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Showing posts from April, 2010

Come August

I will once again be a college student.  It's been 14 years.  I'm not gonna lie, I'm kind of scared about the whole thing.  I can potentially see myself bombing out in that first semester.  I was sorely tempted to take fluffy classes to maintain my long-ago established 3.4 GPA.  I can register tonight at midnight, and yes I am staying up to do so.  'Staying up' is kind of a stretch, I am always awake anyhow.  (Oooo alliteration, fun!)

I have had to visit campus twice, pre-registration, to drop off paperwork for financial aid.  (As an aside, I am supposed to qualify for a Pell Grant so let us all pray together that they haven't already given away my money.  Amen.)  As I strolled across the campus I noticed a few changes since my heady days of youth:

First, I don't remember seeing so many skateboards the last time I was in college.  And most of them were these super long boards with weird fins on the back.  I can't even find the appropriate picture with G…

Toot Toot

Pstttt.  Psssst.  Psssssssst!

{I'm the featured contributor on MMB today.}

Better check it out quick before they realize what they've done and take it down!

Dear Olive Garden

Let's not lie to each other.  You know I love you.  What, with your all-you-can-eat garlicy, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth breadsticks; your cheese topped salad goodness, your mouth-watering pastas (literally, my mouth is watering as I type this love letter to you) and soups - how can I not love you?  I haven't even mentioned desserts yet...lemon cream cake......

Where were we?

Oh yes, you are everything a restaurant should be.

Everything, that is, except cheap.  You're not cheap.  And that $5 off coupon you just emailed to me?  Well, that is just not getting it done.  I want to come visit you, I really do, but I need at least a free entree.  Better yet, $15 off and free drinksThen I might be able to come visit. 

Until we meet again...



Off the chest

First, let me just say, the lady who sent her son back to Russia because she couldn't parent him anymore?  Gross.  And sad.  And I do not, in any way, support her decision.

Do I understand, in ways, what she felt?  Of course I do.

Second, it is NOT just adoptive parents who should sympathize!  EVERY parent has moments where they think "OH MY GOSH, WHAT HAVE I DONE!"Adoptive, biological or otherwise, the responsibility of keeping someone alive when that person is resisting you at every turn is EXHAUSTING.

Parenting stretches you to the very limits of love and humanity.  It tests your patience, your resolve, your capacity to forgive, your pride, your creativity, your decision making skills, your follow through...need I go on?  To be a parent is to give up control.  And I don't know about you, but that is REALLY HARD for me.

But it is also extremely satisfying when it goes right.  And healing when they drop a kiss on your cheek.  And fulfilling.  And joyful.  And worth …

Diggin it

Love both these songs, don't love the commercials you have to watch with them but whatev.  Enjoy!

Joyful, blinding, misery

I'm not sure if you've read the case of Baby Emma.  If you are an adoptive parent, like me, reading stories like this puts a surge of fear and sorrow through your body.  Literally, like a knife.

I shall paraphrase her story for you:  Emma's biological mother decided to put her up for adoption (what an ugly turn of phrase by the way.  It sounds like she was on the auction block or something.  Who wants this baby, going once going twice...) knowing that Emma's biological father wanted to keep her and raise her.  She didn't tell Emma's father that she went into labor or that his daughter had been born.  And Emma was consequentially given to a Utah family, where she now lives.

As I was reading about Baby Emma, it occurred to me that the real problem at the root of this story is who, exactly, this child belongs to.  You see, if Emma's mother had decided to get an abortion, her father would not have been able to stop that action no matter how willing he was to ke…

I heard the strangest things

{I wish my vision was still this full of magic}
'I'm flapping my arms, I'm trying to be a bird!'

'Hey Mom!  Look at my pinky toe!  It's getting soooo big!  Cause I'm growing!  Let me see your toe!  Ohhh, it's HUGE!'

'You want to hear something interesting Mom?  The world's smallest spider is smaller than the tip of a pencil!'

 'Mom!  What's your favorite dog?'
'I dunno, a labrodor I guess.  What's yours?'
'A doberman!'
'Have you ever seen a doberman?'
'I think our neighbor has one.'
'Why a doberman?'
'Well, they are like one of the tallest dogs and I just like how they look.  And I heard, but I'm not sure, that they have the best sense of smell of any dog and they can hear better too.'
'You heard or you think so?'
'I think so, but I heard it.'

Birthday Wishes

People like to say that as you get older, birthdays don't matter as much anymore.

People who say that are having age-related hysteria.  Birthdays are still birthdays.  I still want presents of the surprise variety.  I still want a big fuss, cake, candles, ice cream and party hats.  I wouldn't mind a treat stuff pinata.  Or a diamond stuffed pinata, I'd take that too.  I fancy breakfast in bed and birthday cards.  I look forward to the whole song, even though I'll blush and shuffle around on my feet.  It still matters to me that someone cares I'm here.

For my birthday I'd like:

A pony
A tamborine
Something sparkly
A Kindle
A new book
Paints and brushes and canvases
A sunny day
New clothes
New shoes, while we're at it
A day at the spa
Dinner and a movie

But I'll settle for simple.  A picture from Carly.  A card from Josh.  A kiss from my husband.  Those are good too.

For my birthday, gifts for myself in the coming year: I'm go…

Dear Princess Carly,

You sure were annoying today.

There is just so much happiness in you, trying to get out.  Your body can't contain it and you have to bounce around.  You have to sit on things (mostly me), and jump on things (me again, Dad too), and twirl, and dance, and laugh out loud.  You have to ask a zillion questions, and the answers are never complex enough to suit you.  You have to zip around and touch things, go where you've been told not to go, ask Daddy questions (because he is your favorite) when you don't like my answers.  I can't keep up with you, and on days like today I just don't even want to try.  I want you to SIT and LISTEN and BE STILL and CALM DOWN and STOP.  But those words seem meaningless to you.

While I was sitting here at my desk, I noticed your baby album.  You looked through it earlier, it is your favorite book to look at.  You touch your pictured face, you ask who people are, you comment about how cute you were, you soak the forgotten time back in.  I op…

In my own little corner

In my own little room, I can be whatever I want to be.

Maybe today, a photographer catching just the right moment like water in a basin.

Maybe tomorrow, a writer pulling moments like thread.

Maybe yesterday, a daughter.  Tomorrow, a mother.  Sometimes messy, sometimes organized (mostly not), occasionally funny and a little bit sassy.  

In my own little corner, I'm an astronaut, a doctor, a southern belle, a flaming-liberal-conservative.  I choose who to be, what to say, where to go.

"In the night I sally forth to seek my quarry
And I find I forgot to bring my gun
I am lost in the jungle, all alone and unarmed
When I meet a lioness in her lair

Then I’m glad to be back in my own little corner
All alone, in my own little chair" - Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella