America's Next Top Mommy

This is from one of my favorite books, "Tuesdays With Morrie".  You can read it in a matter of an afternoon but it can change your perspective for weeks to come.

"So many people walk around with a meaningless life.  They seem half-asleep, even when they're busy doing things they think are important.  This is because they're chasing the wrong things.  The way to get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning."

My friend Shari is a house party fiend.  She signs up for them online and I don't know where she finds them but any time there is a chance where someone can send her free items in exchange for having a party and making guinea pigs out of her friends- she's so there! First there was a party for cleaning products.  They gave us a spray bottle with cleaner, a microfiber wash cloth, a re-usable bag and other goodies that escape my memory. I didn't go to that one and she was dissapointed to the point where she would roll her eyes and exhale deeply while I was telling her that my father's funeral took just slight precidence over her green cleaning party.  She did reluctantly give me some goodies.  But only because I begged. 

Then there was the Clairol party where we all got together and dyed our hair. Part of the requirement was that she take before and after pictures to document the success (or horrible failure) of the hair dye.  I'm just waiting to see my picture show up in the back of Glamour Magazine with a big black rectangle across my face and a caption that says, "DON'T...get a haircut that makes you look like a man."  

This last time was a book party.  We each got a free book, read it and were supposed to say how we enjoyed it. The only part that stuck out at me was how the characters kept saying they were "greedy" for their men.  As in, "he kissed me and then I wrapped my leg around him and felt myself become GREEDY for him."  Serioulsy?  It was made worse by the fact that the author used the word over and over again and now every time I look at Howie I wonder whether he lights my fire enough to make me lust with greed.  And while the book I will soon forget, that word is now a full fledged member of my sarcasm arsinal.  As in, when Shari asks me what I thought of the one-on-one date on "The Bachelor" I will say, well, she sure was GREEDY for him.  And when she points out (as always) that she's hot for Sportacus from "Lazy Town" I will say, "but does he make you GREEDY?" Because that's just me.  A smart ass.  I'll go ahead and link to THAT book, just in case you all have a couple of days where you feel the desperate need to torture yourselves.  This book gives me hope that I can someday be published because OH MY GOODNESS!

  And while I like these Shari parties, I feel like saying this one thing to Shari right now because I know she's reading this as she listenes to Richard Cheese sing "Baby Got Back". 

"Shari.  We love you.  You don't have to have a party in order to invite us to your house. Please stop making us clean our houses and dye our hair and read horrible books.  We will come to your house anyway.  Especially if you make us chocolate cake and punch.  Save the rest of your food for the squirrels."

That last part is kind of a personal joke. You see, as we were all around her kitchen table discussing THAT book, we noticed that her back yard was covered with squirrels.  Hundreds, Thousands, MILLIONS of squirrels.  They came from trees and underground and seemed to swarm her back deck with great vigor and vim. "What's with all the squirrels?", we asked in a worried tone.  "Yeah, about those...I feel so sorry for them so I've been feeding them. And they seem to like it cause the other day I found one attached to my screen, looking into our kitchen window." That was followed by a chorus of "EWWS" and "DO NOT dig a hole in your backyard because the squirrels will attack your children and throw them into the hole like they did to Veruca Salt in "Charlie And The Chocolate Factory." And here's the funny part about Shari.  She is EXTREMELY vigilant in the "keeping germs away from my children" department.  She carries a pack of "wet one's" attached to her belt when she goes to the supermarket, ready to whip one out at the sound of a sneeze three aisles down.  But when it comes to feeding vermin in her backyard? She's cool with that.

And just then a squirrel hopped up and sat in her flower pot and stared at us through the deck window as he checked out the spread of vegetables, multigrain crackers and hummus.  Then he picked up a piece of raisin bread that Shari had thrown to him and stuffed it into his mouth.  They hung around for a long time until our conversation veered into how much she had fed them and how they seemed to be plump and round in their middle region and can you eat squirrel?  The consensus was that in some parts of the country they make baked squirrel and squirrel kabobs but in Connecticut it's generally frowned upon. Still, if society were ever to break down and we were completely out of food, I'd be hunting in Shari's back yard because those home-grown suckers could feed a family of 6!

