I blame Katie *snort*

In a comment on one of my previous posts (Maleesha, there is a note to you in there!) the lovely lady of Mixed Nuts was surprised at our common trait of being adoptive moms.  So I blame her for my new post, and if it gets too long and slightly obsessive you can blame her *snort*.

I keep thinking that it’s going to be too late to start the process again if we wait too long.  I know dh doesn’t want to think on it, I know it.  It requires too much change for him.

I think back to when we first started thinking of this.  Who the hell am I kidding, it was all me back then anyway.  It was back in November of 2006, and I even blogged a smidgen about it.  It started out us wanting more kids, but adoption was mostly in my mind, not so much in his.  He’d had a vasectomy, something we both decided on, but the decision was made while I was in the throes of a horrible bout of post-partum depression.  The first thought to pop in our minds was a reversal.  That wasn’t as quickly denied as I thought, which made me think that more kids was what he wanted too.

In December it quickly became an obsession and I can see myself getting that way again.  I keep wanting to hash it and rehash it over again.  I want to talk about it constantly with dh, but he shuts it down quite quickly saying we can’t afford it yet (meaning it interferes with his 5 yr plan).

He did eventually, obviously, come around.  I am grateful he was willing to listen and accept it.  By January we had applied, got the paperwork back and started the process.

I also think constantly of his birth mom.  I don’t know if other adoptive moms think this way, but I sure do.  We have a closed adoption, and I mean very closed.  It was definitely not by my choice as I would’ve chosen open.  I can’t imagine the emotions a mom goes through giving up her child, but with Sweet Peas she wouldn’t hold him, would barely look at him and signed it all away without a pause (so it would seem anyway).  I want to know what she felt at that moment.  All I have are the social worker’s notes on her words at the time and I think this spoke volumes:

“I am giving him up because I cannot provide for him emotionally or financially.”

Emotionally or financially.

I’ve never thought a person so brave as I did the moment I read those words.  I’m sure many moms out there considering this would absolutely be crushed that they cannot provide what is needed for a child to survive, but to recognize that emotionally she cannot give him what he truly needs? That to me was amazing.

The thing is, with the desire to add more children to our brood means accepting that our first adoption was severely abnormal.  Abnormal in many ways:

1. We were officially approved for the beginning of June and had a child placed in our home on September 27th.  An unheard of turn around.

2. Our adoption was public and therefore that meant that the likelihood of an infant being placed with us was very small.

3. We applied for 2 older children, more closer to Punk’s age and received the call for 1 infant.

4. We were matched through the computer system of the government and that rarely happens (not many workers actually rely on it).

5. Sweet Pea was not ‘removed’ but freely given up.

6. He was not neglected in any way (except for no pre-natal check-ups, but that’s not neglect of him, but neglect of herself – she didn’t want anyone to know she was pregnant and successfully hid it the entire time).

7. He is very unlikely to have any special needs.

We cannot expect that any subsequent adoptions will go like this.  In fact, I can guarantee that they wouldn’t, and I think that is part of dh’s hesitation is that he doesn’t know how much he can handle with a child with special needs.

The man swears he trusts in God and His direction for our lives, but he doesn’t really.  He only trusts it if it’s in line with his 5 yr plan.

I want more.  I want about 3 more to make it a nice round six.

Multiple titles needed

I don’t have any topic worth of an entire post, but I have a few small ones needing to be vomitted onto the page.

-Punk’s mouth was not an infection after all.  It seems she bit her cheek super hard with freezing in.  The sore created looked brutal.  You know when your kid (or you) gets a huge scab on their knee and then goes swimming and the scab looks so nasty and white?  That’s what the inside of her poor mouth looks like.  We’ve had to do salt water rinses since.

-Sweet Pea still isn’t walking.  Normally I wouldn’t care. I really wouldn’t.  Bing didn’t walk until she was 14 months, Punk around the same.  He has hit the 16 month mark and we still don’t know if he’ll walk.  He shows off, shows off he can stand and take a few steps and then scootches on his butt the rest of the way.  The only serious reason I have concern is when he was 7 months old the dr heard a click in his hips.  She wanted an ultrasound, but he was too old I guess (their exact words ~shrug~).  It’s been an ever present thought in my mind and lately it’s been nagging at me a lot because of how he stands.  His feet are a foot apart.  It just makes me wonder, hence the need to vomit it here.

