Family Day 2009

Our little family

I seriously love this guy. Seriously.

You got to "PRIME the PUMP!"

Sweet tunnel slide.

The Pumpkin Catapult. Awesome.

ps: Click on the labels below for past celebrations
pps: I love adoption
ppps: I totally spent twenty minutes debating whether or not it was acceptable to bastardize the Dewey Decimal system in order to make the non-fiction call number (on my fictional card catalog card) reflect the date (a four-digit number before the decimal) when it SHOULD be a three-digit number reflecting the category of non-fiction where my fake book would be shelved (ie "how-to, adoption reference, family photography, etc.). I need a life.

PrePartum Depression and Anxiety

What if I NEVER get pregnant?

What if I get pregnant but then die?

What if I get really fat feet?

What if I want to smother Jooj RIGHT NOW and I am not even pregnant and then I get
pregnant and I want to smother her even more?

What if I get pregnant and then I go to deliver the baby but it turns out I wasn't ever pregnant, but it was a HYSTERICAL pregnancy? And then everyone thinks I am HYSTERICAL? But not hysterically funny.

What if I get pregnant and then it is twins and then I give one twin away because I can't handle twins and then they meet up at summer camp and try to get me together with another man?

What if the other man is W?

What if I get pregnant and then some crazy lady rips the fetus out of my womb and steals it and I have to travel to Iran to smuggle my baby back because the laws of Iran favor her because she is the daughter of a Sheik and I am just a Dirty American PigDog?

What if I get pregnant and it turns out I can only make ugly babies? You KNOW I won't love an ugly baby.

What if I get in trouble for making the ugly baby pick lentils out of the fireplace ashes?

What if I get pregnant and then W dies and then the house burns down and then Extreme Home Makeover Home Edition comes and makes over my home and it is just three giant great rooms and then I can't pay the property tax and I lose the house and have to sell plasma to support me and Jooj and the ugly lentil-picking baby?

What if I am in the throes of this pre-partum anxiety and I see Marie Osmond at the Chick Fil A and she shushes me and then I throw a fit becausue SHE SHOULD UNDERSTAND and then I get banned from all Chick Fil As forever and can NEVER have Polynesian sauce again?

What if the Polynesian Islands then experience an economic downturn that makes them bankrupt and have to sell themselves to the Chinese? What then? ARE YOU HAPPY MARIE OSMOND?

Maybe I should get my tubes tied, just in case.

Emomsculated

I finished Jooj's blanket today.
Let me preface that with reminding you that I am not a good quilter. What I lack in skill, however, I make up with enthusiasm. And SPEED. The problem, I think, is you have to be precise. I learned on this one (only my second) that you cannot "eyeball" a quilt. You actually have to measure and re-measure. Gravy, I am not good with the measuring.

But I am not too concerned, because I know that this blanket will be a lovie. I do not expect it to make it to her graduation. And, mostly, because she really, really wanted it, and I wanted to bring her some happiness.
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I have been feeling low, as of late, in respect to my duties and role and destiny. A friend is currently on bed-rest, and has been spending her time chatting with me. Which is nice. I enjoy the chat. But the conversations tend to go like this:

Her: I am pregnant! I have life in my womb!
Me: Hooray for you!
Her: Jooj sure gets all of her _________ from her birth mother!
Me: Well, I am pretty _______, too...
Her: Yeah, but she also gets ______, and ______, and ______.
Me: Jooj is MY daughter, you know.
Her: Of Course She Is. But she has so much in common with her birth mother, too! SO much! They are like twins!
Me: ...
Her: I sure am glad I am filling the measure of my creation!

I exaggerate a bit. And I know that she means no ill. She is just young.

But many days of this sort of conversation takes its toll, you know. And I can't get it out of my head that I was given ONE job as a woman: To multiply and replenish. And I am doing neither, you know. Even with a calculator.
*************************************************************************************

Now, I know the spiel: I am her mother. ME. I am raising her, I am sealed to her, ME. I am her mother.

And yet.

I want so desperately to lay claim to everything that is hers. I want her smile to be MY smile. I want to see my grandfather in her cheeks, or my sister in her elbows. (But not her her teeth. Juju is prone to root canals.) I want to look at her and think "I Made That."

Which brings me back to the beginning of this post.