 A lady from The New York Times had contacted Shari and asked if we'd like to participate in a discussion about THAT book where we could do reviews and such. And just as we had gotten all excited and had all agreed to comb our hair and wear bras to the interview, she backed out. Because apparently Connecticut isn't exciting enough for her.  Like, we aren't sophisticated enough? We totally talked about movies and music and wine! Heck, we had a discussion about whether red or white wine would be appropriate to serve with stuffed squirrel. That's sophisticated isn't it?  Oh well.  I'm kind of glad she didn't show up because I would have had to tell her that I would rather read a recipe book entitled "101 Ways To Stew Squirrel" than read THAT book again.

Last week, after a particularly wonderful visit with Raul, we found ourselves overcome with ambivolence.  The visits are going fantastically.  He has taken to us with ease and the chemistry could not be better.  There are times when I look into his eyes and I see nothing but myself.  I see my son, like he's always been a part of me.  He's so familiar in a way I can't even begin to explain.

But the ambivolence was palpable.  And when we left the visit I couldn't help but feel concerned.  We were getting mixed signals from his foster mother.  She seemed so eager for us to succeed yet at every turn tried very hard to dissuede us from going on.  And that made us worry.  Did she know something we don't know? Is she trying to warn us? Why does she have so little confidence that he will be able to make this transition? We kept expressing interest and with every turn there seemed to be a road block and the process kept getting pushed back longer and longer.

We hadn't been home but a few minutes when she called and I was happy she did because we had a down right heart-to-heart. I asked her why she was saying and doing these things.  Why was she trying to get us to back out? And her response was surprising.  She had been so afraid that WE would back out that she was guarding herself (and him). In a twisted sort of way, we were both striving for the same thing: to bring Raul into our family.  And while our goal was the same, we were actually being counterproductive with both our actions and communication and in effect creating the opposite of what we both so desperately want.

Here's the thing, this adoption stuff is highly personal.  It's intimate and it's hard to be intimate with someone you don't know.  Add that to the fiercely terrifying nature of a mother about to add a new son to her family and a mother about to lose a son she's known for 2 years and it becomes downright impossible.

But we worked it out.  At one point I said to her that once the boy walks through our front door with his bags he is never leaving and that was apparently what she had been waiting to hear all along.  That we were committed to him.  That he would not have to start over.  Our only real concern was how he would react to Bubba, and vice versa.  And while we had originally scheduled for him to meet Bear first, we thought we might as well get it over with so we could all breathe a sigh of relief.

We took Bubs to meet him this last friday and while I thought in my head that I was okay, I was literally nauseous all the way there.  I blamed it on the turkey sandwich and then on a rampant case of car sickness.  I even tried to convince myself that I could be pregnant. Because apparently my being pregnant even though Howie's vas deferens have long been separated, divorced and moved to different states, was more of a plausable conclusion than facing the fact that I was just plain nervous.  Because what if it didn't work out? What if we'd been through all of this and they hated each other?

My fears were; however, unfounded. I've rarely seen Bubba so positively lit up.  They were engaged from the very beginning and while they played separately, they were very close in proximity, taking their time.  At one point Bubba was playing with a helicopter and was looking for the pilot and when I asked Raul to find it he did.  Then he knelt next to Bubba and they worked together to make the piece fit.  They talked, a shushed conversation- a connection.  And the overwhelming reality of it all made me clutch my chest while I worked really hard not to cry.  Because I'm not one of those people who can inconspicuously cry.  I automatically go into the ugly cry.  You know what I'm talking about...the blubbery, snotty, lose your breath kind of crying that makes people look at you and wonder how it was possible that the doctor's released you from the institution without supervision.

They played and ran and jumped and giggled.  We went up to Raul's room and we laid on the cold floor and squeezed the boys between us.  They wrestled and tickled each other and sat on Howie's lap for a picture.  It was easy, fluid, comfortable.

