“No children who like Star Wars. We need to make sure of that.”

“Agreed.”

For the entire past week, I’ve been staggering around with a headache on the cusp of a migraine, combined with cramps in that useless and frequently angsty girl part. As such, swinging a hammer didn’t seem like a good idea, a) because the vibrations would have made my head hurt and, b) I wasn’t sure I could trust myself to stop with the desired hammering and not move onto “knocking out walls to make more space” hammering.

And so, like most projects I undertake, this one is being tackled in baby steps.

Micromovements, if you follow SARK.

After stepping on the stupid upturned nails repeatedly over the course of the week, I went upstairs this afternoon and picked up the hammer. Then I proceeded to bang it repeatedly into the carpet “tack strips“.

I ripped, pulled, thudded, damaged and otherwise removed more than half of them – and now I need Coffee’s upper-body strength to wrench the remains from the floor.

(I stopped, also, because I ripped a hole in my jeans and bloodied up my knee with a nail and then I felt sulky and bitchy toward the room. Sure, that’s not rational, but hell, IT HURT, DAMMIT. I don’t play nicely with people or places that injure me..)

The baseboards will also need to be removed, but I can’t quite figure out how to tackle that without making a HUGE mess of the walls themselves as I pry the wood loose. I suspect we’ll be purchasing new boards anyway, since the flooring will change the layout somewhat, but I don’t want to spend the next two weeks spackling and sanding everywhere. Sooo.. yeah. I’ll get to that part.

It would also be a good idea for me to remove all the various items hanging from the walls – mirrors and shelves and toilet paper holder – before I start flipping lavender paint around. There’s a reason we’re painting before putting down the new flooring, and that reason is my inability to apply paint in a sane, sensible, linear manner. There is no way I’ll “carefully paint around” anything in that room, thus, it must all go.

What kind of an idiot puts CARPETING in a BATHROOM? Can I just ask that again? YAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

At any rate, tomorrow I’ll probably putty some of the holes from items we won’t be re-hanging, and then finish sanding ‘em, and then.. well, then I can start painting. In theory.

It’s a really good thing we have two other bathrooms in this house. It’s also a really good thing we’re not doing any plumbing or adding in a shower stall or something in the upstairs bathroom. I can’t even BEGIN to imagine the chaos. I just can’t.

One of the things we had to confirm, a long time ago, is that we will not be heartbroken if we are, for some reason, not permitted to adopt. Even as we started the process, making inquiries and asking questions, we knew that there was always the possibility that things wouldn’t go through the way we wanted. We will be disappointed, of course, but we’ll be okay after a while.

Still, I worry. I want to adopt. I want this child in our lives.

We’ve been cleared thus far, but prior to an actual placement there are still reviews to be undertaken. Our medical information will be compiled and examined and our references will be called and all the groundwork that we carefully laid will be rifled through by the hands of a social worker or two.

There are things in our past and our genetics that could very well see us rejected in the end.

I worry, of course, that my family history of early death will be a concern for the worker – despite my own regular health clearances and the assurances of my cardiologist that I am, indeed, healthy. My adoption-related physical is on Thursday of next week and I am worried, in my usual way, that something will come up – some unexpected health issue.

I worry that the worker will note our lack of close family ties – no immediate relatives on my side at all (no parents or siblings) and no close relatives on Coffee’s side (his sister is in Texas, his parents are almost as far away) – and decide that we do not have enough support in our lives to handle a child.

Friends count for a lot, of course, and I have several friends that I’d consider as close as family (or even closer). But I don’t know if the worker will feel the same way. As much as I know which friends I can count on – for a sympathetic ear, for an emergency babysitting hour, for the gift of empathy and laughter – some people still see friendships as “less than” blood relations.

And while everyone I know has reminded me that social workers approve of people who have been “through stuff” as it helps them to empathize and understand a child whose life has not been perfect, I worry that my past depression and anxiety could be held against me. Even though I’ve sought help, solved problems, learned coping techniques and fully eradicated my anxiety.. maybe they won’t see it that way. Certainly, there are people who have known me a lot longer who (wrongly, in my opinion) have concerns about that very issue.

I was pleased, on Wednesday, when my therapist and I terminated our relationship and she commented that she felt Coffee and I would be “amazing” parents. Truly pleased.

Coffee, of course, has his own history. It’s not my place to write about it here, but there are things in his past that are over and done with and resolved and okay, but which we aren’t sure an adoption worker will understand to the same degree.

And then, and THEN, let’s suppose we ARE cleared for adoption. Oh no, my fears don’t end when we’re accepted!

The workers will begin to talk about matches and placements and children who are suitable for our family. We’ll be called in to see photos and read case histories and meet with workers and foster parents and any number of other professionals.

