June 2007

Happy Father’s Day!

It is 1:05 a.m., on Saturday morning. And do you know what that means?

It’s officially The Weekend.

Yes yes yes YES!

Please commence the bum-shakin’ dance and the staying up late and the party party PARTY in your jamma jamma JAMMAS!

*shimmy* *shimmy*

Whew.

Now it’s 1:08 a.m. Feeling kinda’ sleepy. Party over. Let’s all go to sleep, ok?

We’ve got sushi and the library tomorrow because…

IT’S THE WEEKEND!!!! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAW!

A few days ago, I started thinking about the “little goods” that take place in life. Although I am always exceedingly grateful when someone does one of these things to/for/with me, it feels silly to celebrate when I do them for someone else. But ultimately, I think it’s the little stuff that makes the world go ’round at times.

I truly admire people who go all-out for a cause or a campaign. I’d love to be that sort of person – but I’m not. I can’t handle the long-term commitment or the expectations or the pressure to go beyond where I’m comfortable. That’s when resentment builds and then I can’t seem to help anyone do anything, at all. My lack of action in this way has always made me feel like I’m a terrible person.

I have a tendency toward “all or nothing” thinking. (Just ask my previous therapists!) But this is something I am consciously working on improving – reminding myself that nothing is all-or-nothing unless I make it that way. I’m human. I’m not expected to go all-out, all the time.

The little goods are easier for me to handle and to do frequently, too. Part of it, perhaps, is that I’m not required to sacrifice something major or put in a lot of effort for one single outcome – and thus it’s harder for me to be overwhelmed by a commitment I made in the ‘heat of the moment’. I don’t burn myself out on the little things. My ADD doesn’t kick in and protest!

So I do the little goods.

For example:

Sometimes I see a wishlist on a blog that I read and I click the button to send a book or a small gift. Not because I want to be recognized or adored for it, but because I know how fantastic it feels to get something in the mail other than bills. It’s as simple as that. A lot of Amazon orders ship anonymously (and I cannot figure out the pattern as to why or why not) so it’s fun to know someone’s getting a surprise and that I won’t have to step forward and say, “me!”

Sometimes I’ll see someone hovering around the checkout line, holding only two items, and I’ll let them go ahead of me and my cart-full. The express line is overly full and everyone else is avoiding eye-contact and, well, how nice does it feel when someone lets you go ahead and get on your merry way?

Sometimes a stranger will compliment me on my Sharpie collection or my bacon air-freshner (in the car) and I’ll realize that I have an extra that I can share. So I do. And that person’s face lights up and I realize that little things are sometimes as exciting as big things. Strangers don’t often give gifts, do they?

Paying for the person behind me in line – especially at a drive-thru – is fantastically enjoyable. You can watch their disbelief, followed by a huge grin, light up in your rearview mirror. And they can’t thank you, so they just have to pass that along to someone else in the future. This is particularly enjoyable in the morning when the person behind you REALLY needs the coffee they’re waiting for – and it’s free? WOW!

In the winter, I like to shovel some snow for the neighbours. Do they know it’s me? Nope. Do I tell them? Nope. But they come home and I like to imagine they’re thrilled that they don’t need to clear their sidewalk.

I like to hold doors open. I like to let people into traffic when they’re not being an asshole. I like to pet people’s dogs and compliment them on their smiley-faces or pretty collar. I like to tell people when they’re wearing gorgeous funky shoes or the greatest t-shirt I’ve ever seen.

And so I try to do little things where and when I can.

The little things have always impacted me more than the big things, I think. Sometimes the BIG things overwhelm me – I start to think about how I’ll have to pay this other person back or return the favour or just simply feel “in debt”.

The little favours and kindnesses remind me that life is pretty decent and people are pretty decent and that we’re ultimately connected. And that being kind to someone else doesn’t have to be a great big deal.

And yes, of course, it makes me feel better about myself when I do a “little good” but I don’t think that negates the end result.

