Today we took a break from the drama going on in Russia and a break from work and we drove up to the Hudson Valley to go apple picking. It was a beautiful day, Wonderdog got to come, and Boo had a great time running through the trees, picking one "perfect" apple after another, eating the best fresh mozzarella we've ever had and freshly cooked, still-hot donuts, and drinking "butter beer" (disguised as Boylans Cream Soda so Muggles wouldn't recognize it), listening to the band and playing with the bunnies.
It was awesome. I love being on a working farm. I love the Hudson Valley, which is where I went to college. And I was pleased that this farm is working toward becoming organic. They also have chickens who are allowed to graze under the apple trees, where they eat pests and (I imagine) enjoy themselves immensely. (They weren't out under the trees today, with the hundreds of city people flooding the orchard.) So we bought eggs, too, and they're blue on the inside!
Apple recipe #1 was apple/cheddar omelets that Hopper made for dinner. Apple recipe #2 is an apple crisp that I threw together after dinner. We're going to throw it into the oven while we watch Voyager, and when the episode is over, the crisp should be ready to come out of the oven. I have some heavy cream we can pour over it, too.
Tomorrow we're making baked apples (me), apple pie (Hopper) and probably I'll make at least one batch of applesauce since we have a bushel of apples and the apple peeler/corer/slicer is very easy to use, but hard to clean, so once it's out we like to process as many apples as we can. And I can probably send some applesauce home with my parents, who are coming over in the afternoon.
Apple picking is one of the reasons I love seasons.
Showing posts with label Hopper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hopper. Show all posts
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Our Special Group
When Hopper and I decided to adopt, I started to do research, because that's how I roll. I looked at websites for adoption agencies and read about the differences between domestic and international adoption and talked to my cousin who had adopted from China and, once we settled on international adoption, read the State Department website for every country it's legal for Americans to adopt from.
And I found adoption.com.
I've heard that things have changed over there, but in those days (lo, these many years ago) there was a great community in the forums at adoption.com. I made a couple of internet friends with whom I'm still in touch online (Hi, Andy, Heather and Crick!) and then one day somebody noticed that everyone in the Russian adoption forum was from New Jersey.
Long story short, we started a support group. There are currently nine families in the group. Six of us were from that original group. One came along a couple of months later. One joined us a few years after that when her two boys came home, and one is a recent addition whose prospective daughter is one of the 300.*
Over the years, this has proved to be a priceless connection. Not only because all of these families have become dear friends, but because of the support the group provides. It is refreshing to be with a group of people who understand and value your family structure. I remember the first time I met these women in person, one of them asked me, "Why did you decide to adopt from Russia?" And I realized that she just wanted to know. She wasn't saying I shouldn't adopt, or should adopt from somewhere else, or should know this or that about Russia. She just wanted to know because she was also adopting from Russia. And I relaxed parts of my brain that I didn't know were stressed.
Since that time, we've been through babyhood and preschool and now most of our kids are in fourth or fifth grade. October marks the tenth anniversary of one of our kids coming home, and over the next year most of the children in the original group will mark their tenth adoption anniversaries. It's been fascinating watching this group of kids grow together. My favorite, now, are the pool parties, because Boo loves swimming so much and it's fun to watch all of the kids having epic water battles or teaching each other to do cartwheels off the diving board.
All of the kids are doing well. One, who was adopted at age five or six, has some serious psychological issues, but I imagine she was removed from her birth parents for a reason, and she has traumas other than an orphanage in her past. However, she has discovered a tremendous artistic talent which her parents have nurtured and her talent has gotten her into a specialized high school program where she is flourishing. Update: 9/23/13 This girl's mom points out to me that she knows about ten other kids in her daughter's grade who have the same psychological condition her daughter does, none of whom was adopted. And that with the help she's been able to get, her daughter has bonded with her family, learned English, worked hard at her talent--really hard--and is doing well in school. She also has normal friendships, age-appropriate levels of drama, and a good relationship with her brother who was also adopted from Russia at age 3 a few years ago.
And that is our "worst case scenario." Other than that, we've got a totally normal group of kids. Perhaps there's a higher than average rate of ADHD diagnosis in the group. A few kids are on medication for it and get special help in school. A few see therapists. Out of eleven kids we have six IEPs, including the girl I described above. We also have one child who is classified as gifted and who skipped a grade. But all of the children are in regular schools, mostly public schools. All of the children are in intact families. No disrupted adoptions. There have been no calls to the police or DYFS. No trips to respite care.
Update 9/23/13: Another mother in our group pointed out that we have three moms in the group who adopted/are adopting as singles. One of them got married after her first adoption and went back with her husband to adopt a second child from Russia. One has been a single mom for ten years. The third is the one caught in the ban. But my friend points out that some people find it hard to socialize in a mixed group of singles and couples. We never have. Sometimes we meet just moms, sometimes whole families. Whoever can come, comes, and we hang out.
I don't mean to suggest that adopting a child from an institution is easy, or that we haven't all had our moments. One of the great things about having a support group is having people you can say the horrible things to--the things you think at your worst moments--and know you won't be judged and your words won't be thrown back at you later, because your friends have all been there too. When one of us does have a problem or a worry about a child, it helps to be able to mine our collective brains which are chock full of information about post-adoption issues from attachment disorder to post-traumatic stress to every learning disability you can name. Whatever the problem, one of us has consulted a Social Worker or an adoption agency or a book or a website or a Teacher about it. Together, we know pretty much everything, and we can always come up with a plan of action.
But really, that's just that village Hillary Clinton wrote about, right? Because parenting, like life, is a series of problems you have to solve. And I'm glad I'm not in it alone.
-----------------------
*If you're not up on international adoption politics, Russia has banned adoption by Americans and about 300 children who already met their prospective parents are not able to complete their adoption processes. Sadly, my friend is one of the prospective adoptive parents who got stuck in this torturous limbo.
And I found adoption.com.
I've heard that things have changed over there, but in those days (lo, these many years ago) there was a great community in the forums at adoption.com. I made a couple of internet friends with whom I'm still in touch online (Hi, Andy, Heather and Crick!) and then one day somebody noticed that everyone in the Russian adoption forum was from New Jersey.
Long story short, we started a support group. There are currently nine families in the group. Six of us were from that original group. One came along a couple of months later. One joined us a few years after that when her two boys came home, and one is a recent addition whose prospective daughter is one of the 300.*
Over the years, this has proved to be a priceless connection. Not only because all of these families have become dear friends, but because of the support the group provides. It is refreshing to be with a group of people who understand and value your family structure. I remember the first time I met these women in person, one of them asked me, "Why did you decide to adopt from Russia?" And I realized that she just wanted to know. She wasn't saying I shouldn't adopt, or should adopt from somewhere else, or should know this or that about Russia. She just wanted to know because she was also adopting from Russia. And I relaxed parts of my brain that I didn't know were stressed.
Since that time, we've been through babyhood and preschool and now most of our kids are in fourth or fifth grade. October marks the tenth anniversary of one of our kids coming home, and over the next year most of the children in the original group will mark their tenth adoption anniversaries. It's been fascinating watching this group of kids grow together. My favorite, now, are the pool parties, because Boo loves swimming so much and it's fun to watch all of the kids having epic water battles or teaching each other to do cartwheels off the diving board.
All of the kids are doing well. One, who was adopted at age five or six, has some serious psychological issues, but I imagine she was removed from her birth parents for a reason, and she has traumas other than an orphanage in her past. However, she has discovered a tremendous artistic talent which her parents have nurtured and her talent has gotten her into a specialized high school program where she is flourishing. Update: 9/23/13 This girl's mom points out to me that she knows about ten other kids in her daughter's grade who have the same psychological condition her daughter does, none of whom was adopted. And that with the help she's been able to get, her daughter has bonded with her family, learned English, worked hard at her talent--really hard--and is doing well in school. She also has normal friendships, age-appropriate levels of drama, and a good relationship with her brother who was also adopted from Russia at age 3 a few years ago.
And that is our "worst case scenario." Other than that, we've got a totally normal group of kids. Perhaps there's a higher than average rate of ADHD diagnosis in the group. A few kids are on medication for it and get special help in school. A few see therapists. Out of eleven kids we have six IEPs, including the girl I described above. We also have one child who is classified as gifted and who skipped a grade. But all of the children are in regular schools, mostly public schools. All of the children are in intact families. No disrupted adoptions. There have been no calls to the police or DYFS. No trips to respite care.
