Forever Family

Alright, I admit it.  I’m on Facebook, and I’m kind of addicted.

I haven’t been on it that long…do I get any credit for that???

I’m not on MySpace…so you can’t tease me for that.

Judge me if you will, but I care not.  Facebook is fun.  It doesn’t take up a ton of my time, and I’ve reconnected with a lot of people I had lost touch with over the years.  There’s nothing wrong with that 

So I was tagged on this note last night, 25 Random Things About Yourself.  Once you’re tagged, you’re supposed to post a note about yourself, with 25 random things, and tag 25 of your friends.  The theory is that then they do it, and you learn something new about someone.  It’s kinda fun.  

Ok, well it WAS fun.  But it also pretty much sucked me dry of creative energy for the day and used up all my time to spend writing.  Then I had an idea.  I’ll be REALLY lame and kill 2 birds with 1 stone.  I’ll copy the note and insert into my blog for today!  Woohoo!!!

25 Random Things About Me

1.) I am not looking forward to this. 25 things is a lot. Thinking too hard early in the morning usually gives me a headache. Wait! There’s item number 1!! I am NOT a morning person, yet the older I get, the earlier I get up. That means I’m not much of a night person anymore, either. What does that leave me?!

2.) For as long as I can remember, I have had dreams of tornadoes. They don’t cause me to wake up screaming, but they are highly unnerving. I’m convinced that I will die in a tornado.

3.) I am writing a novel…2 of them actually. Problem is I am so afraid of rejection, I haven’t let anyone read them yet.

4.) I deeply regret my method of breaking up with my 7th grade boyfriend. I put a dear friend in a bad position, and was pretty cruel to the boy. It was not cool, and I have been ashamed ever since. To top it all off, I dumped him on Valentine’s day.

5.) If I HAD to work and could pick any job, I would be a middle school science teacher.

6.) If I didn’t have to work and could spend my days doing whatever I wanted, I would be a published writer, accomplished pianist, and renowned artist.

7.) The previous 2 items make me sad, because they emphasize that I sold my soul to corporate America and a large paycheck. Fundamentally, it really is all about the money.

8.) There is hope, however. The older I get, the more I realize that maybe it really ISN’T all about the money, and having nice material things isn’t really all it is cracked up to be.

9.) Case in point to item # 8: I gave up my fancy red sports car and now drive an old Volvo wagon. The only radio station I get in the Volvo is NPR. It’s awesome.

10.) I hated my name as a kid. In 2nd grade, I decided I wasn’t going to use it anymore. I started signing my assignments with my middle name. The teacher was passing back assignments, and made a big deal about not knowing whose paper it was. I had to sheepishly raise my hand and say it was mine. She then very loudly admonished me for using my middle name. It was humiliating.

11.) I was AWESOME at kickball as a kid. I was usually picked first for teams.

12.) I lived in a house that used to be a mortuary. Our kitchen used to be the embalming room. The basement was the coffin showroom. I was pretty sure the basement was haunted, especially the wine cellar.

13.) If I could go anywhere in the world, I would go to Russia. I have always been fascinated with Russia.

14.) I would like to adopt a second child sooner rather than later.

15.) Our house burned down when I was in 4th grade. Well, it didn’t burn completely down, but it was pretty bad. It happened on St. Patrick’s day. I lost the bulk of my Barbie collection.

16.) My grandparents used to travel extensively. I used to be bored by all their stories as a kid, but now I wish I had paid more attention. They led amazing lives.

17.) I am a very ambitious person, and also very competitive. Unfortunately, my competitiveness leads to jealous tendencies. I’m pretty sure it drives my husband nuts.

18.) I was engaged to my husband for 10 years before we got married. I suspect that if we had not adopted a child, we would not have gotten married. I think we were both ok with the way things were, and didn’t think marriage would make a difference.

