Gettin' 'cited

I’ve been back in the States now for...I don’t know how long. Even after thinking about it, I can’t tell you if I’ve been here for two weeks, three weeks or four. I just don’t know. Coming home has been good in some ways. It brings me closer to Thor. I have been able to do things in honor of being a Mom. Things like shopping at Target and BabysRUs (or however you spell the blatant misspelling) and the baby section at Ikea. All monumental things when you’ve been living on a tiny island at the edge of civilization (literally and figuratively) for a couple of years. I’ve been making decisions for the house and planning a nursery and spending time with good friends. All the good stuff.

But being home has also been like smashing my face into a brick wall...really hard. I basically walked off the plane and into my office and I have been at the office almost the entire time. I come home (the rented, furnished apartment) to sleep. I work and work. I work so much I haven’t had the time to buy what we need for our trip to China or even think AT ALL about that beautiful little girl waiting for us over there. In response, I have cried and stressed and screamed, but I continued working. Because that’s what I do.

This past weekend I didn’t work because we had very very very special guests in town, of the Alternative sort (also known as the kind, generous and beautiful sort). And over the weekend I realized that I will disappoint people when I leave for China. I will leave work unfinished because I took too much onto my plate and was not realistic about what I could reasonably do in a such a short period of time. I let my needs, my family’s needs, fall to the side and I went to work with a pitbull’s grip. And then I was miserable. I was trying so hard. All the while knowing that, ultimately, I would be making no one happy. Most of all myself.

People ask me if I’m getting excited and I look at them, with my eyes sunken into their sockets (I’m not sleeping well either), and I explain that I haven’t had the time to be excited. I just haven’t had the clarity of mind or the space for that kind of happiness. And that makes me sad. Especially because I have no one else to blame.

So I’m coming out of it now. I’m taking ½ hour to blog this morning because I want to memorialize this time in my life. The time before Thor. The changes I’m considering...and making...as I make way for the little God of Thunder. I’m picking up my husband and my cat from the airport this evening and I will experience big joy. I AM feeling excited about that. I will then have 3 of the 4 puzzle pieces in one place, with only one wee one to go. That is very very exciting.

And then we go to China. We leave on Saturday morning, get there on Sunday PM and meet Thor on Monday AM. In less than one week we will be meeting our baby girl. Holding her in our arms. Touching her cheeks. Stroking her palms. Offering her Cheerios. Looking into those giant, almond eyes. We will finally experience that moment, and all those moments afterwards that we’ll call life. We will finally be really living it. In it. Not planning for it, or trying to convince others that we’re worthy of it. We’ll be living it. In our home. With our little girl. With our cat. With each other. All of the pieces in one place. FINALLY!!!

OK, now I’m getting excited.

Tick-Tock

I heard the clock ticking today. It’s not like I was just waiting for it to tick. On the contrary. I was running around the house, packing things for the charity shop, sorting stuff that’s ours vs. what belongs to our landlords, moving stuff from this pile to that...moving out essentially. I’m leaving Ireland in a couple of days. Leaving Ireland. Leaving. Ireland.

So I heard the clock tick and I had to pause because I was struck with a very strong memory of what my life was like when we moved here two years ago. I had come from a relatively high-stress job, with a relatively high-stress life (some, but not all, of my own making) and when I came here there was nothing. Floyd would go to work and I would sit. Sometimes I would read, or watch TV, or go to coffee with other expat ladies. But, other times, I would just sit. And I would listen to that clock tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Marking the passing of time at an unbearably. slow. pace.

Why is it that time only seems to go slow when you’re miserable? Or, shall I say, when you think you’re miserable. Because I look back on that time now and I think about what I could’ve been doing with that time. And not so much "doing" with that time as "enjoying" that time. That precious time.

That precious, miserable time lasted about three months and then I managed to fill my time with classes and horse-back riding lessons, doctors visits, and trips into Dublin for acupuncture and herbs. We were still trying to get pregnant back then so I was pretty focused on that. I would go to the gym and work-out most days. Other days I would just go for a run. I slowly became more comfortable in the kitchen and began cooking adventurous meals. We ate at the table and I stopped watching TV. I had successfully made my life busy again.

Then we decided to adopt, so my life became completely focused on that for several months. Then we started to travel. And travel. And travel some more. We had friends and family over and took them to fun places like Paris and Rome and Oughterard.

And then our house burned down, so we had to focus on that for about eight months.

Then more traveling and more visitors who we took to fun places like Paris and Rome and Doolin.

And then we met Thor, so we’ve been focusing on that for the last four months.

And now we’re going home. Time’s up. No do-overs.

I was reminded today of those first few months in Ireland, listening to the clock tick, back when I thought I was miserable. I feel like I haven’t heard that clock tick in a really, really long time, so I became nostalgic. I have always said that boredom is highly underrated.

Now I’m going home. Back to my job and back to our lives. We’ll soon travel to China and bring home our daughter. Life will naturally be different, but I’d like to think that I’ve learned a few things in the last two years. I’m sure I have actually. I discovered today that I learned to enjoy the sound of the clock ticking.

No Crescendo

Last week we found out that we have been approved by the Chinese government to be Thor’s parents. Holy crap.

The approval came in the form of our Letter of Acceptance or Seeking Confirmation (LOA/SC). This is the most coveted of documents in China’s Waiting Child Program. It’s like getting your referral in the traditional, or non-special needs, program. Essentially, it’s huge. It means they have reviewed our files, reviewed our petition to adopt Thor, reviewed Thor’s special needs and deemed us good and fit parents. Holy crap!

There is now nothing but a few simple pieces of paper and a few thousand miles standing between us and our daughter. Holy crap!!!

We are thrilled, yes, but I’ll be honest with ya’. There are a lot of other emotions going on as well. And some of them have nothing to do with rainbows or ladybugs.

I don’t like comparing the process of adoption to the process of giving birth because they are very different on many levels. I have felt uncomfortable when listening to people make comparisons because it *sometimes* sounds like a desperate attempt by a potential adoptive mother to FEEL pregnant or to validate (for her or for other people) the connection to her adopted child and, in doing so, implying that being pregnant is better than adopting. And I don’t feel that way.