Update 9/23/13: Another mother in our group pointed out that we have three moms in the group who adopted/are adopting as singles. One of them got married after her first adoption and went back with her husband to adopt a second child from Russia. One has been a single mom for ten years. The third is the one caught in the ban. But my friend points out that some people find it hard to socialize in a mixed group of singles and couples. We never have. Sometimes we meet just moms, sometimes whole families. Whoever can come, comes, and we hang out.
I don't mean to suggest that adopting a child from an institution is easy, or that we haven't all had our moments. One of the great things about having a support group is having people you can say the horrible things to--the things you think at your worst moments--and know you won't be judged and your words won't be thrown back at you later, because your friends have all been there too. When one of us does have a problem or a worry about a child, it helps to be able to mine our collective brains which are chock full of information about post-adoption issues from attachment disorder to post-traumatic stress to every learning disability you can name. Whatever the problem, one of us has consulted a Social Worker or an adoption agency or a book or a website or a Teacher about it. Together, we know pretty much everything, and we can always come up with a plan of action.
But really, that's just that village Hillary Clinton wrote about, right? Because parenting, like life, is a series of problems you have to solve. And I'm glad I'm not in it alone.
-----------------------
*If you're not up on international adoption politics, Russia has banned adoption by Americans and about 300 children who already met their prospective parents are not able to complete their adoption processes. Sadly, my friend is one of the prospective adoptive parents who got stuck in this torturous limbo.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Saturday, April 13, 2013
A long day of hoeing
Chalk up another active day with Boo and Wonderdog for me! We prepared the garden today (mostly) and we're trying living mulch this year. Basically, we're planting a carpet of lettuce, arugula, mesclun and basil all over the garden.
Preparing the garden is always a lot of work, but it was fun today. Boo was building fairy houses, Hopper was destroying the roots of weeds, and I was planting the living mulch. Meanwhile, Wonderdog was enjoying just being outside with the family. He didn't even get a walk today and yet he's sacked out on the couch, totally exhausted from all the fun he had.
I'm really excited to see what grows from all the seeds I planted today, if anything. It's a risk--the planting date around here is May 15th--but it's a small risk. We spent about $9 on seeds today.
Tomorrow when I finish the job I'll take some "before" pictures so that you can enjoy my garden along with us!
Preparing the garden is always a lot of work, but it was fun today. Boo was building fairy houses, Hopper was destroying the roots of weeds, and I was planting the living mulch. Meanwhile, Wonderdog was enjoying just being outside with the family. He didn't even get a walk today and yet he's sacked out on the couch, totally exhausted from all the fun he had.
I'm really excited to see what grows from all the seeds I planted today, if anything. It's a risk--the planting date around here is May 15th--but it's a small risk. We spent about $9 on seeds today.
Tomorrow when I finish the job I'll take some "before" pictures so that you can enjoy my garden along with us!
Monday, April 8, 2013
Update
I took Wonderdog on a nice, long walk with Hopper today AND I played in the park (frisbee and soccer) with Boo today.
And this is my second blog post.
Take THAT, resolutions!
Also--beautiful spring day today. Huzzah!
And this is my second blog post.
Take THAT, resolutions!
Also--beautiful spring day today. Huzzah!
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
The best way
Hopper went out tonight, so I couldn't watch The Guild. As I often do when Hopper goes out and I'm spending an evening alone (since Boo is in bed,) I went on YouTube and entered "Dan Savage." I found this conversation about adoption, which is excellent if you've got an hour to kill and want to learn about adoption.
Many things they talked about were familiar to me, but what inspired me to write tonight is the notion they mentioned that many people assume adoption is "second best" or "a last resort."
It's not.
Oh, sure, there are many, many people who come to adoption because they have tried every possible treatment for infertility and it didn't work. I'm not denying that.
But if you were to ask around (and you shouldn't--it's none of your business) you'd find a surprising number of people who, like me and Hopper, just wanted to adopt.
We wanted to adopt for many reasons. Personally, I could never understand why anyone would endure infertility treatments. I understand more now, but when I first learned about the idea, I was somewhere between twelve and fourteen and watching a story unfold on a soap opera. A couple was trying everything to conceive, and it made no sense to me. I simply couldn't understand why, with so many children in the world, anyone would go to extremes to get pregnant. I decided then and there that I never would.
And then in college and during my twenties, I started to think about the state of the world, and the number of people on this planet, and I wondered why I should ever want to bring another person into it. (I'm going to leave my personal feelings about pregnancy out of this, because that's enough for another post, or maybe a book.) I simply don't understand why a biological child would be preferable to any other child--why anyone would think of adoption as "second best."
Of course I'm able to reason out why people would feel that way, but it doesn't resonate with me. To me, what makes a family is love and a shared story. If those things aren't there, then it doesn't matter how many genes you have in common--you're not really family. And if they are there, you're family forever, genes or no genes. I didn't figure out that my Uncle Phil wasn't actually a relative until I was about nine or ten, and then later on, I realized that he's more a relative to me than some of my biological relatives are, which is why my parents told me to call him "Uncle" in the first place.
I guess that's why I have so much faith in my marriage--Hopper and Boo and I are a family, so divorce isn't really an option for us, any more than I could divorce my brother. Yes, there are circumstances under which I'd throw my brother out of my life, but they are few and kind of hard to imagine. So the same goes for Hopper. Whatever happens to challenge our marriage, we'll just have to work it out. Unless he starts beating me up or something, he's stuck with me.
It's also why I don't really understand people who search for their birthparents relentlessly. I understand the basic impulse--to find out more about oneself, one's history, or a medical problem. And I love meeting family members I never knew before. A couple of years ago we were reunited with a branch of the family I had never met before. It turned out I had a cousin who lives about a mile from us who has two internationally adopted children about Boo's age. That was really cool, and I enjoy getting to know that branch of my family. If an adult adoptee finds her birth family and makes a connection like that, great! More people to love is always awesome. But I don't understand the need to search for people who don't want to be found. In my book, people who don't want me around just don't matter. [Update: 4/4/13 I am specifically referring here to birth families who don't want to be found or who reject the biological relative once contacted. I do not mean to suggest that birthmothers relinquish their children because they don't want them around. Placing your child for adoption when you cannot care for him or her is possibly the most loving act a parent can perform, and I would never want to belittle that or make adoptees feel like they were rejected at birth.]
All of this is really opinionated, and I want to make clear that I'm not judging other people's decisions and life choices. I'm just giving my perspective, and talking about what resonates with me and what doesn't. I have empathy for someone who wants to conceive and can't, or wants to make a connection with a birth family and can't, or feels the need to divorce. Putting myself in their shoes, I can understand what they feel and why they make the choices they do. I've had dear friends in all three of these situations and I support the decisions they've made because those are their decisions. But they're not the decisions I would make, and in this post, I'm only trying to talk about me and my feelings.
To me, adoption isn't second best. It's just another way to make a family. There are lots of ways to make families, and they're all good. (Well, you know--the legal ones. I'm not advocating kidnapping or rape or incest or whatever other horrible ways there are that families come to be.) For us, international adoption was the right way. I always tell Boo, "You're the best kid in the world. We know--we checked." And it's true. She's the best kid in the world for us. Our family just wouldn't be the same if we had come together any other way. For us, adoption wasn't second best, it was (and is) just right.
So please don't feel sorry for adoptive families you may know. And if you are an adoptive parent, make sure you express to your child that your family is just right the way it is, no matter what you thought would be the way you'd make your family when you started. Looking back, could you really imagine it any other way? Adoption isn't better or worse, it's just different. And different is cool.
Many things they talked about were familiar to me, but what inspired me to write tonight is the notion they mentioned that many people assume adoption is "second best" or "a last resort."
It's not.
Oh, sure, there are many, many people who come to adoption because they have tried every possible treatment for infertility and it didn't work. I'm not denying that.
But if you were to ask around (and you shouldn't--it's none of your business) you'd find a surprising number of people who, like me and Hopper, just wanted to adopt.
We wanted to adopt for many reasons. Personally, I could never understand why anyone would endure infertility treatments. I understand more now, but when I first learned about the idea, I was somewhere between twelve and fourteen and watching a story unfold on a soap opera. A couple was trying everything to conceive, and it made no sense to me. I simply couldn't understand why, with so many children in the world, anyone would go to extremes to get pregnant. I decided then and there that I never would.
And then in college and during my twenties, I started to think about the state of the world, and the number of people on this planet, and I wondered why I should ever want to bring another person into it. (I'm going to leave my personal feelings about pregnancy out of this, because that's enough for another post, or maybe a book.) I simply don't understand why a biological child would be preferable to any other child--why anyone would think of adoption as "second best."
