Germs

In a familiar turn of events, a member of my household is sick. This has been the winter of germs. Cold, after cold, after cold. Two episodes of Scarlet Fever. Yes, that happened twice. Asthma off and on and off and on. Teething. Sweetbabyjesus the teething. A sick husband (which, of course, is tantamount to the end of the world). And now a stomach bug. I am so very over the sickies. I mean, D.O.N.E. Done.

I hereby proclaim that sickness is no longer welcome and/or allowed here. There will be no more missed school and/or work days in this family this year. There will be no more sick visits to the doctor. There will be no more cold medicine bought. There will be no more antibiotics taken. There will be no more vomit-covered laundry. There will be no more nights interrupted every 45 minutes by a vomiting, or coughing, or screaming, or refusing to sleep, or whothehellknowswhyhewon'tsleep child.

Please note that we are now a sick-free zone. Please, fortheloveofallthingsholy keep your sickness to yourself. Momma can't handle any more sick boys. For real.


Today's Lesson: Germs love my family. And I, clearly, have no idea who to keep them at bay.

Bust a Move

I was at home, my day off (every Monday), just me and baby E. We were listening to music, dancing around the kitchen. He was begging me to hold him and dance. I was trying to get him to dance on his own. He used to, but lately wants me to hold him instead. Most of the time I love it. But sometimes, well, he's getting kind of heavy. And, really, he kinda cramps my groove style.

For a second I had one of those moments when you can see yourself from outside of yourself. You know what I mean? I realized, in that brief moment, I totally dance like my mom. As in, I could see her dancing around the kitchen with us (my brother and me), when we were really little. One of those random flashes that you're fairly certain is actually a memory, but there's enough cloudiness that you're not absolutely sure. And then I saw myself, and realized I move just like her. It's funny, particularly since I don't remember the last time I saw her dance at all. You know, we just haven't been in dance-worthy or dance-appropriate situations.

At any rate, we're grooving around, me and my baby E. He is finally busting out his own moves. And they look like neither mine or my mama's. "Hey E, do you have moves like Jagger?" "No, momma, no moves like boogers. Baby E move like Kid!" Cue momma, laughing hysterically. Cue baby E grinning from ear to ear. Cue him really groovin'.

Those boys both have moves. And I gotta say, I hope they got them from their birth parents. 'Cause the ones they could get from me are not so impressive. And we'll not even talk about their Poppa's.


Today's Lesson: There comes a moment when your children realize that you are no longer cool. I don't know when that moment will come, but I am so grateful that it hasn't hit yet.

Introspection

Lately I've been thinking a lot about who I was pre-children versus who I am now. One of the things I've focused on is my professional self.

Before the kid came along, (as I've mentioned before) I worked for our state's child protective services and a home visitation program for first time parents for a total of about 6 years. Somewhat regularly I was asked if I had kids. I typically responded that I didn't, but that I did have lots of education and experience (along the lines of men don't have babies, but they can still be OB's). No one ever pushed me on it. I fully believed that whether or not I had children made no difference in how I did my job, or in my competency. And in a way it didn't.

But, I realize now that in other ways it did.

I never understood how someone could shake his/her baby, until I was standing on that precipice myself. Intellectually, I knew that people got frustrated, but to actually feel intense anger for this tiny, innocent baby who I loved, well, that rocked me. That moment forever changed me, personally and professionally. And, to be honest, there have been many of those moments over the last 7 years. So many.

While those moments specifically don't make me a better social worker, they do affect the way I view the parents with whom I am working. I find myself being both more empathetic at times, and less tolerant at others.

What I think I've come to is this - it's not that I am necessarily better at my job now that I am parenting. It's that I am different in the way I approach my job (and by "job", I mean being a social worker in general). Fortunately, I am a much better social worker than I was 13yrs ago, fresh out of school. I attribute that to experience and time. Some of that experience I have gotten from other children/parents/families. A lot of it, though, I have gotten from my own children/parenting/family.

I think we don't have to have done something ourselves to understand how to do it. But, the doing of it, well, that changes our perspectives. It, I suppose, makes things more personal. And that can either hinder or help, depending on the situation.


Today's Lesson: Apparently feeling disconnected from the rest of your life can leave you with lots of time for introspection. Whether or not that is a good thing, well, that I have yet to determine.

Love in Suits

Just after I posted about feeling disconnected (I mean, literally, less than an hour later), all 3 of my boys surprised me at work. They were dressed up (button up shirts, khakis, hubby in a suit) with roses for me. It was slow at that time so we walked around and just chatted. It was nice.

 

 

I am blessed.

 

 

Today's Lesson: My children are in dire need of dress shoes. Or I need to show their father where they are. One of those two.

Disconnected

Lately I've been feeling disconnected, really, from just about everything. And - fortunately - not disconnected in the whole "I hate my life/self/work/family/etc.../I'm depressed" kind of way. I'm not really sure how to describe it. But I know it's related to why I haven't been blogging much over the last couple of months.

It's an interesting place to sit.