Therefore, it feels very strange to admit that I feel like Thor has been growing inside of me since the day I laid eyes on her. I have grown to think about her constantly. Every move I make, every decision I make, absolutely EVERYTHING that I do, I do with her in mind. Everything. I look at her face and not only do I know, intellectually, that I’m her mother, but I FEEL like her mother. I didn’t start out this way, but I’ve become this way. I can sense what her skin will feel like and what her little hands will feel like. I can see her running across our floor. I can feel her on my lap, and I sense her concentration as I read her a book. I can almost...almost hear her cry.

So I think I’m ready for this. Heck, I know I’m ready for this. But I have to tell ya’....I’m scared shitless.

Going back to the birth/adoption comparison, women give birth to an infant. A little, tiny creature that takes up very little space, sleeps most of the time and cries little cries with little lungs. Thor, on the other hand, will be 18 months old when we she storms into our lives. Very different story. They’re all different but, generally, toddlers take up more space than their small frames can account for, sleep only when they darn well feel like it, and have a loud desire to make sure people think you’re the worst parent in the world every time you step out into public. People give birth to infants so that, by the time they’re toddlers, they have learned how to parent this creature.

I just finished a book entitled “Toddler Adoption – The Weaver’s Craft” by Mary Hopkins-Best. It’s a great book that describes some of the trials that adoptive parents can expect when adopting a toddler, and how they might address these “issues”. I won’t go into the “issues” here because many of them are scary. Like really really really scary. Due to the objective of the book, she doesn’t spend much time talking about how wonderful your life will be after you adopt your little one. It’s all just plain scary. Yes, she presents effective tools for addressing these “issues”, which I am thankful to know about, but that doesn’t take away the scary. Just because you know you can repel vampires with garlic, doesn’t make them any less scary -OR- knowing that George Bush will someday be out of office, doesn't make him any less scary. So, obviously, that’s where this fear is coming from. (I love what people are thinking right now...”Oh Lord! She’s comparing her daughter to the undead! – please.)

Adopting a toddler feels kind of like a trial by fire. It’s not a slow build-up, or crescendo, to the maelstrom. Rather, you just start there.

I’m excited by my new (umpteenth) on-line group for parents of toddlers adopted from China. I’m sure I’ll find one or two kindred spirits there. I need to talk to people who understand the fear that their daughter will be repelled by them, who understand the isolation when nobody in your circle of friends can relate to your situation, who understand the rages and the grieving and the frustration and the night terrors. Who understand this particular kind of scary.

If anybody sees my head...

...could you please pick it up and pop it in the post. Tanksferdat. You see, I think it’s finally popped off and I just really hate the thought of kids using it as a soccer ball or some dog chewing on it. It hasn’t been doing me much good lately but I'm thinking it could really come in handy at some point in the future. ? Maybe.

You know how they say there are like three really big life changes that can affect your family: 1) Having a child, 2) Moving, 3) Changing jobs, and let’s just add another for fun 4) House burning down. Any one of these things is known to be a major stressor, but what would a therapist say if they knew I was dealing with all four at the same time? They would probably advise me to just leave the head because I don’t really need it right now and it’s just going to pop off again tomorrow.

So here’s a little update, saving the best for last of course...

House Burning Down (or “essentially destroyed by fire”, as we prefer to say): The house is coming along great. Our contractors and their marketer turned the restoration into a real project that showcases green building practices and “what to do if your house burns down” education. We’ve got hard hat tours, open houses, way cool vendor participation AND our home has been chosen to be on the City’s Build it Green! Tour this year. All this AND the restoration is coming along great. The plumbing, wiring and radiant heat are all in and now they’re putting up sheetrock, which means there’s actual walls. The windows and doors are in and they’re absolutely stunning (at least from what I can tell in the pictures) and the siding is going up on the back of the house (where the fire was). All of this while we’re on the other side of the planet. It’s all quite amazing actually. Our contractors are wonderful and kind and we trust them. If it were not for them our heads would’ve popped off a long time ago. We have no doubt the house will be absolutely gorgeous AND we’re thinking that, after a couple of dinner parties and some Thor-time in the Tupperware cupboard, she’ll be ours again.

Moving and Changing Jobs: I need to combine these because they kind of go together. Things are a little complicated on this front. We were originally planning on going home at the beginning of August because that’s the end of our two years here, but the house won’t be done by then so we were granted an extension from The Death Star, requiring certain commitments from Floyd. Along came Thor...and we’re suddenly wondering how quickly we can move back...but Floyd made commitments...but the house won’t be done...you get the picture. Then we add the issues with my little place of employment (I think we called it R2D2 before). The messages are mixed but I’m hearing they could use me back in the office, like...now. The conversation went something like this...

“So, I’ve only got one or two months left to play in Ireland and you want me to come back early and go to work? Are you out of your fekkin’ mind?”
...
“Oh…you’re going to pay me?
...
“How much?”
...
“I’ll see you Monday.”

It’s just that simple. We have a few expenses right now so we’ve gotta dig deep and just do what needs to be done. And if that means going back to the States, AND my cubicle, AND being away from Floyd for 4-5 weeks, AND not seeing our home together for the first time, AND not spending our anniversary together...so be it. You gotta do what you gotta do.

Having a Baby: Oh yea, Thor, I almost forgot...NOT! Thor is front and center in all of this mayhem. As y’all know, Thor is in China’s Waiting Child Program because of her cleft lip/cleft palate. That program works a little differently from their Traditional or Non-Special Needs Program. Our Letter of Intent (LOI) was sent to China on June 26th and we are now waiting for our Letter of Acceptance (LOA), which is actually a letter from China asking if we’re still interested. Ummmm....gee, let me think... This seems like a crazy step, but they are simply seeking confirmation (the other name for this step) that we can handle her special needs. These days the LOA can take over 100 days to get (ugh) UNLESS your original file (the one we sent in May 2006) was already through the review room, which would mean that it may only take about 35 days (much better). Now, we’re pretty sure our file was out of the review room but we just don’t know for sure. It gets kind of complicated and involves lots of dates and I won’t bore you with it (as opposed to boring you with all this other stuff). Needless to say, only time will tell, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it (except take deep breaths). Then after we send back our LOA we wait another 3-4 weeks for our Travel Authorization (TA) and travel can happen within a few weeks of that. Essentially, if things go according to schedule we could be traveling as early as mid- to late September or as late as mid-November. But there is just nothing certain in this whole process, so we still send out LOTS of good juju.