Of course I'm able to reason out why people would feel that way, but it doesn't resonate with me. To me, what makes a family is love and a shared story. If those things aren't there, then it doesn't matter how many genes you have in common--you're not really family. And if they are there, you're family forever, genes or no genes. I didn't figure out that my Uncle Phil wasn't actually a relative until I was about nine or ten, and then later on, I realized that he's more a relative to me than some of my biological relatives are, which is why my parents told me to call him "Uncle" in the first place.
I guess that's why I have so much faith in my marriage--Hopper and Boo and I are a family, so divorce isn't really an option for us, any more than I could divorce my brother. Yes, there are circumstances under which I'd throw my brother out of my life, but they are few and kind of hard to imagine. So the same goes for Hopper. Whatever happens to challenge our marriage, we'll just have to work it out. Unless he starts beating me up or something, he's stuck with me.
It's also why I don't really understand people who search for their birthparents relentlessly. I understand the basic impulse--to find out more about oneself, one's history, or a medical problem. And I love meeting family members I never knew before. A couple of years ago we were reunited with a branch of the family I had never met before. It turned out I had a cousin who lives about a mile from us who has two internationally adopted children about Boo's age. That was really cool, and I enjoy getting to know that branch of my family. If an adult adoptee finds her birth family and makes a connection like that, great! More people to love is always awesome. But I don't understand the need to search for people who don't want to be found. In my book, people who don't want me around just don't matter. [Update: 4/4/13 I am specifically referring here to birth families who don't want to be found or who reject the biological relative once contacted. I do not mean to suggest that birthmothers relinquish their children because they don't want them around. Placing your child for adoption when you cannot care for him or her is possibly the most loving act a parent can perform, and I would never want to belittle that or make adoptees feel like they were rejected at birth.]
All of this is really opinionated, and I want to make clear that I'm not judging other people's decisions and life choices. I'm just giving my perspective, and talking about what resonates with me and what doesn't. I have empathy for someone who wants to conceive and can't, or wants to make a connection with a birth family and can't, or feels the need to divorce. Putting myself in their shoes, I can understand what they feel and why they make the choices they do. I've had dear friends in all three of these situations and I support the decisions they've made because those are their decisions. But they're not the decisions I would make, and in this post, I'm only trying to talk about me and my feelings.
To me, adoption isn't second best. It's just another way to make a family. There are lots of ways to make families, and they're all good. (Well, you know--the legal ones. I'm not advocating kidnapping or rape or incest or whatever other horrible ways there are that families come to be.) For us, international adoption was the right way. I always tell Boo, "You're the best kid in the world. We know--we checked." And it's true. She's the best kid in the world for us. Our family just wouldn't be the same if we had come together any other way. For us, adoption wasn't second best, it was (and is) just right.
So please don't feel sorry for adoptive families you may know. And if you are an adoptive parent, make sure you express to your child that your family is just right the way it is, no matter what you thought would be the way you'd make your family when you started. Looking back, could you really imagine it any other way? Adoption isn't better or worse, it's just different. And different is cool.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
The day is looking up!
I'm always hearing jokes about New Jersey being one long highway, or full of pollution, or only good for malls and diners. To the people who make those jokes, I'd just like to say:
We had an amazing hike today at Norvin Green State Forest. I had never been there before, but I found it online, it's only 35 minutes from our house and the description looked good. It was better than good. Boo kept saying it was the best hike we'd ever been on, and she's been hiking quite a bit for a suburban nine-year-old. There were rocks to climb, views, streams to rock-hop across, and places where Boo and Wonderdog could run. We had a picnic lunch in a big rocky place surrounded by trees, and a snack with this view:
We did have to portage Wonderdog across a couple of streams, but it was worth it:
On our way back to our car, we saw a black bear, but we weren't able to get a good picture. We were just as interested in staying away from it as it was interested in staying away from us.
When I said I wanted to do more active things with Boo and Wonderdog, this is just what I meant. Here's to many more!
We had an amazing hike today at Norvin Green State Forest. I had never been there before, but I found it online, it's only 35 minutes from our house and the description looked good. It was better than good. Boo kept saying it was the best hike we'd ever been on, and she's been hiking quite a bit for a suburban nine-year-old. There were rocks to climb, views, streams to rock-hop across, and places where Boo and Wonderdog could run. We had a picnic lunch in a big rocky place surrounded by trees, and a snack with this view:
We did have to portage Wonderdog across a couple of streams, but it was worth it:
On our way back to our car, we saw a black bear, but we weren't able to get a good picture. We were just as interested in staying away from it as it was interested in staying away from us.
When I said I wanted to do more active things with Boo and Wonderdog, this is just what I meant. Here's to many more!
Monday, March 4, 2013
Settling in
I cannot believe how tired I still am from the move this weekend. I don't know if it's the physical work, because I'm so out of shape, or the stress of causing disorder in my house, but either way I'm SO TIRED.
On the plus side, Boo is still incredibly happy. She gleefully took her homework up to her room to use her "desk" this afternoon. At bedtime, Cat curled up on Boo's bed, and Boo requested that we leave her there when we turned off the light. Cat will need to be moved in a few minutes when we bring Wonderdog up for the night because Boo has a gerbil in her room, and Wonderdog cannot contain his excitement when he encounters the gerbil. We're not sure whether Wonderdog wants to eat the gerbil or play with him, but either way, I don't feel like dealing with a howling, dancing dog in the middle of the night. It's easier to close Boo's door to keep Wonderdog away from the gerbil, and Cat won't appreciate being locked in all night, so we'll let her out of Boo's room before we close the door.
*The gerbil is safely contained in a fish tank. Wonderdog cannot get into the tank to hurt the gerbil, and the gerbil seems to know this--although he used to be afraid of Wonderdog, he is not bothered by him anymore. So no harm will come to the gerbil.
Getting to fall asleep with not one, but two pets in her room is a new treat for Boo and she seems to be enjoying it.
Hopper and I still have a lot of work to do on the new family room, but we made some more progress today. I have learned over many moves that the secret of success is to do something every day, even if it's only to empty one box. Momentum is key.
As our friend Wilkinson used to say, "Onward!"
On the plus side, Boo is still incredibly happy. She gleefully took her homework up to her room to use her "desk" this afternoon. At bedtime, Cat curled up on Boo's bed, and Boo requested that we leave her there when we turned off the light. Cat will need to be moved in a few minutes when we bring Wonderdog up for the night because Boo has a gerbil in her room, and Wonderdog cannot contain his excitement when he encounters the gerbil. We're not sure whether Wonderdog wants to eat the gerbil or play with him, but either way, I don't feel like dealing with a howling, dancing dog in the middle of the night. It's easier to close Boo's door to keep Wonderdog away from the gerbil, and Cat won't appreciate being locked in all night, so we'll let her out of Boo's room before we close the door.
*The gerbil is safely contained in a fish tank. Wonderdog cannot get into the tank to hurt the gerbil, and the gerbil seems to know this--although he used to be afraid of Wonderdog, he is not bothered by him anymore. So no harm will come to the gerbil.
Getting to fall asleep with not one, but two pets in her room is a new treat for Boo and she seems to be enjoying it.
Hopper and I still have a lot of work to do on the new family room, but we made some more progress today. I have learned over many moves that the secret of success is to do something every day, even if it's only to empty one box. Momentum is key.
As our friend Wilkinson used to say, "Onward!"
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Not a Fan
While I am thrilled that Boo is so happy with her new room, and I recognize that we're going to have a lovely family room at the end of this, I am not enjoying the process.
We're all bone tired, and it occurred to me that Boo needs an orderly room to sleep in much more than I need a family room, so we've been concentrating our efforts on getting everything done in there as quickly as possible. We've made a lot of progress--all the furniture is in place, the books are on shelves, the gerbil has been relocated to another part of the room, pictures are on walls, and this afternoon we purchased cork squares and adhered them to one wall. All that's left to do is hang up one more picture that Boo just decided she wants after all and clean out the cabinets in the built-ins, which we left for last because they don't show.
But the family room is a MESS. It looks like it did when we first bought the house and used that room as a swing room. Today I went in and unpacked 5 boxes, plugged in a lamp, and moved some things around in the closet, but there's still a lot to do, including re-assembling the wall of family pictures that used to hang in the office, which is a big job all by itself.