I feel disconnected from the blog-o-sphere. I've been reading blogs, and trying to comment some, but not feeling like I have words *I* need to share here in this space. I want to offer you all support, but I'm not feeling like I have the words to do so (either here, or via commenting on your blogs). So, please don't be offended. Really, it's me not you ;)

I feel disconnected from work. I'm coming to work, doing my job as expected. But I don't feel the passion right now. Heck, I don't even feel the compassion like I typically do. At the same time, I also seem to be able to deal with those patients I generally find especially frustrating, without that normal irritation. And I don't take the worry home with me as can happen sometimes. I'm able to know I've done what I can do, and then let it go.

I feel disconnected from my friends. For a variety of reasons (work, family, general chaos), I haven't spent much time with them in months. And it's left me feeling awkward when we are together, not quite knowing what to say. Me. Not knowing what to say. It's weird.

I feel disconnected from my husband. I don't remember the last time we had a real heart-to-heart conversation. This, too, has happened for a multitude of reasons, my crazy work schedule certainly being one of them. There's also this awkwardness in the stage we're in. So focused on parenting, but struggling to do it the same way, since we're so disconnected in our own relationship.

I even feel disconnected from my children. While I recognize this isn't good overall, at the same time it's afforded me some space to try to parent in a different way. Honestly, a way I much prefer. A way I think is much healthier for me and especially my children.

This bit of a distance that's come about (I don't know how) seems to be allowing me to be more patient (with all three of my "boys"). It's seems to be helping me to not get so easily frustrated. To not yell as quickly. To, perhaps, be more patient. It's seems to be allowing me to not take their behaviors that I find annoying, for what they are - their behaviors, not something done intentionally to irritate me. Behaviors that are done instead with the intention of getting some kind of need of their own met. And this distance is allowing me to ferret out what those needs are, instead of focusing on my own reaction and frustration.

So here I am. Disconnected. Not sure how I feel about it. Very sad in some ways. And yet healthier in others.

It's an interesting place to sit.


Today's Lesson: Change, short term or long term, is always a double edged sword.

I'll Make it Up to You

I've been a horrible blogger of late. Sorry about that, y'all. I'm going to try to do better. But, until I get myself together, I just had to share this blog with you. Because I love it. It says something that I agree with wholeheartedly. So, here ya go...

I Became a Mother, and Died to Live @ Renegade Mothering

Read it, mull it over, then read it again. Hope it speaks to you as well.


Today's Lesson: Carefully consider the names you give your offspring. Some names just seem to predetermine the life's path of a child. And not in a good way. And how I wish I could give you examples. But, suffice to say, "Methe" is not a good name for a girl. Or a boy, come to think of it.

7 Years

Every year for the last 7 years we've celebrated the Superbowl with the same group of people - our camping friends. We get together, eat good camping food, plan this year's camping trips, and then we leave to put our kids to bed. Well, I mean, I'm sure some people actually stay and watch the game, but I could care less. Yes, even about the commercials. Plus, we really do have to get the kids to bed.

I've told you the last few years why the Superbowl is important to us - it's the day we first met the kid's birth parents, the day we learned that after so many years, we were finally going to be parents. But it was at this same party that we got to finally say out loud what we'd wanted to say for so long. So, the fact that we're still celebrating this day with many of the same people, well, it makes it even more special for me.

Happy Superbowl, bloggy friends. While you're eating good food, watching (hopefully) hilarious commercials, and some (I don't know an appropriate descriptor) football, raise a glass (or a chip) to the kid and his birth family. That's what we'll be doing.

Today's Lesson: Even us non-football people can find something celebratory about the Superbowl.

Filing

This weekend I got myself a new filing cabinet. Exciting, I know. I've been wanting one for several years. I have a little one, but it was too full to hold anything else. I wanted a bigger one so I could really get some stuff organized. So, last night I got busy organizing, shredding, tossing.

I do love a good organizational purge. I went through everything in the little cabinet, everything that's been piling up around it, everything that's been piled, shoved, tossed elsewhere in my house. It was good. And interesting.

Though I know I've been through those piles in the last 10 years, somehow I found things that should have been purged years ago. I found bank statements with the checks hubby wrote for our wedding (for the quartet, for the photographer, for the priest). I found a file hubby's mother had written all over, planning how they were going to pay for his college. I found records from the urologist hubby visited just before being diagnosed with a tumor in his spinal column a few months after we were married.

And then I found, most unexpected of all, records from our infertilitytesting and  treatments. The insurance forms from the early tests. The slips from the pharmacy for the evil Clomid that made me so crazy. The bills from the later tests and IUI. All of them useless.

I've been wondering why I still have them. Did I save them for some reason? Did I want to remind myself of it all? Perhaps I thought that once we finally got pregnant (ha - the naivete!) they would help me remember our journey and how worth it all the treatments were.

Maybe.

However, as I've thought about it, I think what actually happened was I shoved them in the back of the drawer because I simply couldn't bare to deal with them. They were such a glaring and tangible reminder of my failure to do the one thing I most wanted. To pull them out, even if only to throw them away, was too much of a reminder. To touch them, even if to shred them, was akin to opening the floodgates on all those memories, and hurts. The ones I had no desire to unleash again.

And so, imagine my surprise to discover first that they were there, because I had thoroughly and completely forgotten them. But second, to find that letting them go, shredding them, left me feeling nothing. No hurt. No sadness. No relief or healing either. Just nothing.