19.) I did not take my husband’s name when we got married. I told him I would not when we first got engaged. I think it bothered him, but he doesn’t mention it anymore. Anyway, I think it’s really funny when people call him “Mr. (insert my last name here).”

20.)  I have never used any drugs.  I tried smoking when I was in high school, but didn’t like it.  I also hate getting drunk.  It makes my arms ache.  If I drink too much, I can’t sleep because my arms hurt.  I hate that people think this makes me some kind of goody-goody.
21.) I have a fantastic view of the city skyline from my office. It’s largely agreed that I have the best view in the building.

22.) I sometimes hope for an alien invasion. Maybe then we could set aside our differences and humanity would finally rally together, just like in the movies. I hate that there is so much fighting and conflict in the world.

23.) I love reading historical fiction and watching period movies. I like to feel transported to a different time.

24.) I love the way my son says “mommy.” It’s the best sound I have ever heard.

25.) I won the school spelling bee in middle school, then went on to the regional round at a nearby community college. I got nervous and choked on the first round, even though I KNEW how to spell the word.

I was voted “Most Likely To Be 1st Female President” in 8th grade.  At least I think I was.  That was a long time ago, and my memory can be dodgy.  Yeah…I’m pretty sure that happened.

It’s too bad.  I can say most confidently that I will never be elected to office.  I do not have what it takes so succeed in today’s politics.  Want to know why?  Because I am SICK to DEATH of politicians.  

I was listening to NPR on my way to pick up Kiddo yesterday.  They started by airing sound bites from Republicans whining that they had been left out of the writing of the economic stimulus bill.  They followed that with some discussion of the ongoing gay marriage dilemma.

STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!

I don’t care how people feel about gay marriage.  I don’t care how people feel about abortion.  These are issues that cannot be won.  Let’s move on.

Perhaps if our Congress had spent less time arguing gay marriage and whether or not Barry Bonds was shooting up, they would have…ohhhh, I don’t know…maybe had more time to notice the mortgage industry run amok.  Maybe…just maybe…they would have even provided a little oversight.  I’m relatively sure that would have been more meaningful to the average American family who just lost their home.   

Boot to the Head.

I have a vision.  This is what I would do if I were ever in office.   You want to talk baseball?  Boot to the head.   Steroids?  Boot to the head.   Marriage?  Boot to the head.  Economic recovery?  Ok, now you’re learning.  Let’s talk recovery.

Hmmm.  On second thought, I’m a little less limber than I used to be.  I don’t know that I have the flexibility and balance to actually connect my boot to someone’s head…unless they are very short or kneel obligingly.  

I think instead that I would carry around a nice pair of thick leather gloves.  Go ahead…make my day.  What did you say?  You want to argue with me about Roe V. Wade?  SLAP!  (That was me hitting you across the face with my leather gloves, duel style. ) 

By the way, today’s post has nothing to do with parenting, adoption, or foster care.  And I don’t mean to upset anyone who is passionate about the aforementioned issues.  I am just repeatedly disappointed that these issues continue to be the shiny objects that special interests, big business, and big government dangle in front of us, and ultimately end up distracting us while they rob us blind.  I’m tired of being robbed.  I want to start kickin’ some political butts.  

First, I need to set the record straight.

I don’t particularly care for Barbara Streisand or Celine Dion.  I don’t really like any of those types of singers, especially the likes of Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston.  I acknowledge that they are very talented women, but to me a good song is about more than talent.  In my opinion, these women try too hard.

I don’t connect with a song if it includes elements that are there strictly to showcase the performer’s range.  I feel it distracts from the real meaning and emotion of the music.  When I hear Mariah Carey do her scales and vocal trickery, I may appreciate the difficulty of doing that, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me.  I think she gives melisma a bad name.

Have you seen Amadeus ?  There is a line in there that Salieri says regarding Mozart.  He criticizes Mozart for using too many notes, and that there is beauty in simplicity.  I don’t necessarily agree in Mozart’s case, but I wish some of these modern day crooners would take that to heart.   