Hopper got the WiFi relocated today, and hopefully tomorrow after work he'll be able to run the wire from the antenna in the attic and we'll set up the TV, although that's not really a priority. The rest is just work. I'm trying to do another round of purging as I unpack boxes because there is just SO MUCH STUFF. But with only one closet instead of two and no built-ins, we're going to have to figure something out. Some of the stuff is going (and already has gone) some can find homes in other rooms, but I think we're also going to have to purchase some kind of storage or put shelves in the closet to accommodate some of the stuff.
SO...MUCH...STUFF!!!
And the worst (or best) part is, purging this stuff makes me want to go through the house and purge even more. We have a bookcase in our bedroom that is full to bursting--maybe we can make room there. And the basement is a mess again with stuff that Boo took out of her room, so maybe we can get rid of more of that. And I know there's a crib in Hopper's closet, but I don't know if we can get it back out because we installed a support pole after we put the crib in there.
I don't like change. I find transitions unsettling and difficult. Also, I like to keep stuff and so does Hopper, so all this purging is hard on us. It's disconcerting having so many rooms in an unsettled state and I keep noticing the regular cleaning that's not getting done.
So I'm trying to focus on what IS getting done, day by day, and committing to doing something every day, even if it's just one box. I have found over many moves that as long as you keep moving, it all gets done more quickly than you think it will. And I'm also focusing on Boo, who stopped in her doorway on the way to take a shower and said, "Wait! I'm enjoying the roominess of my room!"
Because it's not often you can make your kid that happy.
Eyes on the prize! I'm going to relax this evening and get a good night's sleep so that we can make more progress after work tomorrow.
We're all bone tired, and it occurred to me that Boo needs an orderly room to sleep in much more than I need a family room, so we've been concentrating our efforts on getting everything done in there as quickly as possible. We've made a lot of progress--all the furniture is in place, the books are on shelves, the gerbil has been relocated to another part of the room, pictures are on walls, and this afternoon we purchased cork squares and adhered them to one wall. All that's left to do is hang up one more picture that Boo just decided she wants after all and clean out the cabinets in the built-ins, which we left for last because they don't show.
But the family room is a MESS. It looks like it did when we first bought the house and used that room as a swing room. Today I went in and unpacked 5 boxes, plugged in a lamp, and moved some things around in the closet, but there's still a lot to do, including re-assembling the wall of family pictures that used to hang in the office, which is a big job all by itself.
Hopper got the WiFi relocated today, and hopefully tomorrow after work he'll be able to run the wire from the antenna in the attic and we'll set up the TV, although that's not really a priority. The rest is just work. I'm trying to do another round of purging as I unpack boxes because there is just SO MUCH STUFF. But with only one closet instead of two and no built-ins, we're going to have to figure something out. Some of the stuff is going (and already has gone) some can find homes in other rooms, but I think we're also going to have to purchase some kind of storage or put shelves in the closet to accommodate some of the stuff.
SO...MUCH...STUFF!!!
And the worst (or best) part is, purging this stuff makes me want to go through the house and purge even more. We have a bookcase in our bedroom that is full to bursting--maybe we can make room there. And the basement is a mess again with stuff that Boo took out of her room, so maybe we can get rid of more of that. And I know there's a crib in Hopper's closet, but I don't know if we can get it back out because we installed a support pole after we put the crib in there.
I don't like change. I find transitions unsettling and difficult. Also, I like to keep stuff and so does Hopper, so all this purging is hard on us. It's disconcerting having so many rooms in an unsettled state and I keep noticing the regular cleaning that's not getting done.
So I'm trying to focus on what IS getting done, day by day, and committing to doing something every day, even if it's just one box. I have found over many moves that as long as you keep moving, it all gets done more quickly than you think it will. And I'm also focusing on Boo, who stopped in her doorway on the way to take a shower and said, "Wait! I'm enjoying the roominess of my room!"
Because it's not often you can make your kid that happy.
Eyes on the prize! I'm going to relax this evening and get a good night's sleep so that we can make more progress after work tomorrow.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
The Big Move
Today we moved the furniture so that the white room is Boo's room and the pink room is our family room. Or it will be a family room once everything is unpacked. (Credit to Hopper for getting the filing cabinet done on schedule!)
Boo is really happy with her cozy new room, and frustrated that we haven't got absolutely everything moved and put away. While I was moving boxes so we could get a bookshelf out of my bedroom, where we had put it while we moved other furniture, she was taking pictures off the wall in her room and stacking them in the pink room.
There's still a lot of work to do, and although we've thrown out and donated (or at least decided to donate) a lot of stuff, I'm hoping to purge more as we put things away in the new family room. We also have to rewire everything so that we have phone and internet in the family room (the WiFi is currently running from under Boo's bed) and we have to move and hook up the TV. And we're planning to put cork tiles on one wall of Boo's new room. We'll get it all done in time.
Right now, though, I'm really tired from moving furniture and boxes. No need to exercise today!
Boo is really happy with her cozy new room, and frustrated that we haven't got absolutely everything moved and put away. While I was moving boxes so we could get a bookshelf out of my bedroom, where we had put it while we moved other furniture, she was taking pictures off the wall in her room and stacking them in the pink room.
There's still a lot of work to do, and although we've thrown out and donated (or at least decided to donate) a lot of stuff, I'm hoping to purge more as we put things away in the new family room. We also have to rewire everything so that we have phone and internet in the family room (the WiFi is currently running from under Boo's bed) and we have to move and hook up the TV. And we're planning to put cork tiles on one wall of Boo's new room. We'll get it all done in time.
Right now, though, I'm really tired from moving furniture and boxes. No need to exercise today!
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Big Plans
I mentioned in this post that Boo wanted to move rooms from the room she has slept in since she was a baby to the room we're currently using as an office. Well, we're getting close to the move date, if Hopper follows through on his plans to pack up the file cabinet this week, and I'm getting excited.
The room we're currently using as an office (we'll call it the white room) is one of the reasons I wanted to buy our house. It's got two closets flanking a window at one end, and two built-ins flanking the window at the other end. If I were a kid, it's the room I would want for myself. Boo's room (we'll call it the pink room) is bigger, closer to our bedroom, and square, which is why it's been a good bedroom for her until now. It has more space to play in than the white room, but that's what will make it a really nice family room.
Now that we have a second TV, we can put it in the pink room and with the futon that's currently in the white room, it will be a nice place to sit and watch if the living room is occupied, or if Boo wants to watch a movie with a friend. We should also have room to put some kind of desk in there which will make it a nice place for Boo to do her homework, or Hopper to do grading when he has a lot of papers he needs to spread out.
Hopefully, next weekend will be the time. And if Hopper doesn't do the file cabinet, I'll be able to shame him on the interwebz. In the spirit of fair-play, I'm also going to publicly commit to picking up a few more boxes tomorrow and finish packing up the brown bookshelves before Saturday.
One more note for those keeping score--I've now exercised four days in a row!
The room we're currently using as an office (we'll call it the white room) is one of the reasons I wanted to buy our house. It's got two closets flanking a window at one end, and two built-ins flanking the window at the other end. If I were a kid, it's the room I would want for myself. Boo's room (we'll call it the pink room) is bigger, closer to our bedroom, and square, which is why it's been a good bedroom for her until now. It has more space to play in than the white room, but that's what will make it a really nice family room.
Now that we have a second TV, we can put it in the pink room and with the futon that's currently in the white room, it will be a nice place to sit and watch if the living room is occupied, or if Boo wants to watch a movie with a friend. We should also have room to put some kind of desk in there which will make it a nice place for Boo to do her homework, or Hopper to do grading when he has a lot of papers he needs to spread out.
Hopefully, next weekend will be the time. And if Hopper doesn't do the file cabinet, I'll be able to shame him on the interwebz. In the spirit of fair-play, I'm also going to publicly commit to picking up a few more boxes tomorrow and finish packing up the brown bookshelves before Saturday.
One more note for those keeping score--I've now exercised four days in a row!
Friday, February 1, 2013
Fondue
My first year of teaching I taught fourth grade in New York City. That means my kids had to take the big standardized tests (in those days, kids only took them in 4th, 8th and 12th grades.) The day before the test was to start, I found myself with a classroom full of verboten items like spelling words, charts and graphs. I had to cover them all with newspaper so the kids wouldn't have anything in the room that might help them.
Luckily, the teacher from the next room, Anthony, happened to walk by and see how much work I had to do. He came in and helped, and we got the job done quickly. So, being the decent sort, I offered to cook dinner for him and his girlfriend.