So, perhaps, if you’re reading this you could do a “little good” for someone this weekend. Doesn’t have to be big, you don’t have to admit it was you that did it, and it could be just a simple politeness like helping a woman wrangle her toddler into a shopping cart at the grocery store rather than walking by and thinking, “Whoah, that poor woman. That’s gotta’ suck.” Buy someone a paperback book from their wishlist. Send someone an anonymous postcard telling them how great they are…

We need more little goods. More more more.

We finished our adoption training last night and made our way to a local bar to drink some beer and eat some fried food with Cathy – a friend we made in class. Soon enough we’ll need to start modeling “good nutrition” to our kids, right? So we’ll take advantage of every onion ring opportunity that comes up in the meantime.

After nine weeks of training, in which we talked about everything from abuse to bonding to how to tell the (often) ugly truth to the kids who come into our care, are we any better prepared to be parents to special needs kids?

I’m a big believer in learning “hands on” over textbooks and film clips, but I dutifully read each chapter in our big, fat, red binder. I paid close attention to the clips that were screened in each class and I put my hand up over and over to answer questions as they were asked.

I prefer to learn by doing, but I carefully filled in the empty spaces on each homework assignment. I made lists of all the losses I’ve experienced (a list that was to include major losses like death, of course, but also the small losses like self-esteem or losing friends or moving to a new city) and I’ve made lists of all the people in my life that I believe I can count on for support.

I made a family tree, wrote about my feelings on discipline, filled in a checklist about our sex life and relationship, and talked about how my parents raised me.

I did a lot of extra reading along the way – the list that I provided to our worker surprised even me with it’s length. Books about attachment and FAE and incest and neglect and all sorts of subjects that could change even the most chipper person into a doom-and-gloom-society’s-busted kind of person.

Coffee did the same things – the same assignments, the same inner-thought-work, the same readings.

Are we ready?

The agency certainly thinks so – we’ve “graduated” from the class and we’ve done our readings and we’ve learned the things that they believe are crucial. They know there will be more to learn once the child(ren) is placed in our home – an education that will be focused on the needs of that child – and the assumption is that we will seek out all of the resources as required.

When I say “special needs” kids, a lot of people think we’re adopting a child who is visibly different. Cerebral palsy, perhaps, or with Down syndrome. Or they assume we mean a child with autism or a mental illness. And they are completely cheerful and encouraging about this – how wonderful we are to be adopting one of these ‘special’ children!

And then I say that no, that’s not quite right. The term “special needs” is applied to the majority of the kids we’re looking to adopt simply because of their age and their history. They are special needs because they will require remedial educational work, therapy or counselling, or they are very much behind their peers in social interaction or maturity.

The kids are “special needs” because they’ve been abused or they’ve been neglected or they’ve been affected by drugs and alcohol. They are special because they’re not newborns and they have a sibling who needs to be adopted with them. They are special because they have lived in a foster home for eight years and have no understanding of ‘family’ or ‘attachment’ or ‘bonding’.

The person who was so incredibly excited suddenly looks concerned. They lower their voice and talk about their cousin/brother/aunt who adopted one of “those kids” and whose life was ruined forever. They mention a news report they read about “those kids” or ask why we don’t just have “our own” kids since we’re still young enough to do so. They talk about police and crime and drugs.

Strangers don’t think we are saintly for taking on these kids. They think we’re insane.

Some of our friends feel the same way, quite frankly. The difference, of course, is that they already know our minds are made up.

Are we ready?

We don’t know who our kid(s) will be or what they’ll face. We don’t know what kind of insanity they’re going to inflict on us or how our lives will change. We don’t know what we’ll be doing to help this child – psychotherapy, physiotherapy, tutoring, special classes – and we don’t know what the child will need from us.

If there’s one thing being drilled into our heads in each class, it is this: Love Is Not Enough.

Are you surprised that the agency drills this fact into us? Most people are.

Children require love, absolutely, but these kids need more than that. I worry about this, of course. Can I be the a strong advocate for our child(ren)? Can I handle the emotional and physical aspects of this broken soul? Can I fight for special services and funding for assistance and will I be patient and loving despite limitations and delays?

The only answer I can give is that I will try my very best. I will make mistakes and I will learn from them and I will, without question, give this child every drop that I can.

I know it’s going to be hard. But oh, hell, I’ve lived through hard and survived – sometimes by the skin of my teeth – and now it’s time for me to help someone else live through hard and thrive.

The classes have given me ultimate confidence that what we are doing – this special needs adoption – is exactly the right thing for us to be doing. Without question. My urge for biological children, what little may have existed, is fully extinguished. Beyond the curiosity of, “what would a child look and be like if they were half Coffee’s genes and half mine?” I absolutely believe that adoption is the right choice for us.

Of course, I’m scared. I’m nervous. I’m worried. There are very few people with whom I discuss my fears – I certainly don’t post them here. But there are fears, nonetheless.

But mostly? I’m completely excited. I can’t wait.

And I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.

.. packaged up something I’ve been carrying around in my purse for a month (at least) and slapped some stamps on it and handed it to Coffee for mailing on his way to work. My purse is lighter! Someone will get a package! It’s all good.

.. watched “Office Space” and sang along to “Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangster” with a mouth full of multigrain Tostitos.

.. propositioned my husband and convinced him to come home for some pre-adoption-class canoodling. He’ll be here at 5:15.

.. took a shower and then spent an hour lounging on the bed, nakey-nerding while reading some fantastic fiction.

.. let both Daisy and Zooey have some Dr. Pepper.

.. loaded the dishwasher, ran it, and DID NOT UNLOAD IT!

.. spent almost an hour hanging out with my friend Linda, in the sun, while the dogs rolled around on her lawn.

.. found Baxter’s “nest” and watched her follow us on our walk today. (heee!)

.. complimented myself on my beautiful purple hair. I’m SO sassy!

.. flossed my teeth.

AND TODAY ISN’T EVEN OVER!

CANCER (June 21-July 22): Any strength can turn into a liability if it’s taken too far. Any skill may lead you astray if expressing it becomes a compulsive habit that distracts you from responding authentically to the raw truth of the moment. That’s why every now and then I have to advise you (and me, too, since I’m a Crab) not to nurture the hell out of everyone, even though it comes naturally to you. This is one of those times. Please suppress any urges you might have to take care of everyone except yourself. In the coming week, your duty is to be your own mommy and daddy.

(Freewill Astrology.)

Sometimes I’m thoroughly amazed by how much time “life” takes up. Things like laundry and dishwasher loading and walking the dogs and making food to eat. Days can go by in a blur of nothing-special, leaving me with nothing-special to write about here and then I’m silent for a bit because, well, do you really need to read about my loading and unloading of the dishwasher?

But, my other big topic of conversation is still adoption. I know there are (many? some? all?) of you who are bored with the subject, but, hey, you have to admit it’s more interesting than laundry.

Adoption training is almost finished. Tonight is our 9th class – the last mandatory one – and it’s a panel discussion with a bio mom, a foster kid, an adopted kid, foster parents.. and we’ll be asking them all the invasive questions we can come up with in the three hours we meet.

We’ve signed up for an additional class that addresses the legalities of foster care and the foster-adopt process. It’s next week – a one-nighter – and we’ll be meeting up with lawyers and foster-care people to get all the information we need to be good foster-adopt parents.

We’re still waiting to have our homestudy completed, but that oughta’ come in a few weeks, and then.. well, we’ll start waiting for a match. We have no idea whether that’ll be a fast thing or a slow thing, as it all depends on how our homestudy goes and what the recommendations are for our family.

I confess that I’m getting twitchy about all this waiting – I know that when the time actually comes for us to bring the kid(s) home, everything is going to be in fast-foward and we’ll be running around trying to get everything done all at once. It would be much easier if we had the slightest idea as to what age our kid(s) will be, but with the large range we’ve applied for, it’s impossible to know.

In the meantime, we’re still working on our renovations. Coffee is going to install the fan in the upstairs bathroom (so I can paint and floor the room) and then he’s going to finish up the flooring in the basement room so I can build the desk and get it all prettied up to be our office at some point in the future.

