State of Obvious

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life. People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a stur

I've been blown about in the wind lately with so many choices on the table.  Do I get a job (that choice hasn't really been my own, no one will hire me!) ?  Do I stay home and write?  Do I try my hand at Etsy?  Do I continue to freelance and hope for more assignments?  Do I send out a self directed, weekly article to publishers hoping to get picked up by a paper?  Do I go back to school?  Do I pursue opening a restaurant? There seem to be so many options, none immediate, all requiring varying degrees of personal risk.  Stretching myself to meet new obstacles is not exactly my strong point.   Today I took a little more control.  For a while now I've been living with the fear: What if something happens to Eric?   I have no way to make a living.  I have no bankable skills that translate into immediate income.  We do have life insurance, enough to make us comfortable while I got things under control, but long term I am - quite simply - not prepared.  So a couple of months ago

on Yahoo (which so does not get a link because, dude, it's Yahoo.  Now I've said their name twice) that said "HOW TO MAKE MONEY ON THE WEB" so I totally clicked on it.  The first way to make money on the web is to be a blogger. Hnpf. I'm not makin any money doing this at all.  I even once tried those ads from google (now I've said their name and not linked it, so take that google) and I made exactly zero dollars off it.  Hawt.  My totally free site doesn't generate any income for me.  Whut? I wouldn't pay to read me either. {shrug} In other news, we replaced our long broken Wii (also not linked!  Boo-ya Nintendo!) and have been having lots of fun bowling, Guitar-Hero'ing, baseballing, tennising, and exercising.  That's right, we bought one of those exercise games.  Not Wii Fit, rather EA Active.  (Just look at all the non-linkage!  I feel so dirty.)   It's pretty fun since you can create your own workouts and stuff.  2 days in

I wrote a different post today, and published it.  One that wasn't about you in particular, but about politics. Then I went over to navel gazing at its finest and I read a sweet, heartbreaking post about being a mother when you don't know how to fix things...and I decided I had written the wrong thing today. See the thing is  I have been holding back from posting mommy things lest the world think I am a one trick pony.  I am good at mommy posts (I think) and that is because my whole world revolves around you two.  And I wouldn't change that.  Not ever. But I'm afraid that being a mommy isn't good enough.  That writing about you endlessly is capital B O R I N G to the world at large.  That letting you fill up my whole view until the sun is eclipsed by your wonder somehow depletes my contribution to society at large. But reading that sweet, soft, wonderful post I realized writing about you, for you, and to you doesn't mean I'm not enough on my own.

But since I'm not expecting, I am not sure what to call it.  Lately I just want to make things.  Cookies, paintings, clothes, stories - The desire to create something worthwhile is nipping at me like an insistent dog. Perhaps it is because my littlest bird is almost ready to hop over to kindergarten soon.  Perhaps it is my oldest bird getting ready for middle school.  Maybe it is boredom.  Or the winter blahs. Whatever it is, I've got it. At Christmas I asked for a paint set and although Santa didn't bring me one, my mother kitted me out with some old supplies that were my grandmothers.  She also got me some paint to start with.  As a result I have churned out a few really bad paintings and a few that I find not too bad.  Here are the paintings I've kept (although I don't know what to do with most them just yet) : This was the first painting I tried.  It was actually an old canvas that my grandmother had sketched out.  I kind of did a paint by numbers thing

Life is not much like books. There is no explanation at the beginning to set things up. There is no introduction of characters. There is no recap at the start of the second book. Antagonists are often disguised, side-line-type people rather than central characters. Choices do not have astounding consequences very often, rather small ones that add up into big ones. You can't skim, paraphrase, or reread. Most lives are not so full of drama, travel, murder, mystery, or romance. Most epic love stories are simple and clean rather than fraught with danger and happenstance. But There are moments of despair and things crashing down. There are chance meetings that change your life. There are clear paths and murky waters. There are people who light up the room when they walk in. Sometimes even fairy tale beginnings. There is injustice and tragedy. There is soul-rending grief. And, after all, there is starting over.     

Tonight when I was taking my sad little pony tail out of my too-lazy-to-make-it-nice hair I noticed I had a little blue barrett with a cat playing a fiddle stuck in there.  Carly came by and put it in earlier today, while I was watching the Superbowl.  Super Bowl?  Meh. It got me thinking about all the little things my kids do to show their love for me.  Things like: Letting me hold their coats every time we go anywhere. Similarly books. And toys. Sometimes shoes. Occasionally Joshua will bring me a treat, with another hidden behind his back, and offer it so sweetly with a smile.  I have come to understand this means HE wants a treat and I usually say "You have it" after which he skips merrily on his way.  Sometimes I foil him and take the treat, which is why he has one hidden behind his back I think. A few times a week Carly comes crashing into my room in the middle of the night.  Crying usually.  She tends to smack right into the door and then wiggle the handle, all

(All you need is a heating vent, a pink tutu and a DIVA!)

Like Paris Hilton Smoking Platform shoes Rhianna The newspaper How to put on makeup properly Tech talk Math Exotic cheese G-strings House (the show, not the place I live) Plastic surgery Skinny jeans What's on your list?

I heard from the publisher and they are going to have me write some more for the paper so UNSIGH.

Just now I was thinking about shopping for clothes.  Perhaps because I never do it for myself and therefore I have like 5 shirts that are wearable.  Aside:  Clothes for squishy women are just not at all cute, my style would be totally different if I was less squishy.  I was thinking about this one time I went shopping with my friend Pam.  She's really tall - well taller than me and I'm considered tall for a girl.  She's not an amazon or anything.  So we shopped for a while and we couldn't find anything she liked or that fit quite right.  So she says to me "Let's go look in petites" and I'm like "Whut??" But we go look and my tall, cute friend finds stuff she likes.  IN PETITES.  This makes no sense to me still and it happened like 7 years ago. (Hi Pam, I miss you!) Josh finished reading the whooooooolllle Percy Jackson series tonight.  Now, I'm all for reading, I do it a lot, but I don't often recommend books to othe

when I look around my little world and think OH CRAP. How did I get here?  This is not the direction I was pointing myself to go.  I had PLANS. Big plans. College.  Law school.  Novels.  Money.  Style.  Class. I was going to change the world, one word at a time. Somehow I ended up washing faces.  And bottoms.  And floors.  And windows.  Dusting shelves and wiping counter-tops.    Somehow the highlight of my day turned into shopping at the thrift store.  (I bought 3 one dollar records on Monday: Glen Miller, Camelot, and South Pacific.  Yes, records.) I've discovered that I have a lack of bankable skills.  Which is ironic since I used to be a teller.  For five years.  But apparently that wasn't enough for a local bank to hire me as a teller.  {boggle}   And I have discovered that being at home for five years is akin to never working at all.  I'm very discouraged because I really need a job right now.  Yesterday right now. The disturbing realities of life k

I'm not sure if you've heard, but pretty soon it will be Valentine's Day.  You know, the shameless excuse of a holiday wherein we exchange mostly edible or sparkly gifts?  While I was driving around in the car, an ad came on the radio for said holiday.  It was for Laser Hair Removal. I just want to warn you, up front, that if my made-up-holiday gift is for Laser Hair Removal or weight loss or any other service that points to how not sexy/hot/pretty/cute I am, you will most likely have a very cold-shoulder lonely Valentine's night. I'm pretty sure you knew that, but I wanted to cover my bases. Love, Me image here