After the tests were over, I suggested we set a date and I'd make them fondue. "But," I said, "we should have a couple more people. Fondue feeds 4-6, and there's no real way to alter the recipe." I figured he'd pick another teacher from our school, and if they had a partner, that would make five people, if they didn't, it would make four. But Anthony had other ideas.
"I'm an elementary school teacher," he said. "I don't meet many guys. How about inviting some guys who aren't teachers?"
Guys who aren't teachers? That was a tough one, but I was going to a friend's birthday party that night, and I had a number of male college friends. I was sure I'd figure out the right one or two that Anthony would like.
To my surprise, one of my friends brought his brother. I'd met the brother a few times before--we even spent a whole party talking to each other a few years before, but he'd never called me, so nothing ever came of it. Both my friend and his brother had girlfriends, so I could invite them to dinner without either of them jumping to uncomfortable conclusions. And although it would be a little bit weird having dinner with three couples, I thought I could handle it.
So, when my friend and his brother offered to walk me to get a cab, I asked them if they liked fondue.
"Who doesn't like fondue?" They replied. And so it was set.
When I called to make arrangements, I found out that my friend's brother didn't have a girlfriend, and my friend couldn't make it because he had to go to a bachelor party. Okay, four people.
And the guy I had now spent two parties talking to didn't have a girlfriend.
Hmm.
The night of the dinner, I realized I was out of milk. So I called my friend's brother and asked if he'd pick some up for me. He agreed, and arrived early--with flowers.
Hmm.
Anthony called and said he and his girlfriend were running late, which left me making conversation with my friend's brother, whom my mother told me not to date because he had an unstable lifestyle--he worked in film. Having already dated and hated the lifestyle of a very nice musician, I agreed with my mother on this one. Creative people are great as friends, but I need stability in my life, so I wasn't going to date any more of them.
But I asked my friend's brother about his work anyway, because I figured he'd have some good stories. He did, but he didn't tell me any of them that day. Instead, he said, "Actually, I'm thinking of getting out of film. I want my life to be more stable. I think I'd like to be a teacher instead."
Hmm!
Anthony and his girlfriend showed up, and we had a delightful time eating fondue until she accidentally kicked him under the table and he thought it was time to leave. So there I was, alone with my friend's brother, who offered to stay and do the dishes.
My friend's brother's name? I don't like to use names here, so let's call him Hopper.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Fish Tacos
I just saw a tweet recommending a recipe for healthy fish tacos, so here comes another story Hopper won't like.
Nine years ago, the coolest part of my family had a reunion out in California over Christmas. Some of the relatives were getting on in years, and it seemed like there was a good chance this was the last time we would all be able to get together, so we pulled out all the stops. My dad, the most dedicated teacher I have ever known, took two personal days, Hopper and I scheduled our house closing and adoption homestudy meetings around the dates, and we all flew out to Laguna Beach.
It was an amazing week, and there are many stories to tell, but this one is about the night we went to the fish taco joint. It was one of those places where you order at the counter and pay, and then your food is brought to the table, so it was perfect for a big group like ours--each family ordered separately and then we all sat at a huge table together. I have a great picture of my cousin's baby sleeping on another cousin's lap as they sat on the windowsill, just hanging out. We sat there for hours. It was a perfect family evening.
The next day we drove up to the Aquarium with my parents. While we were there, Hopper got grouchy, then peaky. By the time we left, he was green. That night, he could barely sleep because he was so sick, and by the next morning he couldn't get out of bed to go to the breakfast room. We talked to the family, and found out that one of the teenage cousins, but not the other, had fallen ill, even though they had shared a bedroom all week. One of the grandmothers was sick. And one of the cousins my age. Nobody who shared a bedroom or bathroom with the sick family members had caught the illness.
My parents and I headed out to dinner with some of the Laguna cousins. We chose a deli so that I could get some chicken soup to bring back
for Hopper. We were starting to be concerned that we wouldn't be able to fly home the next day, but he was finally able to keep down some soup, and thought he'd make it.
Eventually we figured out that one person from each family group was sick. Apparently, one cook at the restaurant didn't have clean hands, and whoever ate the food he prepared came down with food poisoning.
Hopper made it home and recovered after a couple of days. But it's nine years later and there's no way I'm making fish tacos for dinner.
Nine years ago, the coolest part of my family had a reunion out in California over Christmas. Some of the relatives were getting on in years, and it seemed like there was a good chance this was the last time we would all be able to get together, so we pulled out all the stops. My dad, the most dedicated teacher I have ever known, took two personal days, Hopper and I scheduled our house closing and adoption homestudy meetings around the dates, and we all flew out to Laguna Beach.
It was an amazing week, and there are many stories to tell, but this one is about the night we went to the fish taco joint. It was one of those places where you order at the counter and pay, and then your food is brought to the table, so it was perfect for a big group like ours--each family ordered separately and then we all sat at a huge table together. I have a great picture of my cousin's baby sleeping on another cousin's lap as they sat on the windowsill, just hanging out. We sat there for hours. It was a perfect family evening.
The next day we drove up to the Aquarium with my parents. While we were there, Hopper got grouchy, then peaky. By the time we left, he was green. That night, he could barely sleep because he was so sick, and by the next morning he couldn't get out of bed to go to the breakfast room. We talked to the family, and found out that one of the teenage cousins, but not the other, had fallen ill, even though they had shared a bedroom all week. One of the grandmothers was sick. And one of the cousins my age. Nobody who shared a bedroom or bathroom with the sick family members had caught the illness.
My parents and I headed out to dinner with some of the Laguna cousins. We chose a deli so that I could get some chicken soup to bring back
for Hopper. We were starting to be concerned that we wouldn't be able to fly home the next day, but he was finally able to keep down some soup, and thought he'd make it.
Eventually we figured out that one person from each family group was sick. Apparently, one cook at the restaurant didn't have clean hands, and whoever ate the food he prepared came down with food poisoning.
Hopper made it home and recovered after a couple of days. But it's nine years later and there's no way I'm making fish tacos for dinner.
Revenge is salty and delicious
Yesterday was a busy day. A really busy day. So busy that the only way I could have written a post is if I had turned down Boo's request to play Settlers of Catan.
There was a period of time where I had to drive from a Parent Breakfast a few towns north of us to our house to pick up Wonderdog, then to our dog school which is about 20 minutes away, then back to our house to drop Wonderdog off, then up to Boo's school, where I was meeting Hopper at a nearby diner for lunch before we both went to the school to work on a fundraising project. I was about half way from our house to the diner when I got a text from Hopper.
Where are you?
I was annoyed. I already walked out on my class at exactly 12:00, even though it was running over. I rushed home, got Wonderdog settled, grabbed my stuff and hopped back in the car. In my haste, I forgot to bring a snack that Boo would need at her after school activity and would have to buy one. I wasn't late, so why was he texting me? But I was at a red light (I only read texts when the car is stopped) so I texted back.
Ridgewood
A minute later, the phone beeps again, but now I was driving, so I just kept driving while I seethed. I tried to rationalize away my anger, thinking that Hopper probably just has a table saved, or wanted to know my ETA, or thought I got there first and he couldn't find me. He DOES have a habit, I reminded myself, of replying to every text, even when it isn't necessary. Probably that text just said, "OK."
When I arrived at the diner, I looked at my phone.
Aren't we meeting for lunch?
Well, that was odd. I had to drive through Ridgewood to get from our house to the diner, so "Ridgewood" seemed to me a reasonable, if terse, answer. But, I had arrived, so we'd soon set it straight.
I walked into the diner, and told the person who greeted me that I was meeting my husband. "He's not here yet," came the reply. "Would you like to sit at a booth while you wait?"
Not here yet? How was that possible? He had been pissing me off complaining about my non-lateness for the past five to eight minutes.
"But he's been texting me," I said.
The kind man agreed that that was strange, then helped me search the restaurant, where there were exactly zero men sitting alone. I decided the time for texting had passed, and placed an actual call.
"Hopper? Where are you?"
"I'm at the diner near work."
I humbly accepted the booth the man had offered and sat down to order for both of us, since it would take Hopper at least 20 minutes to get from his work to Boo's school.
When the food arrived, I texted Hopper to let him know it was getting cold.
Then I ate half his fries.
There was a period of time where I had to drive from a Parent Breakfast a few towns north of us to our house to pick up Wonderdog, then to our dog school which is about 20 minutes away, then back to our house to drop Wonderdog off, then up to Boo's school, where I was meeting Hopper at a nearby diner for lunch before we both went to the school to work on a fundraising project. I was about half way from our house to the diner when I got a text from Hopper.