Sometimes I wonder if all that yodeling deprives them of oxygen for too long.  In my opinion, music only has one place for divas, and that’s in opera.  Oooo…here’s an idea for Celebrity Death Match .  Maria Callas vs. Mariah Carey.  No contest, Maria is the ultimate diva.  Mariah is just a wannabe.

Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s continue where we left off yesterday.

Yes, the mysterious pile ‘o’ parents and creating a new family.  

They begin whittling down the list based on the straightforward facts of the case.  Obviously, if I want an infant and the child being presented is 12 years old, I’m immediately set aside.  This continues until a short list is created.

If multiple sets of parents are found to be a match, then a meeting happens with all the DFACS personnel involved in the case.  As we were told, they literally sit down with all the files and pick which one might be the best fit.  

Once you’re matched, then you get the happy phone call.  However, just because you’ve been matched, you don’t need to accept the placement.  At this point, they will schedule a meeting with you and the social workers and likely even the child (if the situation permits).  In our meeting, we had the training worker, our worker, Kiddo’s worker, the foster parent who currently was caring for Kiddo, and little Kiddo himself.  

Seeing the child before making a decision is a double edged sword.  Usually they will give you a choice, because DFACS realizes that it’s VERY hard to say no once you’ve seen that angelic little face.  Usually it’s not until that meeting when you get the real nitty gritty on the case.  The social workers will apprise you of the legal risk situation.  There is also more details shared about the health of the child.

I actually don’t remember hearing much about this at our meeting.  Why?  Because I was holding Kiddo.  He was so tiny, and I was so worried that I might break him.  All I could do was stare at him.  Holding him felt like I had suddenly been completed.  He was MY child…and I just knew it!  He looked so much like me when I was a child, and then there was the name thing.  I was falling in love and obsessing over whether or not I was holding him right.

I was also extremely intimidated.  His foster mom frightened the beejeebers out of me.  I had never been a mom, and was scared to death as it was.  In comes this woman, and she absolutely oozed maternal instinct.  I was worried that she was judging my motherhood skills.  The more I worried, the clumsier I became.  By the end of the visit, she announced that Kiddo needed a diaper.  She offered to let me do it.  All I could do was shake my head.  She shrugged, and then I SWEAR she had that diaper changed in the blink of an eye.  I have never seen a diaper changed that fast.  This woman should compete!

Can you see the danger here?  Had I really been listening to the details of the case, I might have protected myself from some heartache later on…or at least been better prepared for the roller coaster.  I was distracted and not focused.  A lesson learned for next time. 

So to be fair, I should mention that it’s not just the female divas that annoy me.  I don’t like the men, either.  Josh Groban comes to mind.  He’s not my cup of tea.

Oh, and you should click on the little opera singer.  I think that is still my favorite Bugs Bunny cartoon.

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking “if she even opens this post with a Celine Dion quote, I’m outta here.”

No worries.  I won’t get THAT song stuck in your head.

No, the subject of today’s post is how the matching process works.  It’s the Super Secret Recipe on How to Make a Family.  Contrary to popular belief, there is a science to it.  It’s not just names thrown into a hat.

*insert boring caveat here.  This was our experience in our state/county.  Check with your local office for more info.

Remember about the initial application I told you about?  There will be questions about your marital status, religion, family, beliefs, upbringing, etc.  There will also be several questions about the awkward race topic.  I say awkward, because they are going to want to know honestly about your own ethnicity and your feelings about raising a child of a different ethnicity than your own.  It is important to be HONEST and not politically correct.  There is a difference!  The reason is not to judge you, but to make sure your prepared for a future match.  But I’m jumping ahead.

Back to the application.  That is what starts the whole match formula.

Many of those same questions are also going to come up in the home study.  The worker conducting your home study is also trained to get to the honest answers to some tricky questions, in the event that you took the politically correct route when answering the questionnaire.  