What if we bring home this child and Coffee returns to work and.. I can’t handle things on my own? What if I’m overwhelmed and stressed out and afraid? What if this child has issues that are so strong that I can’t keep her safe? What if she HATES US? What if she hates ME? What if this child destroys our marriage or causes us to find the worst in ourselves?

I’ve been reading and researching and talking to people about various (likely) problems with adopted and foster kids. I’ve been investigating as many of the local support groups as possible so I won’t find myself struggling to find them if the need arises. I’ve been reading every blog I can find that deals with adopting and fostering – particularly those pertaining to older kids – and bookmarking them all over the place. I’ve been slowly building our library of parenting books.

And.. I worry.

The majority of the time, if I’m completely honest, I dwell on the positives. There’s no sense worrying about the negatives until I know what negatives we’ll be facing – and we will know, soon enough.

The positives are that we’ll have a child in our home – a chance to truly experience the world through the eyes of a small person. We’ll get to play and visit the Children’s Museum and snuggle and teach someone the things we consider important. We’ll spread our values and beliefs and help her to overcome her past to grow and become a stronger person. We’ll grow as people, as a family, as a couple.

And don’t even get me started on the “visiting the toy store and buying things” aspect. Whoah, I am SO ready for THAT!

There will be bedtime stories and laughter and making cookies and playdough and.. all of those good things.

I’d like to fast-forward a few weeks. Past the medical and the training and into the part where things are decided – to the point where we know we are not adopting and can sign up for classes and convert the “kid’s room” into something else. Or, better yet, to the point where we are buying the furniture for our kid(s) and reading specific information that’s relevant to their history and future. Where we know what we’ll be facing and dealing with and can start to plan for it.

I suppose, to some extent, this is normal fear-stuff for parents. Biological parents worry first about conceiving and gestating and delivering a healthy baby. Then they worry about handling endless feedings and diaper changes and minimal sleep and how they’ll cope with the changes in their lives.

There are no guarantees in life, are there? Nothing to cling to.

Actually, it’s a continuation of the thinking that started when the adoption paperwork arrived – full of questions about my relationship to my husband, our methods of communication, how we argue, etc.

Coffee and I don’t fight. We don’t argue. Ever.

There are subjects on which we do not see eye-to-eye. Plenty of them. There are moments when we drive each other batty for some assorted reason or another.

And, there are those times when someone has not had enough sleep and everything minor has become a massive drama (that person would be me).

And still, we don’t fight.

We talk. And we talk. And we talk.

And we are honest. And honest. And honest.

Kelly mentioned stones in a basket and that’s a fantastic metaphor. Coffee and I refuse to put the stones in the basket – we just chuck ‘em at each other’s heads.

No, no, I kid.

But we don’t put the stones in the basket. We email each other during the day, we talk late at night, we snuggle in the morning and chat, and the stones just dissolve. There’s no chance for them to accumulate.

It’s a bit like the formation of a pearl in an oyster.

If you allow the irritation to grow, the protective layers begin to develop. After all, if you’re going to stay in a relationship, you have to make that ‘pain’ go away. That little incident that wasn’t addressed is superficially ‘smoothed over’ until the next irritation.

Soon, you can’t remember what caused the irritation, but you can certainly remember each of the layers that covered it. All the times you sacrificed your own happiness or comfort in order to smooth things over.

And, eventually, the pearl cracks open and every irritation flies out in an avalanche of ugly.

Where do you start when the person you love stumbles one day and starts rhyming off a laundry list of ways you’ve injured, ignored, mistreated, forgotten, neglected them over the past year?! Things that would have been, at most, uncomfortable to discuss, initially, have now become a long list of ways in which YOU messed up.

Can you salvage a relationship that has been built as a result of silence?

For so many years, I pretended to be someone else while I was in relationships. I played the part of a devoted girlfriend to a myriad of different personalities. I think that’s a natural reaction of a teenage girl with fluctuating self-esteem. I didn’t really know who I was, so I pretended to be the person that the other person wanted.

Over time, I grew comfortable with who I am and what I’m all about. I started to let the ol’ freak-flag fly.

When I married for the first time, I had part of the solution down pat – I had learned that I needed to “be myself”. And I was.

The demise of that relationship wasn’t because I hadn’t been open and honest, it was because we wanted different things from life. He didn’t accept the person that I was and it was heartbreaking, but it taught me a valuable lesson.

Coffee not only accepts who I am, he celebrates it. He encourages me. He enjoys me – the person that I am. And that’s the other side of the coin.

It’s not enough to simply be yourself – the other key is finding someone who accepts you. As is. And that’s only possible when you’re comfortable in your own shoes – your faults and foibles and dorky moments.

When you no longer hide from the ugly parts, the insecure parts, the part that sulks or stomps feet or makes snarky comments, you’re actually able to find someone who isn’t bothered by those traits.