Where are you?
I was annoyed. I already walked out on my class at exactly 12:00, even though it was running over. I rushed home, got Wonderdog settled, grabbed my stuff and hopped back in the car. In my haste, I forgot to bring a snack that Boo would need at her after school activity and would have to buy one. I wasn't late, so why was he texting me? But I was at a red light (I only read texts when the car is stopped) so I texted back.
Ridgewood
A minute later, the phone beeps again, but now I was driving, so I just kept driving while I seethed. I tried to rationalize away my anger, thinking that Hopper probably just has a table saved, or wanted to know my ETA, or thought I got there first and he couldn't find me. He DOES have a habit, I reminded myself, of replying to every text, even when it isn't necessary. Probably that text just said, "OK."
When I arrived at the diner, I looked at my phone.
Aren't we meeting for lunch?
Well, that was odd. I had to drive through Ridgewood to get from our house to the diner, so "Ridgewood" seemed to me a reasonable, if terse, answer. But, I had arrived, so we'd soon set it straight.
I walked into the diner, and told the person who greeted me that I was meeting my husband. "He's not here yet," came the reply. "Would you like to sit at a booth while you wait?"
Not here yet? How was that possible? He had been pissing me off complaining about my non-lateness for the past five to eight minutes.
"But he's been texting me," I said.
The kind man agreed that that was strange, then helped me search the restaurant, where there were exactly zero men sitting alone. I decided the time for texting had passed, and placed an actual call.
"Hopper? Where are you?"
"I'm at the diner near work."
I humbly accepted the booth the man had offered and sat down to order for both of us, since it would take Hopper at least 20 minutes to get from his work to Boo's school.
When the food arrived, I texted Hopper to let him know it was getting cold.
Then I ate half his fries.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
On making beautiful things
I don't come from an artistic family. Nobody in my family is very good at painting or drawing or making things from wood. Our creative talents are more in the realm of performance--I act, my mother does puppetry, my father sings, my brother makes people laugh and we all write.
Hopper's family, on the other hand, is visual. His father and grandfather were painters, and they all draw and paint in his family. Over the past few years, I've been experimenting some with collage, and I think I have a pretty good eye, but I really don't have a history of making beautiful things.
In the past, I have used my talents to move people. I have made them laugh and cry, and through children's theater I have helped children learn a great deal about emotions, and responsibility, and how to perform. I'm proud of that. But performance is ephemeral, especially on stage. A video doesn't fully capture the moment we created.
But now I'm knitting, and it's really easy, if you buy beautiful yarn, to make a beautiful scarf. I've made a few using the knit stitch and experimenting with different needles. I like the open weave of really big needles. But yesterday I started one using two different sized needles and some really beautiful yarn, and I'm amazed at the fact that I can now make beautiful things. At the end of the day, there is an object that I can hold and wear or give to a friend, and it's a beautiful object that I made with my own hands.
This is a new experience for me.
I also find it interesting that the older I get, the more I find I have in common with my grandmother, whom I called Nana. My Nana was brilliant with handwork--she mostly crocheted--and I still have some afghans she made for me. So maybe I have the ability to be really good at this. Who knows?
This evening, I started a basket weave scarf. It's my first work with a pattern and it's tricky, but so far it's working. Okay, it took me three tries to figure out how to purl correctly, but now I've got it, so it's working.
Anyway, the journey is fun.
Hopper's family, on the other hand, is visual. His father and grandfather were painters, and they all draw and paint in his family. Over the past few years, I've been experimenting some with collage, and I think I have a pretty good eye, but I really don't have a history of making beautiful things.
In the past, I have used my talents to move people. I have made them laugh and cry, and through children's theater I have helped children learn a great deal about emotions, and responsibility, and how to perform. I'm proud of that. But performance is ephemeral, especially on stage. A video doesn't fully capture the moment we created.
But now I'm knitting, and it's really easy, if you buy beautiful yarn, to make a beautiful scarf. I've made a few using the knit stitch and experimenting with different needles. I like the open weave of really big needles. But yesterday I started one using two different sized needles and some really beautiful yarn, and I'm amazed at the fact that I can now make beautiful things. At the end of the day, there is an object that I can hold and wear or give to a friend, and it's a beautiful object that I made with my own hands.
This is a new experience for me.
I also find it interesting that the older I get, the more I find I have in common with my grandmother, whom I called Nana. My Nana was brilliant with handwork--she mostly crocheted--and I still have some afghans she made for me. So maybe I have the ability to be really good at this. Who knows?
This evening, I started a basket weave scarf. It's my first work with a pattern and it's tricky, but so far it's working. Okay, it took me three tries to figure out how to purl correctly, but now I've got it, so it's working.
Anyway, the journey is fun.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Observations
Cat is on my right, curled into a ball with her head upside down and tucked on top of her feet and tail. I can just see her tongue peeking out between her teeth. Then she squeezes more tightly, shudders and pulls a paw over her face to shut out the light.
Wonderdog is on my left, four paws stretched out in a bunch like a Wookiee being carried by Ewoks, yet totally relaxed, his chest moving up and down with each breath, his ear flopped over his eye, and his nose dropping down into the blanket he's lying on.
Hopper, on the other hand, is scrunched up in his recliner with his laptop perched on his lap, his hands curled up to work the keyboard, his shoulders hunched: the picture of tension.
Animals win.
Wonderdog is on my left, four paws stretched out in a bunch like a Wookiee being carried by Ewoks, yet totally relaxed, his chest moving up and down with each breath, his ear flopped over his eye, and his nose dropping down into the blanket he's lying on.
Hopper, on the other hand, is scrunched up in his recliner with his laptop perched on his lap, his hands curled up to work the keyboard, his shoulders hunched: the picture of tension.
Animals win.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Eleven years married
"True love isn't something you find. It's something you are capable of." --Dan Savage
Savage also frequently says that there is no "one," only a .8 that you round up to one. His point is that we shouldn't wait around for Mr. Right, and we shouldn't hang on to a relationship that isn't working for us because this might be "the one" and if we screw it up, we'll never find true love.
He's right, but there is an element of "finding" that is important too. I don't believe that Hopper is "the one" in the sense that there is only one man in the world I could have made my life with. I'm sure if I hadn't married him, I would have married someone else. But there are a LOT of people I couldn't make a successful marriage with (I dated several of them) and finding one of the few people who sits in the Venn diagram overlap between "people I can live with" and "people who can live with me" was challenging, to say the least.
Once you meet one of those few people, that's when you decide if you will round him up to "the one." You have to choose carefully, because the wrong person can really screw up your life. But Savage is right that it's a choice, and then you have to put in the effort to make it happen. There isn't some magical person out there, the finding of whom will make you happy for all eternity. Hopper is a good man. He's Jewish and comes from the same town I grew up in, so we have a lot of the same expectations about life. And (oh, yeah) I love him. I married Hopper because my left brain saw the sense in marrying him and my right brain wanted to do it. Today is our eleventh anniversary, and I can say in retrospect that it was a good decision.
There are other myths about marriage. People think it will make you happy. It won't.
Don't get me wrong--I love being married, and Hopper and I have what most people would describe as a happy marriage. But it's just a lifestyle. Marriage is a choice to make a new family. That's all. You're still you and still in charge of your own happiness. Sure, the wrong marriage can make you miserable, and it's a good idea to try to bring cheer to your spouse when you can--the occasional, unexpected chocolate purchase can go a long way. It's also important to monitor your spouse and help out when grief or depression takes over, as they can, or when something like the wrong job is dragging them down and making them less than they can be. In those ways, marriage can make your life better.
For me, marriage makes me happy because I like having someone to share things with. Well, not things--I'm really bad at sharing things--but experiences. And chores. I LOVE having someone to share the chores. (And by share, I mean do almost all of them so I can sit around and blog.) I like living in a family situation. I like co-parenting (most of the time) and eating family dinners and being able to break out a game for three people and having two other people in the house to play with me.
But nothing about me really changed when I got married. Hopper and I didn't live together before we were married, so that was new, but he moved into my apartment, so aside from having to share my stuff, it wasn't much of a change. I still woke up in the same bed and went to work at the same job. Of course, Hopper has a huge influence on who I am and what I do, because I chose him to be the most important person in my life (and then demoted him when we adopted Boo.)
It's my job to make me happy, not Hopper's, and not our marriage's.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Resolutions, 'cause what did you expect?