Ok, so I am sorta dancing around the issue at hand.  Bottom line is DFACS is going to want to know if you are interested and equipped to foster a minority child.  In our particular location, there were more Hispanic children in the DFACS system than any other ethnicity.  It just varies, and usually mimics the racial makeup of your location.  

I really urge you to be honest with yourself and your workers.  Raising a child of ANY ethnic group that differs from your own takes a little extra work.  Any child, even a foster kid, has a right to know, understand, and be proud of their heritage.  Raising a Hispanic or African-American child in a Caucasian household with NO exposure to their heritage is a crime.  If you don’t think you’re equipped to expose them to their heritage, THAN SAY SO.  It’s not being discriminatory or “racist.”   

Wow…ok I digress BIG TIME. DFACS is going to want to know what age range you’re looking for, if you’re have a preference for a boy or a girl, what sort of health issues are you prepared to deal with, and how much “legal risk” you can handle (if you’re hoping to adopt).  They are also going to want to know if you would be interested in a sibling group.  Sibling groups are usually considered “special needs,” because a group is usually harder to place and adopt as a unit.  DFACS really does try to keep them together.  If you’re willing to open your home to a sibling group, you can usually get more subsidy assistance, even after the adoption is finalized.  

During your license process, DFACS is also going to make observations about you that will factor into the matching process.  You may state that you would take a sibling group, but are you really prepared?  Logistically, can your home and lifestyle absorb multiple children at once?  You may be ok with bringing in a teenager, but are you really up for the challenges?  You may think you’d be doing a sexually abused child a huge service by bringing them into your home, but if you’re a family who does a lot of hugging and other typically harmless physical contact, DFACS will probably not place a sexually abused kid in your home.  

It really is strange to feel like you’re under a microscope through this whole process.  I mentioned earlier how uncomfortable the home study can be, but even during our training classes I felt like notes were being taken on us all the time.  I tend to be a little outspoken, and I started out in the classes asking lots of questions, making observations to the group, and even cracking a few jokes.  I figured out in a hurry that this was all being quietly observed and noted as DFACS tried to learn more about us.  Creepy.

As it was explained to us, once a file has been created with everything they could possibly drum out, it was added to a pile of other potential parents who had survived the license process.  Priority is not given to those who have been waiting longest.  There are a couple of social workers who keep up with that pile ‘o’ parents, and who work with the GAL’s and the children’s social workers when they are in need of placement.  

Alright, so this post is getting lengthy.  I’ll stop there and leave you hanging.  Tomorrow I’ll write about that secret meeting deep inside the DFACS office when they decide which parent goes with which child.  

Here’s a parting gift:

Near, far, wherever you are

I believe that the heart does go on

Once more you open the door

And you’re here in my heart

And my heart will go on and on

I know.  I really am an evil little bugger. 

Memories may be beautiful and yet

What’s too painful to remember 

We simply choose to forget

Yes, I am quoting sappy Barbara Streisand songs.  That’s what a Monday will do to ya.  It makes you do crazy things.

The weather guy called for partly sunny skies today, but out my window all I see is mist.  For some reason, the dull gray and closeness of the fog makes me nostalgic.  Therefore, I shall grace you with a little more of our “Bringing Home Kiddo” story.  

I mentioned in an earlier post that we were matched to a child before we even got our license.  The hard part had been done and all we needed was a home inspection, which our social worker frantically completed the day following the call about our match.  I suppose this is a big reason why our basement did not become an issue.

I VIVIDLY remember getting that call about the match.  I was at work, sitting in my office, and plugging away at the daily grind.  The caller ID comes up as the DFACS office (a very distinctive number that I had already remembered).  Not expecting to hear from them, I answered cheerfully.  

On the other line was the social worker who had been conducting our training.  She wanted to know if we had heard from Lori (not her real name, but I have changed to protect identity, etc.).  I had not heard from Lori, and wasn’t even sure who Lori was.  The social worker said Lori was the worker assigned to us and would be contacting us to conduct our home inspection ASAP.