Speaking of good juju, we are off to London this weekend because we have to renew some adoption paperwork (the thumbs-up by the Feds, i.e. the Holy Grail of adoption paperwork) and, in order to do so, we need to renew our fingerprints. Yes, you heard me correctly. Renew our fingerprints. Because they changed so much over the last year. I would really love for somebody to tally up what it costs, financially and mentally, the potential adoptive parents to comply with all of these fekkin’ silly-ass rules to bring home their child. I realize there have been a few bad apples but, man! The Feds (I can't even bring myself to name their office in this blog because I just know they're reading it) have us all by the cajones and it just isn’t comfortable. So, the good juju comes in the form of the vibes that we send to the Feds so that they do not choose to mess with us and we can get our renewed paperwork before we travel (feel free to light candles...if you have any left).

So – off we go to jolly-old London. We have our sights set on toy shopping to help stock the little care package that we’re sending to Thor and her foster family. We’re also going to check out the precious antiquities that were plundered from ancient sites all over the world, such as those we just saw in Turkey and Pompeii, and now reside in the British Museum (for safekeeping of course). We might sample a few real ales as well. So, as usual, any complaints I might have about such things as renewing our fingerprints are now falling on deaf ears.

And let’s not forget the nesting. That instinctual maternal nesting that I am so needing to do right now...and can’t. Imagine. I can’t decorate her room because it’s on the other side of the planet. I can’t buy baby stuff over here because it’s wayyy too expensive and we’d just have to, somehow, get it back to the States. It’s a little frustrating. But you know what I can do? I can make lists. I can make lists of all of the lists that I need to make. That’s what I CAN do. I can also read books about adoption and attachment, join Yahoo Groups, research craniofacial surgical teams back home, talk to other adoptive parents, bake cookies, and...make lists of lists.

So that’s where we’re at these days. Oh, and it’s been raining for 43 days straight here in Ireland. I don’t think I mind it as much as some but I definitely feel a wee bit mental. Something tells me it’s not the rain though.

Inter-Continental

An internetty friend over at China Calling suggested we post a Google Earth image of where we live. Cool idea! I love Google Earth and we've had some fun playing around with it in the past. So I thought, hey, I'll post satellite images of our Irish home, our Portland home, our property on the eastern flank of the Cascades, and the City in China where Thor lives.




The interesting thing was this...you know how when you type your location into Google Earth and the image "flies" from one place to the next? Well, as I flew over vast stretches of land and giant oceans to get to each place I started feeling knots in my stomach. Anxiety. Almost a cold sweat. I started to feel, well, a little spread out. I felt an overwhelming need to pack up shop, go grab Thor, return to our nest and never leave. Ever. I suddenly needed all of these things that I love to be very very close to me.

And then I looked at the scale of things. Look at our Ireland home at 7,500 ft (obviously not a lot of demand for high res satellite imagery to, say, count sheep). We are one of the little brown dots near the top of the screen. Let's just say it'd take a while to walk down to the store to pick up a loaf o' brown bread. Yet, look at our Portland home at 3,500 ft. Ack! Houses upon houses upon streets upon freeways upon Plaid Pantrys. Then compare this to where Thor lives in China, viewed from 35,000 ft. Even at this elevation it's poor resolution because, well, because it's China. Gazing at that image I can almost hear the noises, the shouting, I can almost smell the warm, dank, choking air. At our cabin you can hear the wind touching the leaves. It's amazing to me how different these places are.

I suppose, though, that when you bring it back down to a human-scale, it's all about home. Floyd and I have "homes" in several places (does that sound pretentious or what?) and we've been traveling so much over the last couple of years that we joke about the concept of home. Where is home? We've taken to saying, "Home is where the Jezebel is" (Jezebel being our cat). Now that we've added Thor to the mix, I'm thinking that home is wherever she is. So here are some pictures of our "homes" on a more human scale. Thor's home? Well we don't really know what it looks like, but this image is certainly closer to the truth than any of those other doorways.




So it looks like I won't really feel at home until we've got Thor and Jezebel taking naps under the same roof (sigh....).

I hope she plays the drums.

This may be hard for some of you to believe...but I think there are some people out there who don’t think of me as a Mom.

I know, I know. I can hear you all saying,

“No!”

“Say it isn’t so!”

“Get outta town...and take your tent!”

I know it sounds preposterous (I say calmly as I wipe my hands on my floral-print apron), but I’m sure that’s what some are thinking. And I don’t blame them.

If we just step back to, like, the dawn of time. I was a Type-A workaholic and my participation in my few outside interests was basically dictated by how I felt after going out on the piss with my peeps on weekend nights. I rocked at my job, I dated drummers and I got tattoos.

And then I met Floyd...so I didn’t date drummers anymore.

As I’m writing this I’m finding myself wanting to make the argument of WHY people might find it hard to see me as a mother and HOW I’ve evolved and WHY I will be an amazing mother. But I think those topics are superfluous to what’s really eating me right now. I think I’m most interested in people’s expectations of what a mother SHOULD look like, SHOULD act like, and how a mother SHOULD behave.

Now, in all fairness, it’s 7am on Saturday AM and I’m not prone to having great, deep thoughts at this hour (nor at any hour for that matter)...so I’m just throwing this stuff out there, because I need to process.

I think that many people of my generation might view their own mothers as non-traditional. I think the 60’s may have been the first time that women had run shrieking from the June Cleaver model of motherhood en masse. My Mom was one of those women. While she was a very young mother in the late 60s I think she was relatively conservative, but still quite non-traditional. She focused on her career, she dated (no drummers that I know of) and I don’t think I ever saw her bake. Our family time was ordering pizza on Friday nights and watching Barney Miller (or Sunday night’s Dance Fever with Deney Terrio). Not very traditional, but good. And I wonder what sorts of opinions she had to face regarding her parenting methods and I think about what opinions ALL mothers (and mothers-to-be) have to deal with.

It seems that one of the really cool things about being a Mom now is that we have, comparatively, many different role models for motherhood in the media. Being a great mom is really “in” right now. There are loads of images and stories about non-traditional mothers raising their conspicuous families in pretty non-traditional ways. It’s awesome really. Yet, while it may not be surprising to see a woman with pink hair, a sleeve of tats on one arm and a baby in the other in my neighborhood (back in Portland), I wonder what sorts of opinions get flung her way when she travels outside of our ‘hood, to the Safeway store in the suburbs. Opinions o-plenty to be sure, because, despite the recent media, she doesn’t look like what most people think of as “motherly”.