And that, I suppose, is proof that I've come further than I sometimes think I have. I didn't need to destroy those records to feel closure about the inevitability of ever becoming pregnant. Somewhere along the way, I've already found some. By no means am I "over" infertility. But the sharp, ever present pain, it's gone. And, for that, I am thankful.


Today's Lesson: Organizing can be good for the soul.

The best thing...

...I ever read in a patient's medical record

A lizard was present at the patient's resuscitation. Blurry squirrels will emergently take patient to the OR.

I have no idea what the doctor meant to write in his note. I'm quite certain it wasn't this. But, if it was, I love him.

Pretty sure, though, that what actually happened is he dictated it and then didn't go back, read and correct it. I kept waiting all day for him to do that, and then change it. And I'm quite happy that, as I leave tonight, it still reads as above. Because, I mean really, who wouldn't want that in his/her medical record?!


Today's Lesson: Sometimes you find the most unexpected things in the most expected places. Like a lizard, or blurry squirrels, in the emergency department. Or at least a good laugh in a medical chart.

An Exercise in Adulthood

I have a confession. Neither hubby nor I have written a will. I know, I KNOW! It's awful. It's irresponsible. It's not okay. And yet, we're stuck. I mean, the material things (the house, the bank accounts, the life insurance policies), those are no big deal. It's the whole who gets kids thing that has stumped us. Like for 7 years now. Seriously. I know.

I mean, besides the whole "who wants to think about this?!" issue, how do you make that decision? How??!!! (No, really, pleasefortheloveofbabyjesus tell me!) How do you decide who will raise your children if you are not there to do it? I don't know. Hence why it hasn't happened.

I'm sure for some people the answer is obvious. But it's not for us.

Ideally, we want a 2 parent home - because we know how hard it is to parent two children when there are two parents. Trying to do it with just one, sheesh. My mom raised my brother and I on her own. She did (says her admittedly biased daughter) a great job. But I saw how hard it was. Additionally, when thinking about all the challenges and heartaches our children would have to go through (and will present to their new parents) in grieving the parents and family they've known their whole lives, well, it seems like having a partner to share that is better.

We want someone who lives locally, because most of our family are local (including the boys' birth families) and it's so important for those relationships to be maintained and even strengthened. We want someone who has a diverse community. We want someone who is in a place to parent two additional (busy) children. We want someone with similar values and beliefs as us. We want someone who loves them.

Also, I think adoption adds something for us to consider. And this has been a sticking point. Maintaining contact with the boys' birth families is absolutely important. An unwillingness to do so, or simply not regarding it as important, is a complete dealbreaker. We need, the boys need, someone who understands the importance of their relationships with their birth families. Someone who will make the effort to initiate contact when the boys' birth families have been silent. Someone who will respect their birth families, and the role they have in the boys' lives. Someone who will love, not just our boys, but their birth families as well.

How do you decide who will parent your children when you cannot? As we've talked about this and thought about this time and again, I've come to wonder if birth parents may be uniquely qualified to make this kind of decision. It's one they've made before. And It gives me a tiny insight into the difficulty of the decision they had to make.

We still don't know who to choose. It's an ongoing conversation. One we KNOW we need to make. And soon. It's part of being a parent. It's part of being an adult. And it's hard. Sure, we could just throw something out there, just to have something on paper, living under the belief that it will never be needed. And, of course, the likelihood is that it won't ever be needed.

But I also know that there's a possibility it will be needed. And, if it is, my children deserve to know that we made a well thought out decision. That we did our best to assure they were loved and taken care of in our absence.

Not that that makes it any easier. It's hard. Being an adult is hard.


Today's Lesson: Sometimes we (aka me) all need to put on our big girl (aka adult) pants and write the damn will already (or maybe that's just me).

The Cubicle Chronicles: Chapter Six

Read previous chapters of The Cubicle Chronicles here, here, here, here, and here. It's been a long time since I last posted one of these. I'm no longer at the work location where the majority of the, uh, conversations were overheard. Thus, this may be the last. So, for now, I give you perhaps the final The Cubicle Chronicles...

Lady:Yeah, we had secret service in here the other night. Man: Why? Lady: Because some dumbass threatened to kill President Obama. Man: What?! Seriously?! (hahahaha) Lady: I mean, do you know how often people say they're going to kill the president? I don't like him, I didn't vote for him last time and I won't this time. But I'd vote for him over some woman. Because the last thing we need is some bleeding heart as a president. Now, you get some woman like me in there, well that'd be perfect. I'd blow them bastards right up. I like blowin' shit up, y'all. Yeah, I'd make a good president all right. (um, wtf. and, if I hadn't been working for 15 hours at that point, I'd have had to interject. Seriously, so much to respond to.)

Lady 1: Girl, I think she's COD. I mean all she does is clean. Lady 2: You mean DOC. L1: What? L2: You know "Disorder of the Cleaners", where all they like to do is clean. L1: Yeah, that. I mean, she is obsessive about it. (Sigh. If they were trying to be funny, well, it would be funny. But they weren't. I should be grateful they got the letters correct, right? No? I didn't think so either.)