In truly magical relationships, that person is able to hold your hand through the ugly bits – and those ugly bits begin to dissipate under that acceptance. Like uncovering an open wound and allowing the air to heal it.

When you’re hiding parts of yourself – out of fear, perhaps, that they’re unloveable parts – they still pop up. The insecurities show up when you least expect them and the snarky comments explode out when you’re trying to stifle them. Resentment builds, too, when you’re hiding all of your personality underneath a big bright smile.

After months of staying silent, say, while your partner flirts with other women – something that makes you feel insecure and batty and deranged and unworthy and ugly and… – it will most definitely startle him when you go absolutely ape-shit insane after they make a small comment about how attractive the woman at McDonalds was looking today.

And it’s always the small thing that eventually triggers the outburst. Oh yes. And then..

“How could YOU DO THAT? Do you have ANY IDEA how that makes me FEEL? OBVIOUSLY you HATE ME and think I’M UGLY!”

And that, of course, segues into something like, “LAST MONTH when you told that girl at the movie theatre HOW NICE HER HAIR WAS, didn’t you KNOW that I’d feel terrible that I got my hair cut? AND THAT TIME when you didn’t NOTICE my new shoes?! AND WHY did you leave the toilet seat up last week? AND you folded the pages in MY BOOK! CLEARLY YOU DO NOT LOVE ME.”

Then come the tears and the yelling and the profanity and perhaps the insults.

Oh yes, it’s always that pretty. And that, my friends, is why it doesn’t pay to hide your feelings about anything at all.

(For what it’s worth, people flirting with Coffee amuses me greatly. This is not an area in which I suffer..)

Coffee knows where the majority of my weaknesses lie – at least, he knows as much about them as I do. And he knows because I tell him. When he sees me reacting, he knows where it’s coming from and he responds accordingly. He soothes or reassures or manages to make me snap out of it by making me laugh.

I have learned that my insecurities and weirdnesses will not scare him away. I allow him to reassure me and comfort me when I need it – without shrugging it off or fearing that I now appear “weak” to him. It’s a huge relief to just let it out.

The same can be said of me, with him.

This wouldn’t be possible if we didn’t admit to our feelings and our weaknesses. It wouldn’t be possible if we didn’t reassure each other sometimes, poke fun at other times, and keep making mistakes.

The most profound thing I ever read about relationships was that we must all learn to love imperfectly.

That’s the trick, I think. Giving ourselves permission to make mistakes and say the wrong thing and always, always, always reminding ourselves and each other that we’re on the same team. Us agains the world! Us against Them!

I consider myself to be Coffee’s lover, protector, fierce defender. Does he need me to protect him? Not really. Does he need me to defend him? Nope. But I consider it part of my job to keep him safe and loved and to make sure he always knows how important he means to me.

I don’t tolerate smack-talk about my husband – and I don’t indulge in it either. If I’ve got a problem with him, he hears it first. I don’t blog it, I don’t email it to every friend under the sun. Does he have quirks that I giggle about? Of course.

We tell each other “I love you” more times a day than some people breathe, I think. By email, as we say goodbye in the morning, when we wake up or go to sleep.. And it’s not the reflexive “I love you / I love you too”. Sometimes we say it deeply and sometimes we’re goofy and we always sign our emails with love.

And the real reasons why we do not fight?

Neither one of us has any urge, desire or inclination to hurt the other. Nothing is more upseting to me then when Coffee is upset. I never, ever, want my words or actions to cause him pain. I do not want – ever – to say something in anger that I do not mean. And so, I don’t.

Both of us want to be in this relationship – a healthy, happy, forward-moving relationship. Both of us are commited to solving problems, fixing issues, and understanding each other’s point of view. There’s no growth or movement when the snarking begins. There’s no growth or movement when either person is stifling their feelings and thoughts and emotions out of fear or protectiveness.

I’m pretty sure it was Dr. Phil who began spouting the words, “safe place to fall”, and that’s exactly what we both provide each other. We are careful with each other just as often as we are goofy and silly.

And so I look at Kelly and Sylvain (like how I got right around to that again?) and while I do not know Sylvain very well, I know that Kelly is the sort of person who is comfortable with herself. She grows more comfortable with each passing day, it seems.

I read that they’re working on their communication and making an effort to be open and honest – now, at the beginning – instead of waiting for a crisis to develop. And I want to cheer for them. I want to tell them that this – THIS – is the best thing they could ever do for themselves and each other.

There’s no guarantee of anything in this world – but what I do know is that they’ve managed to figure out and piece together something, in a short period of time, that often takes other people years (or never at all). And there’s still so much for them to learn about each other, and new adventures, and plenty of conversations and fun and goofy moments ahead of them.

And this is why I am so giddy about their relationship. Both of them deserve incredible amounts of happiness, and both of them, I think are aware enough to make that happen.