I look in the mirror every day now and I think, “do I look like a mother?” Seriously. And not just, “do I look like a mother?” but “do I look like a GOOD mother?” Ugh. I embrace the lady with the pink hair and the tattoos as a perfectly appropriate vision of motherhood. So where are these thoughts coming from? Deep within my psyche I suppose. They’re there. They’re inside all of us that have been raised in the western world. We all have this image of Mom, Mum, Mummy, Ma, Mother, whatever, and she probably doesn’t have a septum piercing. Whether we believe in this image of motherhood or not doesn’t really matter. It’s primal and we are affected by it.

It’s been just over two weeks now that I’ve been thinking of myself as a mom and, fortunately, I feel pretty darn comfortable in that role. I think it’s because motherhood is coming to me later in life. This means, to me, that I’ve had a lot of time to indulge myself and now I’m ready to honor and indulge somebody else. It does not mean, however, that I am ready to give up who I am. I think there are still many messages out there that conspire to encourage women to believe that we aren’t truly “good” until we’ve completely given up our own personal interests and sacrificed ourselves on the altar of the Baby God. I realize that how we define ourselves essentially changes when we have children, but I don’t think that needs to entail turning our backs on pieces of ourselves that may not serve to uphold our maternal image. While it may satisfy the grandparents or the neighbors, I don’t think it serves the mother or the father (or the husband) or the child very well. Just like we deserve the “whole” woman, so do the people we love.

So, essentially, if this jammin’-Mammy wants to put on her biker jacket, sport her tats, and go see an “X” concert, you can bet your britches it’s gonna happen (after the essential attachment and transition period of course)…and, come to think of it, Thor’s gonna get a drum kit for her birthday.

Like mother, like daughter...and proud of it.

Wanting

Have you ever wanted something so bad that your whole body aches with the wanting? So bad that you feel compelled to lie on your back in the middle of a wet meadow and pray to the heavens for it? So bad that you’re washing the dishes and you just have to bend down and sob?

You ever felt that way?

And you feel like it’s in your control. There’s so much that you can do to make this one thing happen. And yet...there’s nothing.

Somebody told me recently that it was “in God’s hands now”. What if I don’t want it to be in God’s hands. Who’s this God and how did it get into his hands? Besides, that implies, once again, that we have nothing to do with it. Yet we have everything to do with it.

At least we think we do.

I certainly hope we do.

We have given everything we can. We have written down our hearts and we have double-checked the spelling and grammar. We have talked up the good stuff and we were honest about the bad stuff. I bled all over those pages. Trying with everything inside of me to splay our insides out.

Isn’t it funny to think that our words, just words, could be the keepers of our future. Who will read these words? What can we do to compel them to read them? I mean to REALLY read them. Nothing. But I try humor, honesty, appropriately placed exclamation points. Can I make them cry? Goodness no...they’ve read this all before. They’ve seen a million of us and they’ll see a million more. What can I write to make them see us as different? To make them see us as “the ones”, “the best”. The power and the futility of words.

Sometimes I think that if I can’t make this thing happen, this one thing, that I will never write again. I know this isn’t true, but it brings into question the worth of it. This writing. If you can’t persuade people with it, or bring to you "that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your whole entire life"...then why do it?

Drama, I know. But that’s what this desire thing has done to me. It’s driven me to drama. Overacted, bad drama.

And, man, you think this is bad. Just you wait. If I have to write about how we didn’t get “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your whole entire life”, it’s gonna get mighty dramatic around here.

So, please pray with me (to whomever or whatever) that we get “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your whole entire life”. If for no other reason than to spare the world another bad, drama blog.

I’m feeling very very protective of “that thing”. I’m afraid to put it out there. Maybe I’m feeling like I need to keep it close to my chest. Mine. My heart, my desire, my everything. Or maybe I’m feeling like I don’t want to lose “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your entire life” in front of all of you. I don’t know what it is, but I’m scared to put it out there. My intentions are real. Let’s get that clear. My intentions are very real and I have put them out there...just not here. I’m not sure what this is. I think this is a main dish of “rambling” with a side of “cry for help”. Dig in.

The clock ticks. It’s time for me to go back and make some more changes to the words that control our future. Another tweak here, an exclamation point there. Maybe if we soften this phrase? Is this word to haughty? Oh fer fecks sake...

Thankfully, the deadline is approaching and I won’t have anymore opportunities to make changes. Is that when it’s in God’s hands? I don’t know about that, but that’s certainly when it’s in a bunch of strangers’ hands. Skimming, analyzing, looking for key words (should I have bolded key phrases?). Will they get my humor? Jaysus...nobody gets my humor! What was I thinking? But they will see the exclamation points (!). Yes...maybe that’s the secret weapon. The exclamation point. The cheerleader of my soul.

And maybe the next time I write I’ll get to tell you all about “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your entire life”. I really really really really....hope so.

So if you’ve made it this far, and if your name is God, or even if your name isn’t God, light a candle for us. Then these words will have done some good. Thanks. (!)

Top Five Fave....Home

We’re not really sure where home is these days, but Floyd once said, “Home is where the Jezebel is”, and since the little princess herself is napping on her blanket about 5 feet away from me, I guess I’m home. Being home is a little unusual for us as of late. We’ve been traveling almost constantly for the last several months. We’ve seen some beautiful places, some not so beautiful places, and some very very ugly places. We’ve seen a lot actually...and I’m plum tired. I feel like I been rode hard and put away wet. I wouldn’t mind never getting on another plane ever again (except for the one that’s going to take us back to Portland for ever and ever).

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I love to travel and these past months have been such a huge gift. As a little kid growing up making dirt pies, I wouldn’t have...actually, make that couldn’t have, imagined seeing all of these places. I feel blessed in such a big way. But I think it is possible to have too much of a good thing. We were traveling so much there that I would wake up and not know where I was. I would get on a plane and forget where we were going. And we’re not talking pharmaceuticals here. This is just life moving a little too fast. So I’m loving home right now. Loving and adoring it actually. Here’s a few reasons why.