And then, I walked in to the bathroom. You know, one where there are multiple stalls. In this case only 2 of them, but they both have doors. You know, that LOCK. Well, not only was the stall door not locked, it also wasn't closed. At all. It was wiiiiiiiide open. And, not only was she, uh, doing her business (yes, with the stall door all the freaking way open), also she was discussing her business as loudly as ever. Me = traumatized.

Lady1: Did you vote today? Lady 2: Uh, no. L1: Why not? L2: Girl, I don't have time for that. I got way more important things to do! L1: Like what? I mean you had all day, like 12 hours. L2: Girl, I got a wedding to plan and it is coming up soon!!!! L1: Oh yeah? When is it? L2: It's only 9 months from now! Can you believe it's going to be so soon???!!! (Oh, and here's the best part of this whole thing - Lady #2 from this conversation, she's also the Lady from the first conversation. Oh, yes. She is.)


Today's Lesson: All good things, apparently, must really come to an end. Fortunately, so do the awful ones. Boo for you = yay for me. Funny how that works, huh?

Flipping Out

The other I posted a comment on someone else's blog post. She was talking about how her toddler climbed out of his bed, but they're not ready to transition to a big bed yet. I was all, "yeah, the kid did that at about this age and so we switched to a regular bed but baby E hasn't done that. Not once! It's great. Yay for us. Yada, yada, yada...".

And then, well, I bet you can guess what he did within the next 24hrs. Three times. Just to teach me a lesson. Oh yes, he did. He escaped the crib. Now, if he was just climbing, well, I'd be like whatever. His crib is low to the ground (max 30in from top tail to ground) and he's a super climber. The chance of him hurting himself that way, well, is realistically pretty small.

But, no. That's not what my toddler did. He flipped out. Like he does in gymnastics. As in, belly on the rail, flipping head over tail and landing on his feet. Now, I have no flipping (ha - like how I did that?) idea how he's not decapitated himself with this maneuver. Somehow, he's not. Yet.

I'm not ready for him to move out of his crib. I don't think he's ready for that either. He's still not a great sleeper and that's been even worse since the holidays started. It had gotten a bit better, but then he didn't get a nap one day last week and he's been, uh, stereotypically toddler-ish since then. We're back to using Melatonin at night and I so hope it helps. So, I really don't want to do anything that could potentially make sleep even more challenging right now. You know, like switching to a new bed.

Some people have mentioned putting him in a sleep sack. And that would be great. You know, if he was climbing out. But he's not. Flipping would be just as easy in a sleep sack. And potentially more dangerous in the landing.

Sigh. What to do, what to do...


Today's Lessons: Parenting... just when you feel like you might have some kind of a handle on it, it changes. Also, gymnastics apparently teaches kids acrobatic tricks. But not rules about when it's appropriate to use those tricks.

Dear Spammers - Go Away!!!

Hey friends. Back tomorrow with a longer post. Or maybe the next day, you know, being realistic. But just wanted to let you know that I'm having to turn on the hated (by me) captcha thing. I have been getting crazy numbers of spam comments and it's kinda pissing me off. I've seen other bloggers say they, too, have been getting more of late. Wondering what's going on with that. At any rate, hoping that with some time, they will die down and I can take it off. 'Cause I really hate it.

Hope you all have a great weekend! I'm looking forward to several days off work to spend with my boys. Thankyoubabyjesus!!!!!


Today's Lesson: Spammers suck. That is all.

Conversation with My (Boy) Toddler

I raccoon.
You're a raccoon?
Yes, I raccoon.
Well, what are you up to little raccoon?
Raccoon eat.
What are you eating?
Raccoon eat lunch.
What does a raccoon eat for lunch?
Eat crackers.
What else?
Eat a smamich.
What kind of sandwich?
Bwue smamich.
Ah, blue sandwich, okay. What is that? Like almond butter, or ham, or...?
No, bwue smamich!!
Okay, blue sandwich it is. And what else? What does a raccoon drink?
Raccoon dwink juice. Lotsa juice.
Okay, juice. So, is the raccoon having anything else for lunch?
No. Raccoon haf a penis. Raccoon go peepee ou-sigh.

And we're back to that. Always back to that with boys.


Today's Lesson: An imagination is an amazing thing. And certainly something to be encouraged. Even in boys. Maybe even particularly so in boys.

The Joys of Nursing a Toddler

Pre-kids, - heck, pre-baby E - I never saw myself nursing a toddler. As much as I knew nursing was a parenting tool I'd employ, nursing a 2yo was never something I imagined was for me. And, if I'm completely honest, it was something that I thought was kind of icky. You know, obviously breastfeeding is best for babies, but once they get teeth (ouch!), and once they're walking (walk to the table and get some food, kid!), and once they're talking (ask for some real food, kid!), etc... they no longer "need" it.

So, it's funny that that's where I find myself now. And particularly so, since I love nursing my talkative, runs and climbs all over the place, has a mouth full of teeth little boy.

Here are a couple of the reasons why...

(First, Baby E still calls nursing "mulp-mease", milk in a cup has become just "milk". Also, his pediatrician pretends they have birds in their ears to get them to hold still when she's checking their ears. It's amazingly effective.)
E: Mulp-mease all gone.
Me: Yup, it's all gone.
E: More mulp-mease?
M: It's all gone. We'll have more later.
E: [Where] mulp-mease go?
M: Is it in your belly?
E: No, mulp-mease no in belly!
M: Then where is it?
E: Mulp-mease in baby E's penis!!!!!!
M: Uh, maybe. Where else could it have gone?
E: Baby E's birds drink all 'uh mulp-mease!
And then he cracks up laughing for like 5 minutes, totally amused with the joke he's made. And how can I not laugh at that?!