-I think dh is a drama whore.  Not his own drama, but those of other people.  He visited often Mrs. S when she was dying.  Now of course as a Deacon he has every right, but was it because he was a Deacon and he could then pray with them or was it that he could use the Deacon status to get him in the door and get him the attention he’s always craving?  Callous, yes, yes I am.  Just after her death he brings up our neighbour down the street who also has cancer.  Then he says he thinks ‘we’ should stop by.  -side note- Now if you know my dh, ‘we’ never means the actual WE.  If things are messy and need cleaning, he says ‘we’ when he really means me.  If something heroic and attention grabbing needs done in his eyes, the ‘we’ then turns into him alone.  Trust me, his family does it too. -end side note-  We don’t know them at all.  I can say that easily.  I’m saddened by their position now, but that doesn’t mean we know them or that they’d even be comfortable with complete strangers walking in their door asking how they are doing.  I don’t even know their last name, how many kids they have.  Hell, I assumed from their age that they were retired, but he was not.  We don’t know them, but now he wants ‘us’ to stop by a family we don’t know?  Attention whore.  BTW, he hasn’t spoken to Mrs. S’s family since before the funeral.

-I love my husband dearly.  I do, although you can’t tell from the above post, but that’s just me and my me-ness with blatent honesty.  He had to go away for 2 days for work, which means I had to hold down the fort.  It was amazing and sad really seeing how much Sweet Pea missed the old man.  He kept signing dad and saying his word for dad ‘aaaaaaa’.  Then he’d scootch to the back door, or look up the stairs and call for him.  Then he’d forget for a while.  Then the cycle would start again.  When dh finally came home Sweet Pea happened to be looking out the back door and he was literally yelling ‘aaaaa’ and signing like mad, and yelling and signing.  It was absolutely adorable.  He wouldn’t really leave him alone for the rest of the night.  Dh had to take the girls to archery lessons last night and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.  Sweet Pea was eating his favourite, spaghetti, and didn’t even notice dh get up to leave.  It wasn’t until I put him down that he started the cycle again.  Adorable.

-He was so adorable until today.  He’s upstairs screaming his head off, pissed at me for daring to put him in his room by himself.  Every once in a while he just goes beyond being needy for attention and screams and screams for attention, literally.  As a homeschooling family we cannot learn in that environment (did you know tarantulas eat bats?) so he gets put in his room until he stops whining, which usually means he falls asleep on his floor.  Today is one of those days I guess.  Unfortunately with age his voice is much much louder, so we are downstairs for school.  He calms down this way much easier than with me.

-I’m a book whore and may start posting what I read. I’m sure it’ll make ya’ll laugh, not just at the kids books I read (Jules Verne, or much more Juvey fiction), but right now I’m reading, “Diary of a Drag Queen”.  Why?  Hell if I know, it looked interesting.  Being a suburban, white, homeschooling mom I figure it’s not really because I relate to the writer but just want to read what he has to say.  Much like when I read Lance Bass’ Biography (great read btw, he’s a good writer), it wasn’t because I was a serious fan, or gay, but because I wanted to read what he wrote.  I’ve read hundreds of books this year (I am a library whore too *snort*) and most have been strange like that.

-I’m done blabbering for today, even though adoption has been weighing heavily on my mind as of late, I’ll save that for another post.

Brought to you by the letter ‘C’

Contrary to Conventional Conclusions, I am a Consistent procrastinator, or I tend to Curb Constant Care of Concerns.

‘C‘.  Ah, ‘C‘ it’s a Captivating and Cute letter, no?

Crazy is what you are Considering, Correct?

MTAE in a Comical post, Charged a few Collective Characters that read his blog with Creating similar posts to his own Charming one on the letter ‘S’, a Considerably less Classy letter.  It has only taken me a Calendar month to Complete the task, or to reCall to do it anyway.  My list Contains the upstanding ‘C‘ and things I Care for starting with that Celebrated letter.

Chips – my absolute ultimate vice that usually has me instantly if I see them in the aisle.  I’m afraid I’ve passed the same gene onto my kids.