I can't give her elbows or teeth or cheeks or what-have-you, but I can give her joy. And it made her really, really happy that I was making her something. So happy that she proclaimed "Hooray! Hooray! Hop Hop!"

And I think that I mother a lot like I quilt--I do it kind of half-assed sometimes, and I eye-ball it quite frequently, and you won't find me pulling tons of seams in order to make it perfect for my blog posts or Flickr pool. It generally turns out wonky. But there is speed and enthusiasm. And I do it because it means something to me, and something to her.

And maybe I am not filling the measure of my creation--I have not multiplied, but there are times when I know I have replenished her little soul, replenished her faith, replenished her psyche, replenished her belly. I am doing the best job I can with the materials (or lack of materials) I have been given. And I am doing it for the least of these. So that should matter in the end, right? I think it will.

And I made her a matching one for the dollhouse. Because I know it would make her happy. See? Enthusiasm. And Speed.

"For the Temple is a House of God; a Place of Love and Beauty"

**All Pictures from www.lds.org.

Twelve Years and Five Days ago I was in Boca Raton Florida, on my way to the Orlando Temple with my future in-laws and my future husband. It was a long, long drive, and it was really, really early. I remember eating a bagel. And being kind of nervous to enter the temple--a place I had been preparing to go my entire life.

I was the only newcomer during that temple time, and the matrons were so excited and cute--they let me put on a fancy dress and gave me a hand-made holder for my temple recommend.

I think that I disappointed CayCay a little because I didn't cry. But I was just so Happy To Be that I didn't have room for tears. She didn't know me well enough then to know that I only cry out of sadness/anger/mushy movies/and, apparently, adopting a baby.


In Twelve Days it will be three years since we were in Provo, Utah on our way to the Provo Temple with our newly-adopted, officially OURS daughter. It had been a long, long, time coming, and we were surrounded by family, friends, and birth-families and friends. I remember being nervous about time constraints, and relieved that she would finally be sealed to me forever.

We were the only family during that temple time, and the matrons in the nursery were so excited and cute--they fussed over Jooj and put her in her fancy dress and gave me a little card with the date and their names (Kay Frisby and Arlene Smith) to keep.

When they brought Jooj into the sealing room she was just happy as a clam. I started to cry--relief and happiness and joy. But there was some sadness, too. In the room with us were her dear, dear birth-grandparents who I know were thrilled for us, but with a breaking heart. I felt such love and gratitude for them and for her sweet birthmother who was waiting in the garden outside for us to meet her after the ceremony.

When they told us that we were officially sealed, Jooj blew a huge raspberry. It couldn't have been more Official after that.


Yesterday I went to the Ciudad Juarez, Mexico temple. It was a pretty quick ride, no traffic, and not too many crazy drivers. Only two guys juggling fire on the side of the road. I was not special, I was not alone, and I was not fawned over.

And yet, the Spirit testified to me, just as has happened three years ago, that I would be soon starting this cycle again. And that I would be ready, and that it would be good. That the road would be hard but, by the time I could celebrate anniversaries, I would remember the good and the joy and the tears. And I would be in the temple.



If you want to know more about the temples of the LDS church, or how we are, as a family, able to be together after we die, I encourage you to visit Mormon.org. It is all true. Serio. And if you want to listen to a living Prophet of God, check out our General Conference Broadcast this weekend. It will be the heat! (And if you are in the EP area, we will be eating brownie pancakes while we watch. Stop by!)

The Thing With Feathers

I recently had a conversation with a family member who was saddened by this post, wherein I proclaimed my ambivalence about having more kids, or not having more kids. She thought, on the whole, that my blog was sarcastic and bitter, and it worried her. It especially worried her that I seemed decided against any more children. I set her straight.

But it has been eating away at me ever since our conversation--this idea that my tone is sarcastic and bitter and that readers may think of me as a sarcastic and bitter person who doesn't want the one she has, let alone more kids.

My humor tends to be dry, and I do use a lot of self-deprecation, but I don't view myself as particularly sarcastic. Maybe I use a lot of sarcasm, especially since the deployment, but I don't think that it is a particularly defining facet of my character as a whole.

And bitterness? I think that I am one of the least bitter people I know. I roll with the punches. I may complain for a minute or two, but then I get over it and adapt. I don't often take public political sides, and I try my hardest to wish others well, even when I am teeming with jealousy. I think that I am pretty good at expressing gratitude and love and serving other people, but maybe that doesn't come through so much on the blog.