1. Sittin’ on the couch: This couch is a central part of our lives. It’s purple. It’s velvet. It’s ripped. Some might call it shabby chic...we call it a piece of shit. But it’s the couch and we use it man. We use it and abuse it. I’m sitting on it right now in a position that I’m in so often it should be on my headstone. Propped up, legs extending down the couch, feet on the cushions, with a laptop on my lap... “May God Have Mercy on Her Soul”. In the evenings, after we’ve had our dinner and Jezebel has come in from her sunset stroll, we all congregate on the couch, the whole pride. And this is what it can look like. Infinite happiness.

2. Making the house happen: Ahhh...the house. We haven’t actually started the restoration yet. I know I know. Let me just give you a little snippet...our mortgage company actually sent our first check to our house in Portland. Yes, the one that’s blackened like Louisiana catfish. Yes. After we told them MANY Many many times not to do that, we got an e-mail from our neighbor telling us that the Fed Ex guy had been trying to deliver it for days. So sad. We’re still waiting for that check. And while we wait....nothing gets done. But I tell you what! She’s going to be absolutely gorgeous when we’re (they’re) done with her. I think I’ll be starting another blog about that one so you’ll be in the loop. It should be a fun process once it actually gets started (yes, I am delusional). So, even though the house looks pretty much the same as it did a few months ago (except for a new roof...yea!) we’ve been bustin’ our humps. Counting beans basically. Moving beans from one pile to another and trying to find more beans. Beans anyone?

3. Cooking: The first night we were home and on our own, I roasted a chicken, an organic chicken, which, over here, cost me 18.50 euros or $25. It was a small chicken. Needless to say, don’t eff up the chicken. Fortunately, I chose a recipe from The New Basics Cookbook, which I love and has never failed me. The recipe is called “Chicken with garlic, lemon, and rosemary” and it was, seriously, the best chicken I’ve ever had in my life. It wasn’t me. I would never take credit for it. It was the recipe. A hands-down winner. We’ve eaten some pretty wonderful food while traveling as well but we don’t splurge on expensive meals but we tend to eat pretty rich, fatty (but cheap) stuff when we travel (hello...). So we just have more control over what we eat when we’re at home. I (mostly) don’t work and I consider cooking part of my job over here. It’s a job I appreciate and enjoy (who is this woman?). I’ve gone from fearing the kitchen to being pretty darn comfortable in the kitchen...and that’s just cool.

Have you seen our kitchen over here? We call it the “one butt kitchen” for pretty obvious reasons. It makes us really look forward to the kitchen we’ll have when we go home.

Oh, and here are the rhubarb pies we made over the weekend, with the rhubarb from the garden. Two pies, two people....coincidence? I don’t think so.

4. Me Time: I have loads of me-time when we’re sans guests at home. It’s everything that happens between the housework, cooking, restoration planning and errands. I read, I write, I exercise, I try to practice the piano, and not enough of any of those things. Stuff like that. I don’t feel guilty about it at all really. Ok, maybe a little. But I know what my life has been like up till now and I’ve got a pretty good idea of what it’s going to be like when we get back. And it sure as hell doesn’t resemble this. So I’ll wallow in it for now...thankyouverymuch.

5. Playing on the farm: Babies, babies everywhere! Who doesn't love the baby farm animals? We got the baby lambs in early March and then we just got two new foals a few weeks ago. They’re so much fun to watch. They "boing". One second they'll be lazing around and then all of a sudden...boing...up in the air. It's the damndest thing. The weather has been uncharacteristically “springy” and the days have been quite fresh and dry. We take walks down to the river..well, not quite to the river because the mean bullocks stand between us and river...but we get almost to the river before we have to run away from them. The farm is just really beautiful this time of year and this little slice of heaven is pretty tough to top.

Oh, big news! We finally got the hedgehog on film. He’s a funny one alright! He ambled into our backyard one evening and snooted around for a bit, keeping his nose buried in the grass. The epitomy of “rootin’ around”. They make kind of a quiet grunting noise...the kind of a noise you would make if you were rooting around I suppose. Because his nose was firmly lodged in the detritus, he didn’t smell my foul humanness so I was able to get quite close....loving the hedgehog. When he finally did smell me (ewww...can’t eat that!) he lifted up on his startlingly longish legs, and waddled off...rapidly.

So that’s what we’re doing while we’re at home and we’ve got the place to ourselves. We’re off to Belgium this weekend for a bike race and then we’ve got the folks here after that. We’ll be taking Floyd’s folks to Spain (Barcelona and Girona) and we’re taking my folks to Rome...not to mention the random Irish ramblings as well. Now that we’ve had this time for rejuvenation, we’re really looking forward to it all.

My Bachelorette Weekend

Floyd was off to a "stag weekend" down in Cork so I was on my own for the weekend. Friday afternoon through Sunday evening. This wouldn't be such a big deal for lots of couples but Floyd and I are joined at the hip. We enjoy spending time together and our continuing infatuation with each other tends to annoy people (I think it might have something to do with the monosyllabic, pre-hominid babytalk involved...mbeb).

So being away from Floyd and having the weekend to myself was a big deal. The world was my oyster. I could do anything I wanted...literally. I could've done some traveling, done some great cultural things in Dublin, gone bird-watching down near Waterford. Anything. So what did I do? Nothing. Big, fat nothing. If it weren't for the family that I drove to the airport on Saturday afternoon, I wouldn't have bathed or bothered to put on clean clothes. As soon as I dropped Floyd at the train station I went to the video store, then the library, then the grocery store. As soon as I walked in our door I baked myself a single batch of chocolate chip cookies (I don't even think I took my coat off). I just couldn't think of anything that I wanted to do this weekend that didn't involve having chocolate chip cookie crumbs on my chin.

So I watched movies (The Stepford Wives and Breakfast on Pluto - both chick flicks but otherwise in very different categories), watched one episode of My Name is Earl (borrowed Season One on DVD...brilliance), finished a book ("A Lesson Before Dying" - wonderful book, read it), started another book ("The Kid" by Dan Savage of Savage Love fame - a gay couple's experience with open adoption - I'm laughing hysterically and learning some things too), talked on the phone until 2am (I'm 8 hours ahead of all of my friends and family), had cookies and stout for dinner (not breakfast...but tempting), worked on kitchen/house design (this effort is consuming me), traded sweet little text messages with Floyd (awww...) and talked to my cat.