Cookies – cookies are not a vice for me really, I can deny or take them, but it doesn’t matter the kind, it doesn’t matter who makes them, I love them all just the same.

Clan of the Cave Bear – oh boy I love this book.  It could possibly be my all time favourite, but I generally don’t favour 1 book over another as it can cause jealousy.

Computers – If I could marry Steve Jobs I would, not because he’s rich, but because he helped invent and marketed one of the major Contributions to my internet addiction.  Thanks Steve.

Crochet – probably one of the more surprising additions to my list, no?  I love crochet, not just doing it myself as I’m still new, but sweaters, afghans, etc make me drool a little.  Just a little.  I’m making you guess my age now aren’t I?

Charro – no need to ask about this one right?  I mean what woman at 68 still looks like this?  And really, who can sound more Latino than her?

Children – and lots of ‘em would be nice.

Coffee – ’nuff said.

Colourful socks – I have a strange desire to make sure I have colour on me somewhere, and it’s often my socks.  I love colour, what can I say!

Condominium – specifically a particular one in San José in California Del Sur, Mexico.  I miss it, and since it belongs to my parents I can save up and go again.

There’s my list, after only, what, a month?

If you want to play the game, comment and I’ll give you a letter!

Poltergeist 3 is making me worried

Do you remember that movie?  It was probably the only horror I really watched.   I didn’t necessarily enjoy it, but I watched it.  I always thought the little girl in there was so cute.

Did you know she died after the shooting of that movie?  Not from any neglect or movie stuff, but for a very long time it was rumoured to be from a dentist.  No, not from a murderous mirror wielding, mask wearing, rampage.  Supposedly, she had had some dental work and had some infection set in that eventually killed her.  There is actually some scenes, the final ones she ever shot, where her cheeks are swelled up quite drastically.

Punk went to the dentist yesterday.  Actually both of the girls did, both for fillings in rear teeth.  Both had 2 cavities needing to be filled and my dentist doesn’t like to freeze someone on both sides of their face (either that or it makes him more money ), so I had to make 2 appointments.  Today is her second one.

Her cheek is swollen very noticably and all I can damn well think of is that little girl died from dental work.

Damn Poltergeist movie.

We’ll check in with the dentist, but it looks like she’s got an infenction in her cheek/gums/whatever that she’ll need something for (I’m assuming it’s bacterial).  Does a dentist prescribe that or am I going to have 3 kids sitting in the walk-in-clinic that also serves as an urgent care?

Oh, by the way, she didn’t actually die from dental work.  Her cheeks were puffy during the shooting of the movie because doctors had misdiagnosed her with chrones and slapped her on medication that retains serious water.

An emotion discovered in the most usual place

Avid readers know I had a funeral this week.  We had a lovely friend from our church die, not unexpectedly, from a horrendous battle with cancer.  She lost the battle, but at least she gets to be in a much better place.

Empathy.  It’s a form of sympathy that is often lost on many people.  It requires that an individual remove hisself from his own perspectives and actually take on those of another being.  Not just to see what they see, but to feel it.

There is no other venue that this is so apparant than at a funeral.

It was a beautiful service.  There was only one exception and that was the discovery that we were very close to being late because we were told the wrong time.  Not good when the Deacon is required at the service to tell him the service starts at 1:30 and then change it and don’t tell him it now starts at 1:00.  We arrived at 12:51.  But he changed in time and the rest was good.

At best guess, dh figured there was 600 people there.  That’s 599 other people that loved her to pieces.  What an amazing tribute to the life she led than to see a room full of the beings she touched one by one.

Immediately after the mass had finished up, a tribute was put on by her family.  I knew we were all in trouble when her son, her husband and her daughter all stood up.  Jesse is an amazing man, he really is, she raised a remarkable guy.

He stood at the podium and recalled his favourite book as a kid was by Robert Munch, “Love you forever“.  In it is a poem that he recited.

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”

He spoke about the story’s basics and told a story about school.  And then he ended off saying those above words:

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
your baby I’ll be.”

Of course he started to choke up at ‘i’ll love you forever’.

That’s when it hit.  Like an enormous tidal wave, the entire room shook with sobs at the sadness of the loss.  A lot of those people knew her directly, closely and of course were affected by the loss, but there were just as many people like me who knew her very little, more like a person you just talk to weekly through church.  But it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter one little bit because her baby was breaking down up there at the ambo and we all felt that often elusive emotion – empathy.