As we left, we asked Bubba what he thought of Raul and he said, "when can I bring him home." That was it for me.  I started crying and didn't stop until we got home.  It was a huge step to see him for the first time and this was another huge step, to see him in context.  It was overwhelming to see those boys, those brothers make a connection for the first time.  What a beautiful sight to see.  In all of my days I will never forget it, witnessing that powerful force that bonds us as family.

Okay, so if you haven't already, please go read THIS.  It's the "Sowing Bountifully" blog that I wrote a few days ago that talks all about how we decided to give some money even though we didn't want to give money because we are tight wads. Yes we are.  Tightwads, conservative, abstemious in terms of giving tightwads.  The truth can sometimes be an ugly thing.

In the blog I talk about how we have had it on our hearts to give more generously and how I made it my new year's resolution to do so.  So, I felt very strongly that we were supposed to give a certain amount of money to two different places but there was just one problem: we didn't have the money to give.  As in, zero...zilch...nada! Because we ended up deciding to put all of Howie's bonu (as well as our tax refund) on credit card debt.  And I have no doubt that was a wise decision.  But I couldn't shake this persistent nagging in my brain that I needed to give this money so I did something completely radical...crazy...slightly financially irresponsible.  I took a partial withdrawal from my IRA account.  And yes, I took a hit on fees and yes I believe my financial advisor is in the process of staging an intervention as we speak.  But I did it.

Because like I said before, I think that I'm supposed to push my faith to the limits.  I'm supposed to take a deep breath, close my eyes and grimace at the prospect of letting go of any semblance of control. My friend Amy and I were discussing this at length the other day and she pointed out how interesting it is that many of us would pray and have faith that God could cure our cancer or eliminate our stress or suffering.  And to a great degree, we believe it. But when it comes to money...well, that's a different story.  Because I personally don't think that I will be receiving a certified letter with a check directly from God.  Because he can cure cancer but he can't fill my bank account. *rolls eyes at self*

Now, I was not forthcoming on the amount of money that we had decided to give, only because in the previous blog I thought it unnecessary to disclose.  But now, I have to tell you because it will bring home this blog to the point that will shake you to your core.  It's that unfathomable of a story.  We set aside $600.  Now, that's not a HUGE amount of money but it's definitely enough to make my eyes (and ass) twitch.  Again, not what I would exactly label as a "comfortable" amount for me to give.  Add that to the fact that in order to give that amount I had to take a tax penalty and my heart starts to palpitate as beads of sweat roll down my face.  Now, we haven't given the money away yet because we haven't received the wire transfer as of right now.  In fact, because of the delay, we actually went into the negative with fees! And yes, I do believe that this is crazy.

But then something amazing happened. After we ear-marked the money and made the decision, we got a notice in the mail from the IRS.  The IRS! We had over-paid in our 2008 taxes and they are sending us a check for $247.00.  The next day we got a call from our insurance company.  That prescription we had just filled is apparently partially covered so they reimbursed us $100.00.  And then, we got notice from the IRA people, that the account we closed actually had $364 more than what they had anticipated.

Do the math: $247 + $100 + $364 = $711.  That's $111 dollars over what we had earmarked.  Internet...I got three checks in the mail...stamped, sealed and signed from God himself.   And I think it show's his incredible sense of humor that the money came from three of the most infamously stingy groups ever...the tax collectors, the insurance companies and the financial institutions.  Now THAT is funny!

This is no coincidence.  This is a confirmation, an affirmation that I did the right thing.  And I don't think that it was meant to give me money that I would have given away, I think it was meant to cover all of my NSF fees for being foolish enough to trust a financial company! Either way, I was still covered. I will still be just fine financially speaking.

I can't say it's easy.  But I can say it's amazing.  I challenge you right now to figure out how much money would make you uncomfortable to give.  How much would make your chest compress and your blood pressure rise? How much would you worry about?  Then take that money, double it and write a check.  Don't think too much about it because you will talk yourselves out of it.  In the infamous words of Nike, "Just Do It".  Give it to whomever, whatever, wherever you choose.  It could be anything from your local food bank to a children's hospital to the The Red Cross to World Vision.  Now, you don't have to take money out of your IRA.  Because people who do that are just plum out of their minds.  But I'm just saying'...take a chance and see what happens.  Giving once to the point that makes you feel uncomfortable won't ruin your life. It might be inconvenient, it might feel crazy, it might take you a month to recover but you WILL survive.  Do it once and see what happens.  See how it comes back to you.  See how great you feel.