I think it's also notable that, aside from the ~4.5 hours that the television was on, our house was completely silent. I chose not to listen to any music, which is a choice I often make living out here. I think it's because it's absolutely, perfectly, pin-drop silent at the end of our little road. During the day you might hear a tractor off in the distance or a horse whinnying. If you step outside you can hear the birds singing (Spring!!) or the distant train to Cork. But that's it. It's really really quiet and I know that this may be the only time, for a really really long time, that I will be able to enjoy this kind of peace and quiet. So I relish it. I celebrate it. I wallow in it.

The silence was broken when I went to the grocery store (on a Sunday afternoon, what in G0d's name was I thinking?) and picked the lads up at the train station in Dublin. Suddenly, there I was with a car load of men slightly wounded by their debaucherous weekend. It was as quiet as a car full of Irish lads could be...which, actually, isn't quiet at all. For what it's worth, I think they had a good enough time to justify their ashen complexions and their curdling smell.

And, actually, so did I.

A deluge of ramblings and rain

I haven’t changed my clothes all week. Literally. Yoga pants (brown), shelf tank (sky blue), cosy cardigan (sage)...it’s my new uniform. I’d post a pic but it’s pretty nasty at this point. I’ve been working from home and pulling 12-14 hour days all week. In that time I have neglected to shower, do the dishes, cook for my husband, go to the gym (let alone go outside), practice the piano, or anything. at. all for that matter....except hunch over my work laptop. From the time I wake up....to the time I go to bed. Tippity tapping...tippity tapping...working. THIS is why I may have a hard time keeping my job when I go back home. I don’t know how to give less than everything I am to it, which is a problem even when it’s just Floyd and I. Add a little Thor to the mix and it becomes a very big problem. So, this week in particular, I’m struggling with how I can still do my job and be a good Mom at the same time.

News Flash!!!! Darkness envelops small island in north Atlantic!! Yea....that’d be Ireland. The sun doesn’t poke it’s lazy head above the horizon until about 0730 and, even after it does, it hides behind an impenetrable cloud cover. No sun. Darkness. And it’ll be this way for the next...hmm...7 months or so. And then we add the rain on top of that. This morning I woke up and thought “my, that’s quite a wind storm out there” but then I noticed the leaves weren’t moving. It was the sound of a million tiny raindrops smacking the crap outta those leaves. The skies opening up. A deluge. And Floyd (who has lost over 13 lbs since we got back from Croatia – round of applause please) was riding his bike to work....happily. He’s like that. Maybe this is the winter I’ll read Ulysses.

This season is marked by giant spiders in the bathtub (or in Guiness glasses as the case may be), eating oatmeal with fresh apples and cinnamon, mushrooms in the grass (have you ever seen so many 'shrooms?), muddy cows, Jezebel leaving muddy footprints all over my work, comfy sweaters, wool socks, my big black boots (hmmmm...which pair?), robins singing, wellies, crabapples falling and leaves bunching up around the doorways. Oh, and rain, and darkness.

I don’t think I know of anybody getting a referral in this next round...which makes me sad. Because I loves me some referrals. Seriously. I could almost punctuate our wait by referrals. Months (or years) just sound so tedious. Maybe if we could think of the wait like “we’ve got 24 rounds of referrals before we get our little Thor!” Yea, whatever. But, seriously, I enjoy seeing the new pictures and reading the blogs of the excited parents. It’s even better when you’ve been following the family’s adventures before the referral and you get to see how their lives, their blog, their personalities completely change once they get their referral. It’s amazing. So if any of y’all know of any good bloggies getting their referral this next round, lemme know. Hook a brutha up.

We’re off to Prague-Bratislava-Budapest in a few days. I haven’t thought about the trip. At. All. (I really hate those little punctuated words, but they work so well for bloggy speak.) I’ve heard that Prague is a beautiful city and that Budapest is right up there as well. I also know that a lot of people don’t know where Bratislava is...including me. I know that it will be cold there and that there are spas with big women that like to pummel you with their fists and firehoses....and you will pay them to do so. I’m looking forward to the trip. I’ve begun keeping a travel diary, which really helps if you have the memory of a gnat.

Don't Hate, Part 2

The short answer for how to get the opportunity to live in Ireland and travel around Europe for two years? Sell your soul to a company that’s about the size of the Death Star (with about as much personality). Don’t like that answer? Here’s the long version....

Have I told you that I am the luckiest girl in the world? Well I am. There is not a day that goes by where I don’t shake my head in disbelief at how fortunate I am. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever imagine I’d have the opportunity to live in another country, on the other side of the world, and do this kind of travelling. Never. Ever.

Floyd and I are not rich. Not even close. We come from white, middle-class backgrounds. My Grandma pronounced quiche “kweechee”. We went to school, studied hard (at least when we got to college), and made choices that would (eventually) lead to good jobs and stability. Even now, with the good jobs, Floyd pours over the budget to figure out how we’re going to make it all work.

Floyd and I started talking about the opportunity to move to Ireland before we were even married. I still have the scrap of paper tablecloth that Floyd scribbled on to explain how the Death Star operated and where all the little Death Star satellites were located. I still have that little scrap of paper because I also drew a little clock (representing my biological clock) and the two little babies that I was going to give birth to by the time I was 39 (which I just turned). So say what you will about the Death Star. It’s more dependable than my biological clock. Interestingly, I actually drew three little babies on the scrap of paper, I just knew one would be adopted.

I have a job too, but it’s not with the Death Star. More like R2D2. I love my job, but, at the time, we thought the move would be perfect. We were ready to start a family and envisioned using our time in Ireland to have and raise our children without the pressures of my work getting in the way. That plan was so perfect it just needed a little bow on top.

After we got married, Floyd let the officers of the Death Star know his wishes to work at their Irish satellite, and we got it all lined up. When the folks with relocation (Storm Troopers) asked us the size of our family (for housing, etc.) we told them “There's just the two of us now, but we’re expecting a baby once we get there!” I shudder to think of how simple-minded we were. As it was, the Storm Troopers don’t consider optimism when checking their boxes.

So here we are in Ireland and, well, let’s just say we’ve had a slight change in plans. Those little ones that we drew on the paper tablecloth when we were planning out our most fortunate of lives? Well, they’re still just twinkles in our eyes. After we set our sights on Thor, we found ourselves with a little bit of time on our hands.