And, as we kind of expected (thanks to JJ’s warnings) it appears that our homestudy will be delayed somewhat as the agency tries to process the foster parents-to-be first. The need for more foster homes is far greater than adoptive homes, so they’re going to work those out first.

I can’t say that I blame them, and it definitely makes sense, but duuuuuuuuuuuuude, I can’t handle waiting! AHHH!

One of the things that was discussed was the variety of reasons children come into care -short and long term – and how a foster/adoptive parent would explain things to a child without injuring their loyalty for their birth parents. I was distressed, greatly, by the people who said they couldn’t handle certain aspects of the child’s past (abuse, drug use, poverty, etc) because it was so foreign to their own experiences or beliefs.

My own thinking is that the whole thing is a prime example of “there but for the grace of god go I” and “never say never”. What’s the difference between me and those other parents? Luck, for sure, and a healthier past. Learning the right lessons at a young age, perhaps, or getting a decent education. Having the right supports in place (family, friends, teachers, employers) or making the right choices at critical moments.

It’s not hard to imagine how, by taking away even one of those elements, I could have been in the same position as the birth parent. It’s pure ego that leads one to say, “No, no, I could never be homeless or addicted to drugs or a single parent or…” Yargh. Take away your job, perhaps, and remove your family support. Take away your high school diploma and toss in an unexpected pregnancy.

And so, after a few people spoke up with their “I can’t understand how someone .. ” I had to speak up with my own thoughts. I’m glad I did, but I felt kind of snarky about it nonetheless.

My biggest concern – and a worthwhile one, at that – is dealing with FASD. I’m terrified of it – the impact it has on a child and on the family and on the future. After reading “The Broken Cord“, I’m even more concerned with whether I could handle a severe case of it. I know it’s prevalent – very very common – in this area and in the children needing homes. I’m trying to do as much research, as much reading and investigation as I possibly can. Trying, I suppose, to find a glimmer of hope.

I’m in awe, to be honest, of all the families who do work with the FASD-impacted children. Just totally in awe.

Mostly, the adoption training is going well. We’re full-steam-ahead with paperwork and filling in all the bits and pieces required. Coffee’s medical will be finished on Friday, mine will be in the foreseeable future, and then we just need to get Coffee’s FBI clearance taken care of before we can sit back and relax a teensy bit (but not for long..)

One might even say they were boinking like bunnies.

Because they were bunnies. Boinking. In my yard.

And I swear to you, if bunnies could giggle, they’d have been laughing the whole time. Hopping around, leaping on each other, wiggling their little powder-puff bums..

Sure, it was the least erotic mating-ritual I’ve ever witnessed, but man, it was one helluva happy romp. It was downright playful.

Quite inspiring, I should say. All sex should be that playful and giggly.

The drive from home to class is, at the very most, 15 minutes. This means I have 45 minutes to spare.

I need to stop for gas on the way. Getting gas takes 10 minutes at the very most. This means I have 35 minutes to spare.

I should probably change out of my jamma pants and brush my hair. That will take 5 minutes. I have 30 minutes to spare.

Thirty minutes does not seem like an adequate amount of “wiggle room” and thus, I am fighting the urge to leave the house RIGHT NOW. Instead, I am going to eat more peanuts and pretend to read blogs for 10 minutes, thus giving me 20 minutes of leeway.

20 minutes oughta’ be ok, right?

Speaking of cheering, ever since Kelly returned from Niagara Falls with a selection of peanuts, I have not been able to stop eating them. Chocolate covered! Beernuts! Honey! Salted! Ohmy! Peanuts, to me, are kind of like potato chips – I can’t eat just one. Or even one handfull.

Peanuts are, apparently, mood enhancers.

And, speaking of Kelly, I’m downright giddy after reading her most recent blog entries – including the guest entry by Sylvain. Man, I’m a sucker for a good love story. Did you read those entries? Man, oh, man, so much happiness! Huzzah!

On that note, I’m dashing off to deal with the world. Tonight is our 2nd adoption training class and I need to find a way to get rid of this headache beforehand. (Vodka, anyone?)

Man, I’m gonna’ hafta’ cut down on my drinkin’ and druggin’ jokes soon. *sigh*

Parenthood: So. Very. Hard.

:)

Have a good Wednesday, ok?

CANCER (June 21-July 22): The U.S. Army has dramatically lowered its recruitment standards. Since 2004, the number of new soldiers who’ve entered the ranks even though they’ve committed a crime has risen by over 50 percent. I urge you to move in the opposite direction, Cancerian. According to my understanding of the astrological omens, your success in the coming months depends on you raising your expectations, demanding more excellence, and absolutely insisting on ethical impeccability. If you have a goal that seems to require you to lower your standards, I suggest you abandon that goal.

(Freewill Astrology)