The other morning, hubby let me sleep in (thank you, dear!). When I did get up, it was after 9am. As soon as I came out of my bedroom, baby E came running up to me, as I'm sure many of your kids do with you. He grabbed me around my legs, shouting with joy. After a minute of that, and then lots of hugging, baby E put his hands on either side of my face, looked me dead in the eyes and said, "mulp-mease pease, momma!". It was not a question. It was a statement, one made with excitement. Serious excitement.

I prepared the SNS, with him staying right by my side. When I told him it was ready, he said, "hold hand?" and we walked to the chair where we nurse 99% of the time. He waited patiently for me to get settled, climbed up into my lap, and sighed the most contented little sigh. He latched on and smiled up at me. Then he reached up and oh, so gently patted my cheek.

I understand that nursing a toddler isn't for everyone. But I am pleasantly surprised to find that it is for me. And I am beyond grateful for the experience.


Today's Lesson: I don't say this nearly often enough, but baby E's milk mommies, all 30+ of them, are the reason I was able to do this. They are amazing women and I so appreciate them one and all. Hum, that's not really a lesson though is it? Okay, so here's one. Sometimes the lesson, well, it's one you've just got to figure out for yourself.

Hats

The kid won't keep hats on. I love kids in hats. But he's just too antsy to leave one alone. Same goes for sunglasses, or gloves, or much of anything. Baby E, however, loves hats. In fact, he asks for them. And then keeps them on. Which is a totally new phenomenon for me.

 

I ordered him a few new ones recently. And he was super excited when they arrived. He demanded he wear one as soon as it came out of the box. Pre-tag removal even. And then he decided I should wear the other. I'm not sure what it says that we can wear the same hats. And that those hats are too small for my 6yo's big ole head. But anyway.

 

Here we are, being cute in his new moose and tiger hats. Because if there's anything he loves more than hats, it's having his picture taken while he's being cute.

 



 

 

 

And then he took off running across the room. He grabbed the kid's skull-n-crossbone rain boots and raced back over. He plopped down on the floor and pulled them on. Then he said, "I look goooooooooood, momma. Takea pit-ur". So I did. Because how could I not?!

 

I mean, honestly, look at that face! How can you not smile?

 

 

Today's Lesson: I clearly have a lot to learn about fashion. Maybe one day my children will teach me.



A Special Heart

Somehow I did manage to get Christmas cards out this year. Actually, I know how that got done - I had to work the day before and Thanksgiving days and had no patients either day. 16 hours where I watched several movies, read two books on the Kin.dle, and wrote and addressed my Christmas cards. But that's totally not the point of this post. Moving on.

I sent the cards out in a couple of batches because even though the cards were done, that doesn't mean we had any stamps in my house. And when I ask my husband to come home with 2 or 3 books of stamps, he usually comes home with one. I'm pretty sure that even if I asked him to come home with 83 books of stamps, he'd still come home with one. And, moving on. Again.

I sent one, among the others, to each of the boys' birth families. And the week before Christmas we got one back from the kid's birth family. This was a surprise, and a wonderful one. We haven't heard them in quite a while.

The kid apparently wasn't in the room when hubby and I opened it, smiling, and looked at their kid's pictures they sent along. My oh my, the three of them (the kid, and his 2 birth siblings) look so much alike!

So he wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later and picked up the card. He said, "this looks a lot like my birth brother, and this one like my birth sister". I said, "well, it is them".

He held the pictures for probably 30seconds, just staring at them, with a gentle smile on his face. "Wow, momma.  I love my birth sister. She is really pretty and a fun girl. And I sure love my birth brother. He has a really special heart".

So do you, my sweet boy. So do you.


Today's Lesson: Children's hearts know how to love.

Family Tree

 

So, the whole Family Tree project. It's finally done and turned in. Well, it was a few weeks ago. Funny enough, it was one of those things that, even though we've known about it for like 3 months, got done at the last moment. Because, well, my life is chaos. At any rate, after my initial, "holy hell it's due in 4 days" moment of epic panic, we got that thing done.

 

I randomly came up with the idea to use a Christmas tree. It was my favorite idea of how to go about this project, though I did offer the kid a few alternatives. This was the one he decided on. 

 

There were a couple of reasons I wanted to do it this way (though I - seriously - tried not to sway him one way or another). First, I thought it was appropriate since the project was due near Christmas time. Second, we're planning to pull it out as a cool Christmas decoration every year. Third, I love the idea that there are no branches, roots, etc... 

 

And lastly, to me, there was this idea of equating our family to ornaments. As in, the people in our lives - our family - make our lives more beautiful, just like ornaments make a Christmas tree beautiful. The ornaments are what makes a Christmas tree a Christmas tree. Without them, it's just a tree. A beautiful tree, self-sufficient in its own right, of course, but not a Christmas Tree. And, in my head at least, the people we consider family, well, they are who make our lives have meaning. They are what life is about. (Does that even make any freaking sense? It does in my head at least, ha!)

