have killed me.

Mr. Sweetie came home 3 days after Lil Sweetie did. It is a powerful thing to get to just sit back and watch your honey meet his child for the first time. Lil Sweetie seemed to bond with him immediately and liked sleeping on his chest much better than anywhere else in the world. He is awful cuddly!

The same day that Mr. Sweetie came home, I had this amazing conversation with my boss:

Mr. J: Hello?
Sweetie Pie: Um, Mr. J? You know how I am supposed to come back to work tomorrow? Um, yeah, I would like to talk to you about that because...um, well, you know, we’ve been trying to adopt and um, well, we have a baby and um...
Mr. J: WHAT?! Oh my goodness! I’m so excited for you! Is it a boy or a girl? How old? Height? Weight? Are you excited? What do you need? Tell me the whole story! Start at the beginning!...
[30 minutes later]
Mr. J: So, I guess you will want some time off. Let’s talk about the work on your desk and how we will handle it...

HOW LUCKY AM I? To this day, I get misty-eyed thinking about how great Mr. J was about the whole thing. I ended up taking the equivalent of 12 weeks of leave, but I worked 1 day a week while Mr. Sweetie stayed home with the baby. (His boss was also great...his employer was not even subject to the FMLA and they still gave him 1 day off a week for something like 15 weeks!) And this arrangement was so great for us in other ways. I loved having that intellectual stimulation of going to work 1 day a week and talking about big people things and getting to eat lunch while it was still hot and getting to go to the bathroom without holding someone on my lap. Also, I can be a little, shall we say, UPTIGHT. I really had to learn to let loose and let Mr. Sweetie do things his way on his day home with the baby. I figured if I got home and everyone was still alive and well, things hadn’t been done “wrong” even if they had not been done the way I would do them. Ahh, that was an important life lesson right there.

So that’s basically the story of how I became a mom. We still had some hoops to jump through—visits with the adoption agency, still more paperwork, etc. But on December 17th, our adoption became final and we were finally and forever a family.