The best and worst thing with a blog is that everyone can read it. I love reading comments--many times the little affirmations are the only contact I have with a grown-up all week, and I have made so many friends over this crazy little universe. But there is always the threat that someone will be hurt, offended, or misunderstand my intentions, words, or tone. And, at my core, I absolutely hate confrontation. (As a side note, thanks, Secret Clinical Strength, for getting me through the day!) Like many journaling bloggers, I often think about suspending my blog, or eliminating it entirely, but return because I remember how much I enjoy the opinions, snippets, and secrets that I can observe from the postings of others.

Getting back to the family comment--I want to explain my feelings from that post, wherein I talked about things that I just can't summon the energy to care for. By saying that I have no opinions about more children or less children or adopting of fertility or stealing a Romanian baby I am saying just that--I don't have the energy to make those dreams or goals a major part of my day. In a perfect world I would have a house filled to the brim with little Joojes and Yuniors. I would have all of the working parts, or a medical care system that would allow for broken parts to be fixed. Or adoption would not be cost prohibitive and time-consuming and heart-breaking. When I said that I didn't have the energy for these aspirations, it is not because I spend so much time playing games or because I am so busy with my career or because I am currently over-scheduled because of my attempts to make a dalmatian-skin coat. It is because the thing in my life that takes more energy than anything--more than Jooj and her repeated watchings of Da Wuss y Da Peet, more than the back and forth to the post office to mail packages to W, more than cleaning and cooking and yardwork and callings and sewing and laundry and looking for my wedding ring--is hope. It is just too hard to hope.

And that is why. No bitterness, no sarcasm, just honesty.

In all reality, we will probably put in for adoption again. I am going through more fertility stuff as we speak. But the quest for enlarging our family has ceased to be even a tenth of my daily thought. Because I can't get myself to have enough energy to hope and dream, to imagine scenarios and write birth-mother introduction letters, to pick out names and rearrange furniture just in case. I love my kid with a passion I never expected, and I have gotten to the point where if she is the only one, I am okay with that. And if there are more, I am okay with that, too. Just along for the ride.

So there you go.

Meh, whatever

My favorite baker has been writing about things she likes (soup, talking about soup) and dislikes (not having soup) which led to some introspection on my part: I just don't care about most things.

So here is a sampler--and it is even (possibly) grammatically correct!

Things In Which I am Not Invested

1. American Idol. Don't care. Doesn't matter to me.
2. Saving the Earth. Ambivalent.
3. Celebrity Babies. I have even tried to get involved. Still don't care.
4. Teaching the Primary kids songs. Sadly, it is my calling. Sadly, they haven't noticed I don't really care.
5. Planning and executing activities for the ward. Sadly, it is my calling. Sadly, they haven't noticed I don't really care.
6. Poetry. I just don't care. Splash.
   
7. Getting pregnant. Or adopting another baby. I am fine either way. Or neither way. Meh.
8. Teaching Jooj the alphabet. She is learning it from TV. Fine by me
9. Hollister/Gap/Banana/Abercrombie/etc. Whatever.
10. Having a tenth item. This can count. Or not.
    

What don't you give a rat's about? (And the apostrophe is there because "bunsies" is implied.)

A-Day 2007

We celebrated A-Day this year a little early, because the pumpkin patch isn't open on Monday, the actual anniversary of the day Jooj was sealed to us in the temple. She had a great time, and only a few meltdowns. The cow train was a big hit, as was roasted corn. Oh, roasted corn. Nature's perfect food. I add salt, lemon pepper, and Parmesan sprinkle. Delish. Oh--and as always we are grateful Jooj is in our famdamily. And we are grateful for roasted corn.

Adoption Talk

Here are some of the most FAQ's I have received:

1. Are you going to get one from China?
No. Chinese adoption is very very expensive and we are worried enough as it is about the whole lead paint issue.

2. Why don't you just use a sperm donor?
Because it is not important for me to actually conceive. And my body is the problem, not his swimmers. Also, I don't live in a 1989-era movie with Kevin Bacon.

3. Are you going to tell her she is adopted?
Yes. We already talk about it a little. We actually use the Sesame Street definition--the best one I have heard thus far: "Adoption is when a baby needs a family to take care of them, and a family needs a baby to love. So they get together and make a family forever."