Here are my New Year's Resolutions:
1) Write every day, even if it's just a short piece, or a conversation with my pets. I'm not promising it will always be good, but I'm really going to try to write every day, because it makes me feel good, and sometimes, like with the adoption pieces I wrote this week, it helps me sort out some important stuff. Please check in often, and tell your friends because it's a lot more fun to write when you feel like someone is reading what you've written.
2) Fight for what's important. For me, that's women's rights, especially sexual freedom, and the rights of children, which this year I think will focus on gun control and education. And, of course, Russian adoption. Not only are these things that mean a lot to me, they are things I might be able to impact through my writing. I hope you'll fight with me.
3) Take care of myself. We all need to exercise more and eat better. I'll try to do that, but I'm specifically going to try to do more fun, active things that involve Boo and Wonderdog. The only way I'll keep exercising is if it's fun, and having Boo and/or Wonderdog along makes most things more fun. Plus, I'll feel extra-good if I'm taking good care of my dog and teaching Boo good habits. And hopefully, doing fun and interesting things will provide me with fun, interesting things to write about. Bonus!
I think that's enough for one year, and soon Hopper will be home with our New Year's Eve sushi. Happy New Year, everyone! May 2013 be a productive, peaceful and healthy year for us all.
1) Write every day, even if it's just a short piece, or a conversation with my pets. I'm not promising it will always be good, but I'm really going to try to write every day, because it makes me feel good, and sometimes, like with the adoption pieces I wrote this week, it helps me sort out some important stuff. Please check in often, and tell your friends because it's a lot more fun to write when you feel like someone is reading what you've written.
2) Fight for what's important. For me, that's women's rights, especially sexual freedom, and the rights of children, which this year I think will focus on gun control and education. And, of course, Russian adoption. Not only are these things that mean a lot to me, they are things I might be able to impact through my writing. I hope you'll fight with me.
3) Take care of myself. We all need to exercise more and eat better. I'll try to do that, but I'm specifically going to try to do more fun, active things that involve Boo and Wonderdog. The only way I'll keep exercising is if it's fun, and having Boo and/or Wonderdog along makes most things more fun. Plus, I'll feel extra-good if I'm taking good care of my dog and teaching Boo good habits. And hopefully, doing fun and interesting things will provide me with fun, interesting things to write about. Bonus!
I think that's enough for one year, and soon Hopper will be home with our New Year's Eve sushi. Happy New Year, everyone! May 2013 be a productive, peaceful and healthy year for us all.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Becoming our baby
Even before Hopper and I were engaged, I told him I wanted to adopt a child. Becoming a parent was important to me, even essential to my identity, but I never felt that biological relationship was an important part of the equation. He needed to know that if we were going to get serious.
Really, I had decided on adoption when I was fourteen. A storyline on a soap opera I enjoyed featured a couple who went to the ends of the earth to conceive a child. Even at that age, I couldn't relate to their decision. Even at that age, I knew I'd be a mother.
So after we were married long enough, when Hopper finally said he was ready too, our adoption journey began.
Being me, I researched. I read about every country on the State Department database. (I just tried to count the countries on the State Department database. I stopped at 40. I was still in the C's.) I joined an online support group. I tried (and failed) to create an in-person support group. I spoke to relatives who had adopted. I went to a conference. I researched.
We narrowed it down. Only countries where we have ancestry or relatives. (That limits us to the northern hemisphere.) Only countries with more than 1000 adoptions per year. (China, or Russia?) I don't want adoption to be the center of our family. We don't want that to be the first thing other people see when they meet us. We would adopt from Russia.
When the time came to make the first thoroughly-researched phone call to start the process, I crumpled in terror. The reality that my dream could finally come true--that after all these years of assuming I'd be a mother someday, I could just pick up a phone and make it happen--scared me. It was the beginning of a journey that would change my life forever.
But I did it. I made that call, and the next one. I got the letters of recommendation we needed and processed the paperwork. We got fingerprinted, interviewed, home studied, background checked and examined. We had shots and answered questions about our pasts, present and future. We analyzed our capacity for love, our style of discipline, and how we would raise a child in an ethical framework.
Every one of these steps cost money. It was a lot like buying a house, really. Just keep signing checks and don't think about it too much. I never added it up, because I don't want to know. We had the money. That's all that matters.
I am not a romantic. I knew that any adoption process would be out of my control, so I protected myself. I never imagined that this far-away baby was the love of my life. I always called her by her Russian name. I reminded myself at every step that she was not mine and would not be mine until the Russian judge said so.
The day we met her, all I could think about was a woman who I knew from my online chat group. She said that when she received her first referral, she and her husband spent 45 minutes trying to make eye contact with the baby. There was no response. They had to refuse the referral.
So my one goal for the day was to make eye contact with this baby. That was all that mattered.
Now, usually, I'm pretty good with babies. Boo was seven months old that day, and the best way to make "friends" with a seven-month-old is to carry her around a room and talk about whatever catches her eye. Eventually, that seven-month-old will become interested in the sound of your voice and follow the sound to your face.
I knew this from good instinct and a lifetime of being the person who held other people's babies at parties. From at least the time my cousin was born, when I was twelve, I had received compliments on my ability to amuse a baby in stressful circumstances for long periods of time.
But all that mattered was eye contact. And someone put us in a room with a mirror.
Anyone who knows Boo knows about her little mirror problem. She can't pass one. There are a lot more mirrors in the world than you think. I know. I live with Boo. If there is a mirror, she will find it and get stuck in front of it. A trip to Ikea is fraught with moments where one second Boo is walking beside me, and the next second: gone. I look back, and there she is. There was a mirror. She got stuck. I grab her by the hand, and we move on together. Until the next mirror.
The day we met, I cared only about eye contact. And Boo cared only about the mirror. It took up an entire wall. It might have been the first time she saw her whole body at once.
Finally, I got the idea of making her fly. I actually remember my mother flying me. She would lie on her back with her knees tucked to her chest, and I would lie with my belly on her shins. She'd hold my hands and I'd fly above her.
You have to modify it a bit for a seven-month-old, but only a bit. She loved the flying. She laughed, she smiled--and there was nowhere to look but into my eyes. At last, we made eye contact. My baby was okay.
But she wasn't my baby yet. We signed a form, played with her a few more times, and had to return to New Jersey to wait for court. They told me not to cry in front of the baby when we left. It makes it harder for the babies if they see their parents cry, they said. So I had to run out of the room before the translator was done conveying my thanks for the excellent care not-yet-Boo was receiving.
At work a few days later a woman came to visit. She was on Maternity Leave and had brought her baby for a visit. Everyone surrounded the baby, cooing and asking questions. "My baby is doing that already," I thought. (Not my baby--not yet. Not until the Judge says so. But she is--she's doing that. Even in the Baby Home she's big, and she's fat, and she's developing just fine.)
When we got back to Russia I couldn't believe that Boo recognized me. A big smile came over her face when we walked into the room. (Not my baby. Not yet my baby. She isn't my baby until the Judge says she is.) We went to Court and presented our case to the Judge. Then we waited.
It takes about 20 minutes for the Judge to render her decision. She has to type it before she comes back and announces it. So we waited in the small courtroom with our Translator, the Director of Boo's Baby Home, the Social Worker, and the Prosecutor, who was there to speak for the interests of the State. Finally, the Judge returned and said that Boo was ours. Finally and forever Boo.
When we arrived at the Baby Home that afternoon, a caregiver asked me in stilted English, "What is her name?" She had obviously practiced this phrase for use with new parents. It would be my first act as Boo's mother: to introduce her by her newly given name to the women who had cared for her all her life.
I balked. Could I answer such a question? Did I have the audacity to tell them that her name was no longer what it had been for all her eight months of life?
I looked back at our Translator, who looked back at me, baffled. The question had been asked in English: there was nothing to translate.
Finally, I blurted it out, "Boo," I said. The Caregiver beamed, and immediately Russified the name. "Boolashka," she cooed. Babies in Russia are never called by their given names. There must be a diminutive added. And there she was: my baby, but not-yet-my-baby. We left her again, for the last time. For us, the Mandatory Waiting Period had been waived. That was common in those days. We would be able to pick Boo up the very next day and bring her first to Moscow, then home.
I remember feeling as if I were floating down the street. Nothing seemed real. Still, sometimes, I wonder that we went to Russia and they gave us a baby. Also, the 8-hour time difference and the things we had to do--get her re-issued birth certificate, get permission from the Police for Boo to leave the district where she was born--made it impossible to call my mother until 6PM local time. If my mother didn't know I had a baby, then I didn't have a baby.