My radar went off.  ASAP?  What’s the rush?

As the social worker explained, we had been matched to a baby.  Holy freaking crap!  (yes I know.  I used the word).  She needed Lori to finish our license steps and wanted to set up a date where we could do a meet and greet.

Yeah!  Sure!  Whatever we need to do!  I can be home in 10 minutes if you want to send Lori out now!  I will do ANYTHING you need me to do!

We chat a little longer about when we’re all going to meet, and we hang up.  My heart was POUNDING.  Then it occurs to me.  I didn’t get any details about the baby!  I heard that there was one, and I freaked out so much that I didn’t think to ask!  DOH!

I immediately call back the social worker, praying that she answers the phone.  SHE DOES NOT!  Double DOH!

I leave a v/m, and try to resume working.  I say try, because my heart was STILL pounding and focusing on stupid work just wasn’t doing much for me.  I wanted to run outside of my office, I wanted to pick up the phone, I wanted to just shout at the top of my lungs, “WE HAVE A BABY!!!!!!”

Fortunately, the social worker called me back about 10 minutes later.  Well, in real time it was 10 minutes.  In my head it was 10 years.  In that 10 years I had actually regressed into some kind of neanderthal blathering idiot.  It was not pretty.

Somehow the social worker understood enough of what I was trying to ask to give me details about the baby.  He was a little boy, about 3 months old, currently in another foster home, some info about his health, some info about his case, and his name.  It just so happens that he shares a name with some important men in my life.

This was clearly a sign.  It was meant to be.

By the end of the call, I had gone from blathering idiot to balling my eyes out.  

Stop.  Take a deep breath.  Try to stop shaking enough that you can dial the phone.  Come on.  Get it together.

And so I called Hubby.  I relayed the info to him.  That is my one regret of the day.  I really wish I could have been with him when we found out about Kiddo.  Sharing this moment over the phone robbed us of that initial celebration as a parent unit.

After I hung up with him, I practiced some deep breathing techniques.  Work was pretty much lost at this point.  No way was I going to get anything else done today.  I knew I shouldn’t get too excited yet, (cause so much could still happen) but I had to share my news.  I scampered off to spread the good news with coworkers.  

That’s a pretty good memory, right?  You’re probably wondering why I chose a rather depressing quote from the “Way We Were.”   Yes, that was a good day.  But there were some not so good days to come, which I relay in another post.  For now, I want to relish the goodness of that day.

It does amaze me how much a child’s mind is like a sponge.  Kiddo is constantly absorbing everything around him and learning new things all the time.  In a lot of ways, this is wonderful!  But then there are the other times, when you say or do something without thinking, and before you know it, your adorable 2 year old is running around the house repeating your foul word.  Oopsie! 

My favorite expletetive is fairly benign, but I know how other parents can be.  I don’t want to be the THAT mother who let’s her child run amuck.  I try to control myself and not say it around him, but sometimes it just slips out!  I really don’t mean it!  

So the other day I dropped something, and the word slipped out of my mouth.  “Crap!”  I didn’t even say it that loud.  I wasn’t really all that upset about what I had dropped, but it was an instant reaction!  I didn’t even think!

Wouldn’t ya know it, Kiddo (who wasn’t even in the same room when it happened, yet somehow heard me), starts dancing around the house singing “Crap!  Crap!  Crap!”  Oh great.  Now I’m THAT mom.  Ugh. 

So I’m trying to think fast about how to handle the situation.  We were at the precipice of a learning opporunity.  I knew that reacting too harshly would backfire.  Yet, I couldn’t ignore it.  This had to be handled very delicately.

“Pumpkin, Mommy was not nice to say that.  Not nice at all.”

“You in trouble, Mommy?”

“Yes Kiddo.  Mommy said a bad word.  Not nice.  Mommy in trouble.”