It's been a while now that Howie and I have suspected "the talk" to be imminent with Birdie.  She's always had a fascination with babies, having babies, getting married, having a husband, etc... She would pretend that she and Bubba were married and have babies and over the summer, her imagination really started to run wild.  It coincided with the announcement that we would be adopting a child which made perfect sense to me.

We talked to her a little bit about adoption and how that is different from being born into a family but it only really added fuel to her flaming curiosity.  Then came that time Howie and I got caught in the act.  Couple that with the natural curiosity of children and it's no surprise that she's confused!

A couple of weeks ago I got called into school because Birdie was telling stories about being married and having babies.  She was telling everyone that her husband's name is Derek (one of the characters from "Monsters vs. Aliens") who works out of town a lot and that she was pregnant and lord knows what else.  Things like she was going to give birth to the missing link or a half human-half cockroach baby or a giant blob of bluish goo.  Whatever.  It was clearly a story from a girl with an overactive imagination.  From a girl who is going through a major transition in her family and is trying to sort it all out through play.

When the principal told me I started to laugh.  Because seriously, she's SEVEN! And what seven year old hasn't told incredibly ridiculous stories at one time or another?  But then the principal yelled at me and pointed her finger whilst she told me that my child is "not normal" and while she didn't say it out loud it was quite clear that it was all my fault that Birdie was crazy and telling such stories because there is clearly reason to worry that over Christmas vacation I let her get married to a chronically absent husband whom I then allowed to impregnate her with a half alien child. Just wait till she finds out that I let Bear work at the strip bar out by the airport and even paid for her breast implants, the triple D's and the sparkly pasties to go with them!  Because that's how I roll.

But I digress...It was clear to me (and our social worker) that Birdie was having difficulties processing the adoption, understanding where babies come from and how they enter families. That led us to consider having a sex talk with her.  Especially since she's almost 8 years old and I got my period when I was NINE! Nine, people! And with all the hormonally injected eggs I've let her eat during her lifetime, it's a miracle she didn't get her period on her 5th birthday!

I'm just saying, the time is running short.  We need to get to the business of discussing sex and bodies and babies and all of that craziness.  But where to start?  We ultimately decided to use a Christian based curriculum, starting with a book called "Before I was Born"  which is aimed at children 5-8 years old.  I have to admit that I questioned whether a 5-8 year old really needs to know all about semen but I did appreciate the simplicity of it as well as how it made marriage and intimacy the focus of sexual relationships.

I surprised her with the book.  She totally had no clue that I was about to unveil the holy grail of sexual information to her.  She was shocked, a little embarrassed but obviously curious.  She hung on every word and her eyes were as big as saucers.  But at the same time, she acted so nonchalant.  Like it was something that was no big deal and she didn't really care about it.  That was all a ruse, however; because as soon as I was done reading she ran to her room with the book, closed the door and proceeded to read it one hundred times in succession. I talked to her about privacy and how this is something that parents talk to their children about when they think the time is right so she shouldn't then go on the playground and start a conversation with "boy do I have something to tell you!"

But do you know what? It quenched her curiosity.  Because after that there were no real questions, nothing to wonder about, nothing to ponder and she dropped the subject altogether.  It was a great first step for both of us.  It opened up the lines of communication and set the groundwork for a relationship with trust and comfort that will hopefully last forever.  It's not an easy thing to do but I'm so glad I did it now.  Because it means that I can do it in digestible chunks. 

I would have never had this talk had she not been so persistent about the subject.  I would have preferred to wait and have the talk somewhere around 9:30 pm on the night before she gets married.  And I cannot believe that I have a daughter who is old enough to have some of this information but now she knows that I'm not afraid to talk to her and that when she has a question I will answer it.

I'm proud of myself and think I did the right thing and look forward to talking more but there is a part of me that wishes I could erase the word "scrotum" from my little girl's mental rolodex.