 

So, this is what we ended up with.  



 

 

 

The back was covered with pictures of different important people and times in the kid's life, including his birthday, his Adoption Day, visits with his birth family, etc... We also traced each of the four of our hands in our favorite colors, stacked them (hubby's on bottom, going up in size) and wrote our names and birthdates on them.

 

All in all, though I still think the project was stupid, and I still don't get the reason for doing it, I am satisfied with how it turned out. And the kid is happy with it. So I'm happy.

 

 

Today's Lesson: Some of the ornaments in our lives are broken, scratched, missing parts or pieces. Certainly none of them perfect. But when we look at the tree as a whole, it's beautiful, even in its state of imperfection. I am beyond grateful for my tree and ornaments. Merry Christmas, all!

Christmas Moments

Even though life really has been crazy and I didn't (of course) get half the stuff done at Christmas that I wanted, we have had a few fun holiday activities.

 

 

A friend of my mom's owns a local tree farm. We've been going there and cutting down our own tree for several years. We've been there in all kinds of weather (rain, snow, sleet on year - that was awful!). This year it was perfect weather, imo. Cool enough that it felt like Christmas was on its way, warm enough that the 30 minutes it took to find the tree didn't leave us with ice cube hands. E just wanted to be carried and kept saying, "ride in a Boba???". The kid, of course, was running around and didn't stay still long enough for me to take a picture of him.

 

The kid and I had our first "official" date. I bought tickets a few months ago for The Nutcracker. I was nervous about taking him as, well, he's not exactly known for sitting still for long periods of time. But, I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised! He was completely absorbed by the first act and hardly moved, much less spoke. Intermission, however, seems to have been his "done" point. He was squirmy and talkative the 2nd act. Although, to be honest, the 1st act is where most of the action and humor are. So, I guess I can see why the 2nd act didn't hold his attention quite as much. However, he told my mom a week later that he loved it and didn't even have words to describe it. So, sounds like a big win. I can't wait to take him to something else new!

 

 

Today's Lesson: They key to getting your 6yo boy to get excited about ballet, is to tell him that there will be "real teenage girls" dancing on that stage. He will be enthralled for at least 30 minutes.

Teaching Words

By the time the kid was 15 months, he was repeating - very clearly - absolutely everything we said. By the time he was 18 months, he was talking in not just sentences, but paragraphs. While I knew he was ahead of his development, language-wise, it's only in the last year, since baby E has hit and surpassed those ages, that this has been cemented for me.

Now, don't misunderstand, baby E is exactly where he should be language-wise. But that is, as I just described, way behind where the kid was. And, funny enough, I'm totally fine with that. Because, I mean, really, I can't imagine all the damn talking that would be going on otherwise. There would be no quiet around here ever.

Also, the kid was a tiny parrot, copying absolutely everything that came out of anyone's mouth (good, bad, and ugly). I had to curb my use of some of my favorite words (you know, the 4 letter ones), because he'd have copied those in a heartbeat, and then used them incessantly thereafter. For better or worse, I've been able to continue to use that potty mouth around baby E. And it's not been an issue in the least.

Until Thursday morning.

I was trying to clean up the craphole that is my house lately. And baby E disappeared and then I heard grunting (indicating he was starting to poop). I ran to him and used my fake excited voice, "come on, E, you're going to poop in the potty! Yay, like a big boy!!". And he was all, "NOOOOOOOOOO!" because that's his favorite word.

I sat him on the toilet and stepped out for less than 30 seconds to get rid of the wet diaper. When I walked back in, he was pulling a sopping wet washcloth out of the toilet. That had pee in it. Lots of pee. I grabbed him, and it. And then noticed a tooth brush in the toilet. And then a travel size tube of tooth paste. Both in the toilet. Covered in pee.

And then I said, not so under my breath, "son of a bitch".

And then he said, quite clearly, "NO son of a bitch, momma".

And I said, "I mean Merry Christmas".

And he said, "NO Merry Christmas. Son of a bitch, momma".

And, frankly, that about sums up where I am right now.

Also, if my toddler says "Son of a Bitch" to you, what he's really saying is "Merry Christmas".


Today's Lesson: We spend lots of time imagining and dreaming about all the awesome things our kids will say and do when they get older. And then sometimes, they surprise even us. Also, perhaps I should watch my potty mouth around my toddler.

Not just for me

I, like many of you, followed the news closely about the shooting in Newtown on the day it happened. I managed to be okay for the most part that day, following the developments closely, but not in tears.  Did I want to hug my kids close? Yes. But still I was okay, emotionally removed from the horror. Able to go about my day, knowing my babies were safe.

Until I read this post @ Adoption in the City

I've said before that one of the reasons open adoption is so important to us is because we want the boys' birth families to know that they're okay. More than that, we adamantly believe they have a right to that.

I can't imagine not knowing.  And not just when something like Newtown happens, but all the time. The walking down the street, not knowing if the little kid in front of you might be yours. Or reading about a kid in the paper who has won some kind of award and wondering. Seeing a child on the news died somehow and the punch to the gut, terrified that it's your child.  How painfully hard it must be to wonder. The strength it takes to do that. The strength it takes to live that every day.