“You go to time out, Mommy.”  This was more of a command from Kiddo.

“OK, I go to time out.”  

This seems to have worked…for now.  He hasn’t said it again and I TRY (really I do) to not say things in front of him that will haunt me later.

My worst fear is that he will go to school and repeat these things to the other kids, who will of course start repeating because they too are ALL little sponges.  Kiddo has come home with some new behaviors and phrases, and for the most part, I can guess which child in his class he learned them from.  He, of course, also tells me.

Some of these copied behaviors that Kiddo brings home are kinda bad.  One day out of the blue, he started punching us in the face.  He would say “I kick-a your butt!”  WTF????  I knew he did NOT learn that at my house!  I’m pretty sure I know which kid he picked THAT up from.  Another one…”Mommy, I shake a booty!”  This is followed by some good tooshie-shakin’.  The first time he did that, I actually died laughing.  It was too funny!  I know, I know.  It’s probably not good for a 2 year old to shake his moneymaker and say “I shake a booty,” but it could be worse!  I am also pretty positive about which child started that fad.

So far, I think the only thing Kiddo has taught his classmates is to play monster.  I’m hoping he hasn’t been singing the Crap song at school.  Yipes!

I’m in need of something comforting today.  It’s time for a warm, fuzzy story. 

Yesterday Hubby had oral surgery done.  Let’s just say his dental care up to this point has been erratic at best; combined with some hereditary teeth problems and WHAM!  He’s a toothy mess.

After his procedure was over, I took him home and stayed with him as he spent the day coming out of his anesthetic stupor.  I then went to school and picked up Kiddo to bring him home.  

On our way home during our typical after school conversation, Kiddo asked about Daddy.  He knew something was up because Daddy was with us when I dropped him off at school in the morning.  It went something like this:

“Where’s Daddy?  He pick-a-up me?”

“Daddy’s sick, pumpkin.  He had to go to the doctor today and now he has big boo-boo’s in his mouth.”

“Daddy sick?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t like it.  I fix him.”

“Ok!  Daddy would like that.  You fix him when we get home.”

After a few minutes, Kiddo would ask about Daddy again.  We’d have this same basic conversation again, and Kiddo would get all thoughtful.  

As soon as we walked in the door, Kiddo went looking for Daddy.  Daddy had fallen asleep in the chair, and Kiddo gently poked him.  He then climbed up next to Daddy to inspect his mouth.  

He was highly concerned about Daddy all night.  At one point, he went and got his doctor kit (a gift from Santa), and worked on fixing Daddy for a while with his doctor tools.  For good measure, he came over to fix a boo-boo on my knee, too.

At the end of the evening, Kiddo declared that Daddy was fixed, then proceeded to jump on his tummy.  

For an adoptive parent, these are really heartwarming moments.  Remember I’m an obsessive freak who’s always concerned about whether or not we’re properly bonded with our kiddo.  It’s times like these that put my mind at ease, at least for a little while.

I got a double bonus with Hubby’s surgical sacrifice.  Kiddo doesn’t much care for brushing his teeth.  I think he’s annoyed because he wants to do it himself, but doesn’t do a very good job, so I have to get in there and brush for him.  Now we can use Hubby’s bad teeth as an example of what happens when you don’t take care of your teeth.  I don’t know how much mileage we get out of it, but it was a little easier to brush Kiddo’s teeth last night.     

This has bothered me for some time. 

I’m as much a sucker for a good Hollywood story as the next gal.  I get a kick out of them all…well except for anything about Paris Hilton.  She just pisses me off.  Have you seen the South Park episode mocking her ?  Ha ha ha…that one still makes me laugh.  

So as I was getting my gossip on today, I came across this story .  Go ahead.  Click on it .  I’m not really sure I want to quote much of it.  It makes me angry…and you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

As I mentioned before, I actually really like Angelina Jolie.  I like that she’s a little odd and doesn’t obsess with conforming.  I don’t hold this story against her in any way, and I certainly don’t think any of these so called “insider” quotes can actually be attributed to anyone who has any more access to her than I do.  