4. Do you keep in contact with the birth mother?
Yes. We are very open in this adoption. We are cutting back a little, just because she is pregnant again, but keeping the new baby, and we want her to be able to have this be her time, not our time. But we text and email and stuff all of the time. She is a sweet girl.

5. Did you bond with Jooj right away?
Instantly. I actually was extremely lucky with Jooj, because many mothers, natural or adoptive, don't bond right away. I knew that this kid was mine as soon as I heard she existed. Then, when I took her home, she peed on me and I was doubly-sure.

6. You should adopt twins.
Are you on crack?

7. I know a friend/cousin/co-worker that is pregnant. Do you want me to ask them what they are doing with their baby?

No. That is inappropriate. But if you know of someone who is FOR SURE giving up a baby through adoption, then by all means refer them to me. But please don't try to buy me a baby. Buy me a pony, if you have to.

8. What do you think about birth mothers?
I think that they are brave girls/women who are doing their best to make a good consequence come from a difficult situation.

9. Are you ever going to have real children/children of your own?
Have you seen Jooj? Have you seen me? Have you seen W? I defy you to find a more "real" child for the two of us! But if you mean am I ever going to get pregnant? Dunno.

10. Are you worried that her birthmother will come and take her back?
No. Not even a little. In the first place, she has absolutely zero legal standing. In the second place, she loves Jooj far too much to do that. In the third place, I would call upon ninjas to assist me in defending her to the death. In the fourth place, I bet you wish you had ninjas ready at a moment's notice. Neener Neener Neener.

11. Do you get sad when people say that they are pregnant?
No. I don't want their babies. I want my babies. I do get bummed when people complain about how they just can't handle the ones that they have and then get pregnant again. I think that is kind of gift-horsey.

12. Are you going to adopt soon?
Probably not. We are readying our portfolios and things, but W is leaving in a bit for fifteen months, and I don't expect that a birth mother would choose a single mom when she is, herself, a single mom! Also, we are trying this new thing called "living within our means" (FYI: Sucks.) and the fees are pretty prohibitive.

13. Can I be your surrogate? I love being pregnant!
Good for you. You don't even know what you are asking. And NO. But thanks for your kindness! You are welcome to babysit Jooj any time. Or give me money.

14. I knew a kid who was adopted and killed his parents. Are you worried about that happening to you?
I knew a kid who asked me stupid questions. Are you worried about that happening to you? (Although Jooj does have two of the three signs of sociopathy--she beats on the dog and wets her bed. If she starts setting fires I will worry).

15. I think it would be neat to adopt. What do I need to do?
1. Save a gazillion dollars.
2. Start practicing your signature
3. Buy a fire extinguisher and make sure that you have a fence around your pool, and get rid of your trampoline (for the home study approval)
4. Contact an agency and make an appointment. We go through LDSFamilyServices.org (it's about...love.)
5. Talk to your spouse. They probably should know of your plans.


Any other questions?

MWF seeks BM. Smokers ok. No ugly Chicks.

So, we are getting ready to finalize the adoption application stuff. Which includes some really fun questions:

What do you think about discipline?
How is your sex life?
Do you like your spouse?
Do you beat your children?
What do you think about birth mothers?

Hint: All of the above submitted answers involve lying. There is a lot of lying on the application process. Unless our social worker is reading this, in which case we are COMPLETELY HONEST and think that the best discipline is a sweet talking-to wherein we lovingly explain why the fireplace is not the best choice of locations in which to take a nap.

The hardest lying comes with the web page and blurbs. We (and by "We," I mean "I" because W is not so much the applying type but the "Hey! Is that a new baby?!" type) need to come up with some really good phrases that describe us. Things that say "We are fun!" "We are cool!" "Give us your baby!" Heavy on the lies.

Not that we tell complete untruths about ourselves, but we sure as heck don't say "Mostly, we watch tv while recovering from the damage that the baby has inflicted on us throughout the day." or "We used to go on neat vacations, but now we are broke because of the first baby, and your kid will probably never get to go to Disneyland, either."

SO here is today's fun game--in three sentences or less, sell yourself to a person who you don't know, and who is carrying a member of your family, and who holds the keys to your continued family! Let's see what you can do.

Apples and Bananas

A while back Shannon did an alphabet meme and tagged me.