When Bing started showing signs of empathy as a 2 y/o I thought for sure it was something that just wasn’t ingrained into everyone, just a select few were lucky enough to experience that emotion automatically.  I was proved oh so wrong yesterday watching even the bravest, burliest men shed tears for this young man who was never going to see his mom in this life again.

I will hold that memory in my mind forever with the hopes that human kind has such a great capacity for more than the destruction we’ve already proven we’re good at.

Squash is good my ass

No, not the exercise, the tuber.  Tuber?  Nooo.  Vegetable?  Hell if I know.

Anyway.

I get my veggies through an online ordering system that sends me organic fruits and veggies, and some groceries when I want, right to my door.  I do love them even though they are supremely unorganized and I’m missing something weekly.  I won’t advertise them anymore because I’m not keen on spreading news about a company that isn’t run well.

Anyway, getting on with things.

Last week I ordered a squash that wasn’t something I’d ever seen.  It’s called a Turks Turban Squash, and yes, it looks very much like that.  A round base with a strange protuberance out the top.

Mine looked more like the second one.  According to online recipes it is a squash that is to be roasted in cubes at 375°F (190°C) for 45 minutes, peeled and eaten, sometimes with garlic along side it.  I put a bit of seasoning on it figuring it’d be very bland.

Oh.my.Gosh. it sucked.

It sucked so bad we went out for Chinese Food on a Friday night.  Not only did it take longer to cook than was said, getting it into the oven was a feat itself.

Have you ever tried to cut a squash?  I have seriously high quality knives that are amazing and I had a helluva time cutting through it initially.  I sweat and cursed and chopped and pressed.  My wrists hurt from the experience.  I cut the turban’ish part off, tossed it because it was solid seeds and pulp and then attempted to figure out how to chop the harder bottom.

After chopping it up as much as I damn well was going to I figured out that I’d have to peel it some how because the exterior is so hard there isn’t any way that it’d cook.  It was another pain in the butt to get it all skinned and every moment was spent praying I wouldn’t cut my fingers off.

I toss the cubes in olive oil, garlic and seasoning and toss it in the oven with potatoes.

An entire hour later and the bloody things still weren’t cooked.  I did find one that was soft as it was an end piece and gave it a taste.

All I can say is liar, liar pants on fire.  Who the hell thought that it had a rich nutty flavour is nutty themselves.  It has no flavour whatsoever and was certainly not worth the work it took to get there.

Never, ever again.  Not even a stinkin’ pumpkin is going to enter my doors.

At least the Chinese Buffet was awesome.

Lunch with my favourites

Do you have one of those kinds of friend with whom you could share everything, anything, and they aren’t really a huge part of your life?  Strange as it sounds, I have one of those and she’s my bestest bud (I refuse to use the Hilton’ed word BFF).

I’ve known Kara since junior high.  We met under the usual circumstances of misfits grouping together in solace and in some cases protection.  We were all a scary group of smokers, drinkers, druggies, nerds, geeks and the like, all looking for companionship and we all clung to each other and became a close knit group.  We were the Skids, and I have no idea if that term is used anywhere else, but that’s what we were (holy crap I haven’t thought of that term in a long time).  We were pre-goth, but wore all black before it was cool.

This is where I met her.  Kara is 6′ tall, and was that tall at that time, so of course was too different to be considered amongst the cool kids, that and she has Metis blood and in this racist, white, overbred … *ahem*, they didn’t care much for her.  Me, I’m white, middle-class, and I rarely wore black, hated it in fact except for jeans, but I did smoke, so I just joined the group.

Kara and I weren’t best buds then, but good friends that hung out a lot in the same group.  We were only friends through school and maybe an occasional phone call.

Then high school hit and I couldn’t bear to be with my other friend whose boyfriend was abusive (and she continued to return to him much to my chagrin – I couldn’t fathom it then, judge me).  I was troubled, searching for something more and in the midst of that my then steady boyfriend broke my heart.  I was not a happy camper much anymore, probably not much fun to be around.  It was at that time a youth group became popular in the misfit crowd, as it often does.  It became a consistent part of my life, turned me from an awful downward spiral, and brought me closer to my now best friend Kara.  We began to hang out outside of school.