We shopped and bought formula and diapers and baby food and spoons and cake and tea for Boo's caregivers. I carefully packed the outfit I had purchased a few days before with my mother and Hopper: an adorable overalls set. I also grabbed a fleecy romper in case it was cold.
Friends of mine who gave birth to their babies are always shocked about what happened next. They handed me a naked baby, and then watched to see what I would do. There were no lessons in diapering or feeding or how to hold the baby. But that was okay. I was, after all, the person who held everyone's babies at parties. My aunt had taught me to change a diaper when I was twelve. I had friends who would hand me their crying babies. I deftly put on Boo's diaper, the adorable little shirt, and then tragedy struck. The overalls were shorts!
There is no greater sin for a Russian mother than underdressing her baby. Boo had been dressed in three layers and a hat to go from one room in the Baby Home to another. And here I was preparing to take her outside. OUTSIDE--where it was only seventy degrees! In shorts. I was horrified. The Caregivers were unsure what to do. So I dutifully took out the fleece romper and stuffed her into it. Everyone relaxed. (Except Boo, who had to ride home in the car in her fleece romper, sweating mightily.) We stepped out into the sunshine, and Hopper took a picture. Boo leaving the Baby Home forever.
Becoming our baby.
Really, I had decided on adoption when I was fourteen. A storyline on a soap opera I enjoyed featured a couple who went to the ends of the earth to conceive a child. Even at that age, I couldn't relate to their decision. Even at that age, I knew I'd be a mother.
So after we were married long enough, when Hopper finally said he was ready too, our adoption journey began.
Being me, I researched. I read about every country on the State Department database. (I just tried to count the countries on the State Department database. I stopped at 40. I was still in the C's.) I joined an online support group. I tried (and failed) to create an in-person support group. I spoke to relatives who had adopted. I went to a conference. I researched.
We narrowed it down. Only countries where we have ancestry or relatives. (That limits us to the northern hemisphere.) Only countries with more than 1000 adoptions per year. (China, or Russia?) I don't want adoption to be the center of our family. We don't want that to be the first thing other people see when they meet us. We would adopt from Russia.
When the time came to make the first thoroughly-researched phone call to start the process, I crumpled in terror. The reality that my dream could finally come true--that after all these years of assuming I'd be a mother someday, I could just pick up a phone and make it happen--scared me. It was the beginning of a journey that would change my life forever.
But I did it. I made that call, and the next one. I got the letters of recommendation we needed and processed the paperwork. We got fingerprinted, interviewed, home studied, background checked and examined. We had shots and answered questions about our pasts, present and future. We analyzed our capacity for love, our style of discipline, and how we would raise a child in an ethical framework.
Every one of these steps cost money. It was a lot like buying a house, really. Just keep signing checks and don't think about it too much. I never added it up, because I don't want to know. We had the money. That's all that matters.
I am not a romantic. I knew that any adoption process would be out of my control, so I protected myself. I never imagined that this far-away baby was the love of my life. I always called her by her Russian name. I reminded myself at every step that she was not mine and would not be mine until the Russian judge said so.
The day we met her, all I could think about was a woman who I knew from my online chat group. She said that when she received her first referral, she and her husband spent 45 minutes trying to make eye contact with the baby. There was no response. They had to refuse the referral.
So my one goal for the day was to make eye contact with this baby. That was all that mattered.
Now, usually, I'm pretty good with babies. Boo was seven months old that day, and the best way to make "friends" with a seven-month-old is to carry her around a room and talk about whatever catches her eye. Eventually, that seven-month-old will become interested in the sound of your voice and follow the sound to your face.
I knew this from good instinct and a lifetime of being the person who held other people's babies at parties. From at least the time my cousin was born, when I was twelve, I had received compliments on my ability to amuse a baby in stressful circumstances for long periods of time.
But all that mattered was eye contact. And someone put us in a room with a mirror.
Anyone who knows Boo knows about her little mirror problem. She can't pass one. There are a lot more mirrors in the world than you think. I know. I live with Boo. If there is a mirror, she will find it and get stuck in front of it. A trip to Ikea is fraught with moments where one second Boo is walking beside me, and the next second: gone. I look back, and there she is. There was a mirror. She got stuck. I grab her by the hand, and we move on together. Until the next mirror.
The day we met, I cared only about eye contact. And Boo cared only about the mirror. It took up an entire wall. It might have been the first time she saw her whole body at once.
Finally, I got the idea of making her fly. I actually remember my mother flying me. She would lie on her back with her knees tucked to her chest, and I would lie with my belly on her shins. She'd hold my hands and I'd fly above her.
You have to modify it a bit for a seven-month-old, but only a bit. She loved the flying. She laughed, she smiled--and there was nowhere to look but into my eyes. At last, we made eye contact. My baby was okay.
But she wasn't my baby yet. We signed a form, played with her a few more times, and had to return to New Jersey to wait for court. They told me not to cry in front of the baby when we left. It makes it harder for the babies if they see their parents cry, they said. So I had to run out of the room before the translator was done conveying my thanks for the excellent care not-yet-Boo was receiving.
At work a few days later a woman came to visit. She was on Maternity Leave and had brought her baby for a visit. Everyone surrounded the baby, cooing and asking questions. "My baby is doing that already," I thought. (Not my baby--not yet. Not until the Judge says so. But she is--she's doing that. Even in the Baby Home she's big, and she's fat, and she's developing just fine.)
When we got back to Russia I couldn't believe that Boo recognized me. A big smile came over her face when we walked into the room. (Not my baby. Not yet my baby. She isn't my baby until the Judge says she is.) We went to Court and presented our case to the Judge. Then we waited.
It takes about 20 minutes for the Judge to render her decision. She has to type it before she comes back and announces it. So we waited in the small courtroom with our Translator, the Director of Boo's Baby Home, the Social Worker, and the Prosecutor, who was there to speak for the interests of the State. Finally, the Judge returned and said that Boo was ours. Finally and forever Boo.
When we arrived at the Baby Home that afternoon, a caregiver asked me in stilted English, "What is her name?" She had obviously practiced this phrase for use with new parents. It would be my first act as Boo's mother: to introduce her by her newly given name to the women who had cared for her all her life.
I balked. Could I answer such a question? Did I have the audacity to tell them that her name was no longer what it had been for all her eight months of life?
I looked back at our Translator, who looked back at me, baffled. The question had been asked in English: there was nothing to translate.
Finally, I blurted it out, "Boo," I said. The Caregiver beamed, and immediately Russified the name. "Boolashka," she cooed. Babies in Russia are never called by their given names. There must be a diminutive added. And there she was: my baby, but not-yet-my-baby. We left her again, for the last time. For us, the Mandatory Waiting Period had been waived. That was common in those days. We would be able to pick Boo up the very next day and bring her first to Moscow, then home.
I remember feeling as if I were floating down the street. Nothing seemed real. Still, sometimes, I wonder that we went to Russia and they gave us a baby. Also, the 8-hour time difference and the things we had to do--get her re-issued birth certificate, get permission from the Police for Boo to leave the district where she was born--made it impossible to call my mother until 6PM local time. If my mother didn't know I had a baby, then I didn't have a baby.
We shopped and bought formula and diapers and baby food and spoons and cake and tea for Boo's caregivers. I carefully packed the outfit I had purchased a few days before with my mother and Hopper: an adorable overalls set. I also grabbed a fleecy romper in case it was cold.
Friends of mine who gave birth to their babies are always shocked about what happened next. They handed me a naked baby, and then watched to see what I would do. There were no lessons in diapering or feeding or how to hold the baby. But that was okay. I was, after all, the person who held everyone's babies at parties. My aunt had taught me to change a diaper when I was twelve. I had friends who would hand me their crying babies. I deftly put on Boo's diaper, the adorable little shirt, and then tragedy struck. The overalls were shorts!
There is no greater sin for a Russian mother than underdressing her baby. Boo had been dressed in three layers and a hat to go from one room in the Baby Home to another. And here I was preparing to take her outside. OUTSIDE--where it was only seventy degrees! In shorts. I was horrified. The Caregivers were unsure what to do. So I dutifully took out the fleece romper and stuffed her into it. Everyone relaxed. (Except Boo, who had to ride home in the car in her fleece romper, sweating mightily.) We stepped out into the sunshine, and Hopper took a picture. Boo leaving the Baby Home forever.
Becoming our baby.
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