The Death Star (being the Death Star) had to exact a price on Floyd for bringing us over here, so he was pretty busy for the first six months. The travel started out slow. Reluctantly almost. Sure, a trip to London here...a weekend trip to Amsterdam there. Thinking about money, not enough vacation time, all the usual concerns. But after we got our dossier over to China, something happened...

Floyd is now a reservation-making fool. FOOL I tell ya! He tippity-taps at the computer and finds these crazy deals on the nasty, budget airlines. Last weekend he booked something like four weekend trips for January and February. I think we’re going to Oslo, Edinburgh, Riga and Krakow (but, frankly, I can’t recall hate hate hate). Tonight he’s booking our trip to Turkey (red hot hate). One of the reasons I think he’s booking all these trips is to keep me occupied....lest I figure out a way to steal babies from fertile Irish women (joke). We have five more trips booked between now and the end of the year. Soon, Jezebel won’t even recognize us.

In between trips, I still do some work for R2D2. Write/edit reports, a little project management...basically keeping my foot in the door while making money for our next trip. I also take piano lessons, do the laundry, go grocery shopping, write, clean the house, host a book club, go to the gym, and make my husband healthy and nutritious meals (Jaysus, who is this woman?).

So there you have it. The best laid plans. If I’d had it my way, I’d be eating exotic foods like pureed carrots, learning baby-talk rather than French, dipping into the crystal clear waters of the kiddie pool, and making unexpected weekend jaunts to the pediatrician. Instead, I get to visit places that I’d never dreamed of, which is not a bad second place.

Don't Hate, Part 1

I sent out our pictures from Croatia to friends and family last week and I got one response, from a friend with a particularly dark sense of humor, that said, quite simply

hate you

It made me laugh because I know her (let's call her Gooshy D) and the spirit with which it was written. You see, she's crusty on the outside but all gooshy on the inside (but mostly crusty). So, this post is for her (even though she doesn't read the blog...because I haven't given her the address...hehehe).

Tomorrow I leave (sans Floyd) for the Cote D'Azur on the French Riviera (I can feel Gooshy D now...hate hate hating me) where I'll be spending the week with a couple of wonderful friends from the States that have rented a place there for an extended holiday (I am love love loving them). I'm looking foward to warm sun, funny old men in banana hammocks, salad Nicoise, wearing rhinestone sunglasses that are bigger than my head, writing, reading and marveling at the wonder of it all.

So there you have it Gooshy D. Hate away...

And stay tuned for Don't Hate, Part 2 where I try to explain how dorks like us get to bumble around Europe for a couple of years.

Where I'm Coming From

My good friend C1, over at Walternatives, had this great idea (at least for those of us that are settling in to our new comfy-cozy blogging community) to show a picture of our bloggy space to give the folks that read our blogs an idea of where we might be coming from...literally (sadly, you will still have no idea of where I am coming from - in the figurative sense).

This is a picture that I took a few months ago, when I first started to blog, and I was thinking a lot about what I was doing and why I was doing it. It was, and still is to a certain extent, pretty fascinating to me, this whole blogging thing, and I wanted to capture the physical space that I was in while doing it. For posterity’s sake I suppose. For Thor.

The interesting thing about this picture is that we don’t own much of the stuff that's in it, so I don't know if you get a real insight into our personalities. We live in a furnished rental while in Ireland. So the shredded, purple velveteen couch with fringe along the bottom and gaping holes in the cushions? Not ours. The TV, TV table, DVD player, etc. Nope. The bookshelf and books? Those are ours. The movers thought we were crazy bringing so many books over here. But that’s how we made it our home. Oh, and Jezebel? Actually she owns us. Laptop? Sadly, I think it owns me too.

My Nickname

In the summer between 5th and 6th grade we moved across town to a different house with a plum tree in the back yard. I was a rough and tumble tomboy and I didn’t have any friends, so I spent the summer weeding the yard and picking the rotten plums off the ground and putting them in a big, black garbage bag (I can still smell that sickly sweet...and I am just now starting to enjoy plums again). One time my Mom was talking to the little old lady that lived across the alley from us. I don’t know what the context of their conversation was but the little old lady said to my Mom, ”I just thinks it’s so sweet of you to put that little retarded boy to work for you.”

And my Mom said,”You mean my daughter?”

So my family likes to call me “the little retarded boy”...and I don’t mind because I like the story.

Why four?

I used to dread these things (memes?) because I would look at them and think, "shit, I don't know". But they force you to remember, which can sometimes hurt, but most of the time, it's good stuff. So, a big thank you to Atomic Mama for helping me remember what it felt like to dance around the living room to a Gene Kelly movie. So, here goes....

4 jobs I’ve had:

1. I was a papergirl when I was a kid. I weighed like 90 lbs. and, believe me, Sundays and Wednesdays (when all the coupons came out) were a bitch. One time, when I put the bag on, I just tipped over. Literally.
2. Back in high school, I was a hostess at The Old Spaghetti Factory (AKA The spag fag). One of the waiters asked me out on a date and took me to see Jethro Tull. Oh yea.
3. In college, when I was pretty desperate for cash, I worked at a cheap shoe store at The Mall. Trying to squeeze tiny shoes onto those big ole nasty feet is a sight (and, sadly, a smell) that I will always carry with me. The manager, who I’m pretty sure was doing coke in the back room, actually tried to convince me that high-heeled shoes were therapeutic (good for the calves).
4. I used to band spotted owls. We would catch them with a fishing pole (seriously) and weigh and measure them and put a little band on their leg. Then we’d let them go and give them a cute, little, live mouse to leave them with a happy memory.


4 movies I could watch over and over:

Well, like others, I just can’t watch a movie over and over again. And, even if I could watch a movie over and over again, I have a tendency to love really heavy movies, which you just CAN’T watch over and over because they would break you. But here’s some movies that I’ve enjoyed, and they’re light enough that I could probably watch them a few times ....

1. Any of the Coen Bros. movies but especially The Big Lebowski, Barton Fink, Raising Arizona...hell, probably all of ‘em.
2. Any of the Nick and Nora Charles movies (i.e., The Thin Man). That one scene where she comes waltzing into the bar of that ritzy hotel, absolutely laden with shopping bags, and she trips and falls on her face, makes me laugh out loud to this day.
3. Gene Kelly musicals. I haven’t seen one in a very long time but they gave me endless amounts of joy when I was a kid. They always had me dancing around the living room.
4. Best in Show. Knee-slappin’ good times.