It often hits me the different ways adoption is hard. But, this way, it's just not one I'd thought about. I hope the boys' birth families know that if something awful happened to either of them, we would let them know right away.

The night of the shooting, when I finally got home from work, I went into my sons' rooms, as I always do. Only this time when I pulled their covers up and kissed their sleeping heads, I did it not just for me, but for their birth families as well. I whispered that all of their parents love them, because it is what I know to be true.


Today's Lesson: The lessons we're presented with in life never stop. There are always more lessons to be learned.

Water, or balls, or some kind of analogy

I've been overwhelmed by life lately. Not the "I am going to lay down and die because I can't handle anything" kind of overwhelmed. More the, "I am holding my head above water - just barely - so fortheloveofbabyjesus please don't add another thing to my load" kind of overwhelmed. I've dropped many balls in order to accommodate the new ones. And some of those are really important balls.


Case and point, two weeks ago was my bff's birthday. I'm sure she thinks I've forgotten because I don't think I even managed to even send her a fb message to wish her a happy birthday, much less see her or even get her birthday present to her. Not that it's anything new - I have hardly seen her in the last several months. I wouldn't blame her in the least if she totally revoked the bff card. Honestly, as much as I've sucked as a friend lately, I think she should. (And hell, she may have but hasn't been able to see me to tell me!)


As much as I hate this - that I haven't seen her, or talked to her, or even sent her a freaking text message - I don't know what else to do. I don't know which other ball to drop. I'd actually planned to take the gift to her house on her birthday. But instead I ended up spending the day taking care of the kid and his now-glued together head. And then, as the days wore on, and crap kept getting in the way, I became embarrassed. Embarrassed that I hadn't talked to her, told her happy birthday, told frankly just her how much  I miss her. Because I know it's my fault.


It's an example of how chaotic things are right now. Heaven knows she's not the only one I've neglected, or let down in the last several months. Don't get me started on when my last actual conversation with hubby was. Or the last art project I did with the boys. Or the last time I called my mom to just see how her week has been. Or when I last made any attempts to talk with either of the boys' birth families. Much less spending time with any other friends. None of them have happened in ages.


I feel like I'm having to choose which really important things to slack on. Or, more accurately, I don't have time to really make a definitive decision, because the chaos is so complete, that I'm living in reactionary mode. 15 things come at me at once and I feel like all I can do are the things that are mandatory. Nothing else makes the cut. And that is not where I am most happy; it is not where I want to live. I can't even blame Christmas, because this was going on before the holidays even got close.

I feel stuck in a cycle. There's so much to do. There's just not time to do it all.


And so I bob up and down in the water. Hoping it will recede eventually, leaving me standing on my 2 feet once again.


P.S. Happy crazyass late birthday, dear friend. Please don't hate me. I love you!!

P.S. 2 - I have no idea why this whole post is highlighted white. Or why only this part isn't. Or how to fix it. Or really, energy to worry about it. Another thing for the "I don't have time to deal with this" list.




Today's Lesson: Finding balance is a great goal. It's also one of those things that goes on the "easier said than done" list. A list I don't have time to reference at the moment, I might add.

Senseless Violence, Daily

I don't know really how we talk to our kids about violence. All violence is in essence senseless. How do we explain such things to our children? Truly, I don't know. But what I do know is that these huge acts, they are rare, so, so very rare. And yet they have the ability to petrify us all.

Some days I think I'm jaded, desensitized. Not by violence in video games or on TV, because, honestly, I try to avoid those at all costs. But by the events that make the national news, such as Newtown. Or, perhaps, it's just that I just try to keep myself removed from them.

Because every day I see the effects of violence. I see the 2mon old in the PICU who was shaken and will likely never regain his vision or lose the seizures. I see the toddler with more broken bones than years. I see the child my son's age with an adult handprint across his face. I see the teenager, furious, whose experience has been that the world has allowed untold horrors to happen to her for years. I see them. Every day.

And these are the incidents of violence I have the hardest time explaining - to myself, much less to my children. The public (albeit so horrific) ones, those I can attribute to significant mental health issues of the assailant. Or guns that are too easily accessible. The ones I see daily though, for most of those, there is no explanation that allows me to feel any peace.

As many are questioning on FB "who kills kids?!!!", or "why would someone do this to innocent children??!!!", I keep thinking, lots of people. Every damn day. They may not take guns and kill 25 people in a public place, but people are beating and killing children every day in the US. Every. Fucking. Day.

And yes, I want you all to be upset and angry about the victims of Newtown. But I also want you to be upset and angry for daily victims of violence. Because it's happening. In the US. In your state. In your town. It's happening.

I don't say any of this to diminish the horror of Newtown, the deaths of the children, the grief of so many. I recognize the senselessness and awfulness of what happened. I can hardly imagine the pain of the parents, the other students, the first responders, the community. But I say it because the horror of being hurt is the daily reality of many children.

And so, as saddened as I am by this tragic, crazy shooting, worrying that something like this could happen to my children, or children I know, is not what will keep me awake at night. It is the faces of the children I see every day, they are the ones I worry about at night. They are the ones who I think about after they leave. They are the ones whose futures I fear for.

