Transracial, not Triracial

A few days after that life-shifting mass, I started looking at adoption agencies. I don't really remember whether or not I told my husband I was doing this. I do remember looking up Catholic Social Services, thinking it was a logical place to start. I remember calling my husband into the computer room (aka the dog's room - poor dog, used to have a room of his own, now he barely has a corner of a room). I showed him the website and said, "this is what we need to do". He agreed to discuss any information I may get, but I feel like it was more about placating me so I wouldn't cry again rather than agreeing adoption was the path we were meant to head down.

We went in to meet with them within the next couple of weeks as I became even more certain about adoption. Poor hubby just went along for the ride, still believing with his whole being that we were going to get pregnant. The social workers told us that they weren't going to have another class for almost a year; I was devastated, but something in my head kept reminding me that it would be okay. A couple of weeks later, the social workers called back and asked if we would be interested in transracial adoption. They would be offering a class for families interested in it in the next couple of months.

Transracial adoption is not, as one of my very intelligent social worker friends thought, an adoption involving at least 3 different races (really, KB, you should have known! Thanks for letting me laugh at you though!). Well, I mean, I suppose it could involve 3 races, but what it actually means is adopting a child of a different race. We weren't sure at first how we felt about this. Mostly we were concerned about how hubby's family would react. His grandfather, though he was deceased, had been known to use "the 'N' word"; it's a good guess that he wasn't the only one.

I think hubby was the first to say it, "I just want to be a parent". It was a huge turning point for him, and I guess for both of us. We would educate ourselves about the challenges with which transracial adoption might present us and our child. We would prepare our families (eventually). But mostly we would open our hearts to joyfully welcome whatever child was meant to be ours.

Okay, so today's lesson has absolutely nothing to do with all that stuff. It has to do with the new addition to our family, a goldfish named Georgie. And actually, the lesson is really for goldfish, not so much people. So, here it is. If you're a goldfish, try not to be so unlucky as to end up living at a county fair/carnival. You will probably be won by a 4yo boy who will poke at you, put random things in your bowl, and frequently tap on your tiny glass bowl. Please do not blame said boy's parents as they do their best to keep him away from you, but seriously, he's like Houdini when he wants something. On the bright side, he does seem to adore you...so maybe it's not such a bad life? I mean, it'll probably be a short one, but you'll be loved.