And so I am spending my days doing the “life stuff” that’s required, mixing in some crochet work and some intensive reading and trying to focus on ANYTHING other than adoption. Trying. Trying hard. But my brain feels somewhat stalled on that subject and it’s hard to dredge up enthusiasm for much else these days because, well, yeah.

Waiting waiting waiting.

It’s Melle‘s birthday today. Go forth and sing rude songs to her!

—

We don’t eat red meat around here, really, save for a few indulgences on my part, but that doesn’t mean we’ve stopped craving BBQ’d meat, y’know? Earlier today, I grilled up six chicken breasts – from frozen – on the George Foreman grill that Coffee’s boss gifted to us.

I ate one of the chicken breasts myself and it was juicy, tender, grill-seared with those little lines of happiness, and I am totally thrilled. I think Coffee will be even more thrilled once he has a chance to try them and realizes that he may be able to eat “real meat” (i.e.. not made from soy) that’s been cooked in a more appropriate manner than on a plate in the microwave.

We made burgers on the weekend (veggie for me, mushroom for Coffee) and they turned out quite well. It was our first time using the grill, however, so we played a bit of trial and error in getting the grill heated properly.

All told, I really quite like the GF grill so far. Quite.

Yay!

—

There is no key for our front door and, I’m fairly confident in saying this, I don’t think there’s been a key to said door since sometime in the ’60s. As a result, our front door is for guests and sudden exits and waving goodbye to Coffee when he heads off to work.

This morning I picked up groceries and random stuff we needed and, on returning home, I unloaded all the bags onto the front porch so I could easily move them through the front door and into the kitchen. I closed up the car, leaving the bags waiting, and came into the house through the yard.

After tossing my purse and keys and sunglasses onto the counter, I opened the front door (shooing the beagle away) and picked up a bag to carry inside.

The bag shook, heartily, and Baxter popped her head out and leaped onto the porch.

Oooookay! Feed the squirrels some peanuts every day and suddenly they think they’re entitled to ALL the groceries.

I laughed (after a quick shriek of surprise) and proceeded to haul all the bags inside. Baxter sat at the bottom of the stairs watching me – and, of course, I rewarded her with a handfull of peanuts in the shell.

She is a truly adorable squirrel. I’m smitten!

—

And on that note, Coffee confirmed that the Dyson is not water-damaged, which means I have no excuse left for not vacuuming the carpets today. And since he’ll be home in a little over an hour (yay!) I should probably get on with that task sooner rather than later. Tomorrow is laundry day!

We spent what felt like a huge amount of time outdoors yesterday, pruning hedges and trimming plants in the afternoon sunshine. Our front yard does not appear to be even slightly enhanced by our activities. I am somewhat dismayed by my lack of knowledge in the department of landscaping – but, then, a good part of landscaping is about balance and shapes and negative space and.. well, we all know how I feel about that sort of thing.

The backyard requires a goodly amount of what I believe is called “thinning”. There are hostas the size of elephants and so many lily-of-the-valley plants that they’re packed into a solid concrete-like platform of green. There are shrubs and bushes that no longer resemble shrubs and bushes and which have long-since begun to “reach for the sky” in pursuit of full-on ‘tree’ status.

I may be slightly exaggerating, but not by much.

I always wanted a big garden – something lush and green and full of shade on hot summer days. Clearly this is a case of “be careful what you wish for” because, sweet merciful crap, I’m totally out of my league here. As were, it appears, the previous owners of this house. They hadn’t trimmed or thinned or otherwise manipulated the landscape in the slightest while they occupied our home.

So, if you happen to live in the KW area and would like to come and, say, take plants? Please do. Please. Yes. There are only a few that I cannot allow you to leave with (and only because I recognize them and think they’re pretty) but the rest are aaaaaaaaaaaaall yours. Just dig ‘em out and get them away from me. I am drowning in leaves.

Timber harvests in South America and South-east Asia are avoided during the full moon because it causes the sap to rise in trees, which in turn attracts deathwatch beetles which can devastate crops.

(50 things you never knew about the full moon)