I don't know what you or I can do to stop things like Newtown from happening. But I do know there are a multitude of things I can do, you can do, to keep the children we see every day safe. And I guess... I think... I hope... that helping these children perhaps will help all of our hearts feel a little less helpless tonight.

And that is why I do the job I do. Because I have to do something. Because feeling helpless is simply not an option for me.


Today's Lesson: Don't accept that simply because someone is a child's parent she has the right to do with that child what she pleases. Look for signs of being overwhelmed in new (all!) parents. Do your damnedest to make sure your children and the children around you are only left in the care of competent, responsible, non-violent caretakers. Remember, children need a village. To raise them. To keep them safe. To love them. Our children - all of them - are the responsibility of all of us.

(Not at all) Fun Family Outing

There's this lights display around here, where you drive through this big park, and they have lights up all over the place. There are hundreds of cars, cruising along in line, going about 5mph, just enjoying the lights. Lots of people love it. As in, their Christmas simply isn't complete without their family trek to see the lights. It sounds quite lovely.

So, the year before last, we loaded up the SUV with me, hubby, the kid, baby E (who was about 3mon old at the time) and my mom. It was nearing bedtime, but we assumed the kid would be so enthralled, that he'd be content. Or fall asleep. One of the two. And that baby E, whom I'd nursed right before we left the house, would sleep. In hindsight (which is, of course, always 20/20), this was stupid because the kid needs to go to bed on time, or he gets all crazy, ramped up. And baby E, at the time, hated the car. But, what can I say, we were super sleep-deprived. And just plain hopeful.

So, we're driving along, everyone is fine. I'm not particularly impressed with the lights, but they're fine. Then, out of the blue, hubby slams on the breaks, throws out a quick, "I'm going to vomit" and jumps out of the car, running away. I'm all, "WTF just happened???!!!!". But, as we'd been told "Do.Not.Stop.The.Car.Under.Any.Circumstances!" when we entered the park, I jump out, run around to the driver's seat, and start driving. Wondering, of course, where the hell my husband had just gone.

Baby E, who realized at that moment that the vehicle had stopped, was reminded that he did, in fact, detest the car. So he started screaming. And the kid realized that he was both tired and also unimpressed with the lights. So he started whining.

And all I could do was drive.

Eventually I found a little parking lot to pull into. Even though we were not supposed to stop. At.All.

The kid was then saying he had to pee. And baby E was full out screeching. So, my mom took the kid to pee. The parking lot was conveniently in front of a bathroom. Yay! It was locked. Serious boo.  So they found a tree. Awkward.

I got E out and tried to nurse him in the front seat. But he was way too beyond pissed off to nurse at that point. So I called hubby, you know, to figure out where the hell he'd ended up in the 1200+acre park. He said he'd vomited a couple of times and was feeling much better. So he was walking along the road, headed our direction. People were giving him odd looks. I assured him they were just worried he was going to try to carjack him or something. You know, 'cause he looks so threatening. And that, fortheloveofallthingsholy he needed to get his ass to the car before momma losthershitforreal.

I finally got baby E latched about the time the kid came back from peeing on a a tree. We had to wait several more minutes for hubby to catch up to us.

And then I was faced with a quandary. I always have my kids in their carseats when the car is moving at all. But I could not stomach the thought of baby E screaming anymore. So, did I continue to nurse him while we're driving, or put him back in the carseat and listen to him. My ears - and sanity - won.

So, we're driving down the road, I'm nursing E in the front seat, the kid's bopping all around the back seat, because clearly he wasn't having any part of putting his seatbelt back on if E wasn't in the carseat. Hubby's face was still green and he kinda smelled like puke. My eyelid was twiching and I had a massive headache. Through gritted teeth,I said to him, "There is no way in hell we're ever going back there." Hubby: "No, absolutely no way in hell."

Guess where we're going this weekend? Sweetbabyjesus, pray for us.


Today's Lesson: Never say never.

White Christmas. Or was it gray?

I was driving to work today. It's been raining here, I swear, for like 40 days and nights. I mean, maybe it's just been 4 days and nights. But, seriously, it feels like 40. Particularly since it's December and all. I mean, it's not like we usually have snow in these parts this time of year. It's just that we don't generally have thunder storms. Or my crocuses and tulips popping up. Crazy confused flowers.

At any rate, I'm driving to work. I hear the tail end of the weather report on the radio and am reminded that last night, on the news, the weather dude said we could get flurries today. And, while I'm not crazy about snow, I am excited that it's not rain.

So, I'm sitting at a light, bopping along to the music now on the radio when I see them. Flurries! On my windshield. How exciting! Snow, just a little, enough to maybe be pretty. Enough get my boys all excited. Hum, not very much. Oh, wait, there's a few more!

The car in front of me starts to move. The light's changed to green. My windshield is assaulted by the driver's cigarette smoke, billowing out of the driver's window. And I smell it. Ew. I so detest that smell.

Then I notice more flurries. Just a couple. Just on the left side of the win shield. Again. Right where they others had hit. I look and there are no spots on any other part of the windshield. Or the other windows of my car.

And then I realize they're probably not so much flurries. They're probably cigarette ashes.

Bah Humbug.


Today's Lesson: Sometimes it really is more pleasant to keep your head in the sand, ostrich. Just let the ashes be snow. You'll be happier that way.