4 places I have lived:

1. Washington State (Tacoma, Olympia, and Forks)
2. Puerto Rico (studying the Puerto Rican parrot-one of the most endangered species of bird in the world)
3. Anchorage, Alaska
4. Portland, Oregon

4 TV shows I love to watch:

I watch about 3 hours of TV/week so I’m pretty picky about what I’m going to spend that time on...but you may notice that this doesn’t imply “quality”.

1. Tommy Lee’s Rock Star Supernova!!! We’re LOVING this show at the moment but I think Ireland/UK are about a week or more behind so DO NOT tell me anything about who wins and please, please, please try not to write about it in your blog (or at least preface it by something like MILLICENT-FOR GOD’S SAKE, DON’T READ THIS!!)
2. Father Ted (fekkin hilarious Irish telly)
3. Absolutely Fabulous (haven’t seen it in forever but I was just reminded of it today and it made me smile)
4. Will and Grace

4 places I have been on vacation:

1. Costa Rica
2. Poland
3. Brazil/Venezuela (the Amazon)
4. Amsterdam


4 websites I visit daily:

Well, maybe not daily but here’s a few...

1. Go Fug Yourself
2. My Mom’s blog
3. All the usual adoption-related blogs (but I’m really enjoying Peter’s Cross Station these days)
4. Any recipe-related website where I’m desperately and usually at the last minute, trying to find something to make for dinner.

4 fave foods:

1. Fish and chips of the most delicate order (still seeking perfection)
2. Homemade macaroni and cheese (when my husband makes it)
3. My Grandma’s home-canned green beans (Mom – do we know how to make these???)
4. My friend Bill’s sweet-potato pie (it’s just best when Bill makes it)

4 places I'd like to be right now:

Heck, I’m pretty happy right where I am, but here goes...

1. Bathing in a vat of some cream that would make my 84 mosquito bites stop itching (WTF are they doing in the house??)
2. Sitting around a campfire with our friends back home
3. Hanging with my Mom and Ez in their motor home
4. Someplace with warm sand that I could squish my toes around in

4 people I am tagging:

I would tag my Mom but she hasn’t responded to the last meme that I tagged her on (S’up Mom?). So, if you haven’t responded to this meme yet (is that what these things are called?), and you’ve got something to share, then, tag, you’re it. Let me know when you’ve got something posted.

Hey, that was fun. Thanks Atomic Mama.

No surprises here...

I just took this goofy little quiz and it informed me of this..."You're a punk rock mommy! DIY is probably your motto, because you're a punk mama at heart. Your kids are getting your independent spirit and guts, and learning to solve problems themselves. You love it when they show their independence, even when it's breaking your heart." Hmmm....and I didn't even have to admit to the tattoos or the time I kissed Johnny Rotten.

And, Atomic Mama, don't think I forgot about that taggin'!

Meme...who me?

I got tagged (by wzgirl)...and it feels good. Not like in tag football, and not like the wall-art in my neighborhood back in the States, but tagged like as in "you're it". It means that a) somebody thought about me (which makes me feel really warm and mooshy inside) and b) now I have to tell you more about me than you really wanted to know (or less, depending on whether you're one of those freaky deakies reading boring adoption blogs for your kicks). I think people call this type of thing a "meme" but don't quote me on that because I really have absolutely no idea what that is and I may be talking out of my blogging arse. So here goes...

I am....so blessed in so many ways.
I want....to take Thor to Africa to see the giraffes.
I wish....people would think about the kind of world they’re leaving for their children.
I hate....litter.
I miss....our friends and family (and bras that fit well).
I hear....the whirring of the computer fan (it’s really quiet out here).
I wonder....what Thor’s laughter will sound like.
I regret....a few errors in judgement but, surprisingly, very little.
I am not....comfortable standing on the edge of really high cliffs.
I dance....like a fool to anything and everything.
I sing....to my heart’s content…and to most people’s dismay.
I cry....when Thor feels so real she fills my heart to bursting.
I am not always....well-groomed.
I make....decisions with my heart.
I write....because it feels really, really good.
I confuse....this blog with a journal, with a newsletter, with a travel diary, with a letter to Thor, etc. (I’m still trying to figure out exactly why I’m doing this…why are we doing this?).
I need....surprisingly very little (but that includes buying a great pair of boots every now and then).
I should....volunteer more.
I start....so few projects that...
I finish....most of them.

So there you have it...my attempt at riding the fine line between spontaneity (the real me...yawn) and intrigue (somebody waaay cooler than me). So now it's my turn to tag somebody...how's about...hmmm...MY MOM!!! Are you out there Mom? Everybody...meet my Mom. Mom...meet everybody (Everybody be nice...it's my Mom).

Color Fuh-reak

I am a color fuh-reak. Did you know there are more shades of green than any other color? Well that’s what the paint store guy told me when I went in there for the third day in a row. When we painted our bedroom a couple of years ago I went through 17 shades of green before I picked the right one. Fortunately (or unfortunately – depending on your perspective), this paint store lets you rent quarts of paint before you're ready to commit. I would come home with my new shades and paint them on big pieces of paper then hang them on the bedroom wall so I could see how the colors changed with the light. It amazes me when people can just paint a room (or their house!) based on those tiny, little swatches. That’s so. not. fuh-reaky.

So, for the two of you that have visited this blog more than once, you may have noticed that I’ve been going through some color changes in the last couple of days. I was really happy with the first colors. Nice, earthy green background, bold print, etc. But then Floyd pointed out the links in the text were hard to see...ack!..., which led to a complete overhaul. During the overhaul I realized the colors were different, sometimes very different, depending on the computer. The nice earthy green on my laptop was an icky, dirty chartreuse on the desktop. Most (normal) people wouldn’t have really noticed (and certainly wouldn’t have cared)...but now I was obsessed. I quickly found out the nice antique white on one computer, was light pink on the other...pink on one was a weird salmon on the other...now I’m really (color) fuh-reakin.

I learned a lot about myself this afternoon when I took a glimpse into the proverbial mirror and saw myself surrounded by, at one point, four computers (all with different interpretations of the colors). In the midst of the frenzy, I realized I had hit bottom. So, I took a deep breath, gave myself up to a higher power, and went with the white background (which still looks like light pink on one computer). If you liked me better with the earthy green background, well that’s fine, it was good times, but please respect my decision to go colorless. It’s better for me in the long run.