I have mixed thoughts about things like this:
*What does "meme" mean and why? It sounds lame.
*I am so glad someone was thinking of me to tag me!
*Frickety, I hate doing these things.

So I am embarking. But because I am too lazy to copy the clues from the last one, and because I think that it will take me more than the minuscule space of free time I get when a two-year-old deconstructs a sandwich, I am doing it my way. And no one is getting tagged, even though I am thinking of you.

A is for: Amazing Race and Adoption.
I love me the Amazing Race. When they announced they were doing an All-Star edition I lost two drops of pee. Mirna and Schmirna! Kentucky! Beauty Queens! Sneaky old gay guys! It is like God has decided that Sabbath-day TV is must-see.

I was very interested to see a previous couple, Joyce and Uchenna, because I had seen her appear on "How Do I Look" with Finola Hughes, who I think is kicky. (Joyce needed a makeover because she wanted to get back into acting. **I am not going to use this space to comment on how she looks like a goldfish with ADD, and no one wants to see that on TV all day, because it is her dream.** Apparently her million dollars did not translate into being able to spend her own money on clothes and a hair cut; I recall her defending herself by saying that "after taxes and bills, a million dollars is just not a lot of money.")
Anyhoo, I was interested, because the impetus for their racing the first time had been to earn money for fertility treatments. Turns out, they were not all that fertile, and their NEW impetus for racing is to mend their relationship because their marriage is dicey due to the infertility.
And here is where I start to offend people that don't know me, and here is where I don't care:

Attention infertile people, especially those on AR All Stars:
1. If your marriage is so weak that you can't stand the heartbreak of infertility together, that you can't appreciate a million dollars together, that you can't overcome these trials as a couple, then your marriage is too weak for you to be bringing children into it. Kids do NOT make a marriage stronger or better. Sure, there are some new shared experiences that may further bond your couple-ness, ("Honey, I don't want to keep her when she is screaming like Grizzly Man." "Me neither, dear.") Yes, is may be YOUR dream to have a big family, but I guarantee that it is not your child's dream to be pressured to glue her parents back together. Suck it up, get some counseling, and figure out how to make things better before you get basted.

2. Um, why does your child have to come from your belly? Do you know how many children you can adopt with infertility money? Uchenna and Joyce--do you know how many African-American kids there are in the US fost-adopt system? They don't all have to be from China or Malawi or wherever is cool, right now. Having a family is about bringing love into your home. I understand that situations are different and everything. But if having a child is the most important thing in your life, it would make sense not to blame your eggs for your unhappiness. Suck it up.

I initially rooted for these two on their first race. Now I hope that they lose.

Which brings me to

B is for Boston Rob and Amber. Media Whores. And I love them for it. I think that they should be on EVERY season.

all i am i owe to my Angel Mother

Twenty years ago today, a woman that I don't know gave birth to an infant, whom she would give away to an orphanage. I don't know if it was forced, if she was living or dead, or if there was scandal or shame. Maybe there was hope in that action, perhaps the dream of a better life for her baby girl; I am sure that there was sorrow.

Nine months later that baby girl was brought to America by a mother who knew that there was a spot in her family for a tremendous little girl. She loved and nurtured her, and raised her to be everything that she imagined that anonymous mother would have wanted.

A little more than eighteen years later, that baby girl, no longer an orphan, but a cherished daughter, gave birth to a baby girl, whom she would also give away. There was tremendous sorrow, but also a little hope.

That baby girl, now a cherished daughter herself, has been told a simple version of this story, and will pass it down to her daughters, one day.

From an unknown mother, to a loving birth-grandmother, to an Angel Birth Mother, to me.

I wish that I could personally pay respect to all of the women that were involved in making me a mother--this vast chain of caring, hoping, and sacrifice stretches far further than I can see, and is everything good and virtuous about true womanhood.

I wish I could hold that first mother, whomever she was, and assure her that her daughter would be fine, and that her granddaughter would be fine. I wish that I could give her some small comfort in knowing that her sacrifice was the answer to an immediate prayer, and would be the answer to my prayers, eighteen years later.

I wish I could hold her daughter tonight, even though she would rather be holding her daughter, and tell her that I love her like she is my sister, and that she is my friend, my miracle worker.

And in a few years, Jooj will understand better, and I think that January 20 will become a very special day for her, too.

So Happy Birthday Mommy! We all owe everything to you!