Of course those tumultuous years were still full of parties and drinking and guys, but I had a great friend to share it with.  She quickly became the person I’d turn to, and I became the same for her.

She actually also initiated the relationship with my dh.  He was reluctant to ‘go for’ me at all because of rumours he had heard about me (false ones spread by a guy I refused to sleep with – although that’s not what he was telling people).  She dragged his ass out to a car at one of his parties and confronted him about me.  We had only been flirting by that point.  She convinced him that I was all for him, but just biding my time for when he was ready.  Of course that is now history.

After dh and I were married, Kara and I became separated by time and money.  Neither of us could afford to travel much as I was in college and she was living in a high priced city 3 hours away.

Ever since we have made the time to see each other, but it’s only been about 2 times per year, and for both of us, that has been okay.  Even when we moved within 20 minutes of her house it was like this due to scheduling on both parts, but it didn’t matter much.  She’s the Godmother to my oldest, she was my maid of honour at my wedding, she sang at dh’s ordination and she will always remain an important part of my life.

I don’t know if this is extraordinary or not, but for some reason we get back together for something and it seems like nothing has changed.  We just talk and talk and talk, and there never seems to be a lull.  That’s not to say that I’ve never been angry with her, or she’s never been with me but it just seems easier to smooth out with her than even my own dh.

I’m going to lunch with her today along with the kids.  Well brunch actually because we’re going to a breakfast place.

I can’t wait to see her again.

Scream, pass out, scream, pass out

I think this is going to be a reoccuring event at our house for a long time coming.  When a 16 month can get so mad that he stops breathing mid-wail, turns a sickening hue of blue, falls over in slow motion and passes out, I know I’m in deep shit for future years.

On December 4th of last year he did the same exact thing, except he had a seizure after he finally took a breath.  It was a scary moment.

Now I’m just pissed.

Last week he did it again.  He got mad at me for something fairly trivial (saying ‘no’ to something he couldn’t have) and he was some pissed.  He screamed, even bent over in frustration, sat up again and didn’t take a breath for a full 30 seconds.  That of course made him pass out and then he finally took a breath.  A part of me was concerned, but all in all I was pissed off.  Not much I can do with a 16 month old when I’m pissed but wait the 2 seconds until he regains consciousness again and whimpers in my arms.

Today was different.  I’d had enough and just left him be to do what he would and then breath again.  My girls sat looking at me wide eyed, mainly because they were fearful of witnessing another seizure, but I don’t think it’ll happen again.  I truly believe it had to do with him getting shots 2 weeks before that, but that’s another post in itself.

I watched him to make sure he wasn’t going to seize, I eyed him as he laid over, rather gently actually, and stopped crying while his eyes closed and his breathing returned immediately.  Then he woke up whimpering again.  Not a full out cry, as he was probably a bit tired, but enough that we knew he was upset.  I let him be for a moment longer and picked him up to put him to bed.  He was still pissed that I wasn’t going to give in to his demands today.

I know this isn’t done on purpose because #1. he is so not old enough to pull this kind of crap, and #2. he doesn’t take that big breath in upon initiation of the tantrum like a 4 y/o would in defiance.  He’s much too young.  But is this going to continue?  Is this going to turn into the 4 y/o I dread who in the midst of the cookie aisle has a full-out tantrum and knocks himself out?

I’m going to be turned into CPS I can see it coming.  “Mom in grocery store refuses to admit tantrum child is her own, even after he fell over unconscious from holding his breath”… yeah, that’ll be me, you just wait for the headlines in a few years.

I remember the doctor when we were in the Children’s specifically saying to us that it’s a dangerous territory attempting to halt these as it can give the child a control he should not have.  It can turn into a tool for manipulation quite easily, even at a young age, and is much harder to break.

I’m at a loss really.  I can’t imagine giving into these as I am much more stubborn than any kid (yeah, that’s something to brag about).  Not much else to do but forcefully breathe up his nose to startle him in the midst of it all.

All this on Punk’s birthday.  Yep, she’s finally turned the big 8 years old today.  She was a 4 am baby too.

Happy Birthday Punk!