Matter of fact, right now I really feel sorry for her.  I wonder if she saw this article.  I think if I were her, this article would upset me more than someone alleging I had just had an affair with CarrotTop.  

Adopting kids is not a fad.  Being a billionaire multi-platinum performer and trotting off to a Third World country to bring home a little preschool “souvenir” is not cool.  These are not designer purses.  They are CHILDREN.

It REALLY ticks me off that when you read articles about these people like Angelina who have adopted kids from other countries, it sounds like they’re doing it more for good press and attention, than simply for the joy of expanding their families.  I think it really puts adoption in a bad light, and it honks me off even more when the wannabes are running out to contact adoption agencies simply because Brangelina did it.

I ask all you mothers out there…do you really think people like Angelina or Madonna are doing this just for the attention?  Do you really think they just thought these kids were cute and said “what the hey, I have an extra bedroom?”  Well you know, since Brangelina already have a bunch of nannies, might as well get their money’s worth and add one more to the brood, right?  Yeah…right…whatever.

My only complaint…my only criticism to the Brangelina clan…

What’s wrong with adopting a kid from the foster system here?  Put some positive spin and good media focus on our own kids in need of loving families.  They could use some good press, after the mess last year with the FLDS Church and the shake down at the YFZ Ranch in Texas.  Remember all the flack their Department of Child Protective Services got when they couldn’t process all those kids fast enough?  

Well, there’s a another rant off my chest.  All this hostility I am feeling…sorry for all the venting.  It’s good to let your emotions out and not bottle it up, but I promise I’ll have a good story for tomorrow. 

I just have to vent.

Last night I was in bed and flipping channels while I waited for Hubby to get out of the shower.  I flipped past the ABC Family Channel, and they were airing “The Secret Life of the American Teenager.”   I have seen enough promos of the show to get the gist of it.  It would seem the show is about a high school girl who gets knocked up.  Oh, and they found Molly Ringwald buried under a rock somewhere and cast her as the mother of the aforementioned teenage girl.  I should mention that I have never actually watched the show, but it doesn’t matter.

After flipping through the series of channels twice and finding no better option, I left it on this Teenager show.  A very pregnant young heroine was sitting in her living room with her Pretty in Pink mother and her father.  The teen stands (very slowly), and says something about not being sure she could do this.  Based on her very pregnant state and the overall theme of the show, I can only guess she meant having this baby.  Molly looks worried, and Dad stands up and drums his fingers on the mantel.   

Dad then turns around and announces to Molly that adoption is not an option for their grandchild.

Oh snap.

Unfortunately, this is not the only show that makes adoption sound like a dirty word.  It’s really starting to tick me off.  Heaven forbid you realize that maybe your family is not equipped to raise a baby.  What’s wrong with finding a couple who are desperate for a child, who are prepared and equipped to give this kid a great life, and who will love and adore that baby??

Why is adoption not an option?  Is there no comfort in knowing that innocent baby is going to have a great life?

It’s no wonder I had crazy preconceived notions about how men feel about adoption, cause it’s often the male characters in these shows that spew off ignorant crap like that.

Alright, cool your jets.  Before anyone gets honked at me for missing the point of the episode, I should say we flipped to CNN shortly after.  Perhaps he just meant he couldn’t bear to not see his grandson, or maybe they finished the episode with a warm fuzzy and redeemed adoption as a great option for overwhelmed teen moms.  I can’t say for sure, but the way he said “adoption”…it was just so dirty!

I just want to make one other teensy little point in this post.  Many of the kids who end up in foster care are children of teen parents.  These teens are ones who didn’t like adoption option either, and tried to raise these kids on their own.  Their extended family either cut them off or flaked out, and they were left to fend for themselves.  Remember being 16?  Do you think you could have raised a baby on your own at that age?

Now DFACS gets involved because something bad has happened.  Would it not have been more responsible to be honest with the situation up front and avoided a lot of unnecessary pain and heartbreak later on?  

There is one mass media adoption story I can say I enjoyed (spoiler alert!).  When I sat down to watch Juno , I sort of cringed the whole way through.  Ellen Page seemed so ok with adoption, but I knew some plot twist was coming that would make adoption look like a bad choice.  When the adoptive couple started to flake out, and adoptive dad starts putting the moves on poor pregnant Ellen, I almost stopped the movie.  I wasn’t sure I could watch ANOTHER media slaughter of adoption.  But then, they surprise me!  Ellen goes through with the adoption, and Jennifer Garner is awesome tough mom who’s dumped her deadbeat husband and raising a darling child on her own.  I was in tears.  Thank you Hollywood for giving us a bright spot!

You may have noticed a slight change in the appearance of my blog.

Well, what do you think?  As I get more comfortable with this site (and of course find the time to come on here and just play), I’m trying to enhance the reader experience for those who come to visit.  Please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts!

I like the green.  I miss green.  Winter is such a brown and dead drag.  After Christmas, the magic is pretty much gone.  Bring on the spring.

Anyway,I thought I would write a little something tonight about Mom and Dad.  Not my Mom and Dad…but parents in general.  Raising Kiddo has taught me a few things, and there many lessons I’m still learning.

First of all, who is the numbnut who came up with the idea that having kids would “fix” a relationship??  I would like to know.  It can’t be someone who is actually IN a relationship, because they would certainly know better.  Having a kid is NOT going to solve any pre-existing relationship issues, and is likely to start a few new ones.

Certainly in the case of becoming a foster parent, this is even more true.

I think when it comes to my husband and I, we have a pretty good relationship.  We’ve been together a very long time, and have evolved and grown as a unit.  I think we both have a rather humerous and sarcastic outlook on the world around us, which often helps.  The one thing I would change is that we are constantly in competition with each other.

This one little flaw makes me nuts, and I’m quite certain it makes my husband batty, too.  It’s not a healthy competition, like who makes the best scrambled eggs or who finishes the crossword first.  We both work very hard, and at the end of a long day, we both walk in the door feeling entitled to certain things.  For example, my hubby does very physical work, so often he feels the need for a back rub.  Well, I may work at a desk all day, but who says my back doesn’t hurt, too??

And so he asks, and my response is “what do I get?”  And vice versa.  Pretty witchy, huh.

Not such a big deal when it comes to back rubs, but when your time becomes very precious and you’re trying to juggle career and family, we both find ourselves wasting energy obsessing over the the extra time the other got to do “something else.”

I hate these fights.  I find myself accusing him of things I don’t really mean.  I don’t mind that he has hobbies and wants to spend time doing them.  I actually like it when he’s not in my hair all the time, and I’m not one of those women who thinks she needs to spend every waking moment with her husband.  My only wish is that my husband chose hobbies that required less financial commitment!  But things come out of my mouth that made sense in my head, but sound selfish and mean when spoken out loud.

Really all I want is balance.  I want to accomplish something I enjoy, and I know he does, too.  But it can be easy to become self absorbed.  It was just less apparent when coming home after a long day meant only having dinner, then being free for the rest of the night to spend it how we wished.

I miss not having as much time with just him.  We used to have a lot of fun.  But oh man…you should see us now.  Now we have all new kinds of fun, and we get to experience life all over again through the eyes of our little boy.

Actually, I have very little room to complain.  At least I get to see and spend time with my Hubby, which is more than some other couples can claim.  I guess that makes our arguments that much more petty.  As age old wisdom would say, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.  Well, if I stopped to look around, I would notice our grass is pretty damn green.  I need to appreciate my grass.

And so, there’s the story of the green.  An homage to an eagerly anticipated spring and my already lush pastures.