November 2007

Yesterday I spent much of my time being whiny about my upset stomach.

Today I have a migraine.

Feeling sick for more than a day or two can only mean that, coming up soon, there’s a big and important thing happening.

Of course.

Tomorrow afternoon is our meeting with the social workers and I am as nervous as I was on the day Coffee finalized his immigration. Honestly, my entire BODY is now a big ball of butterflies and my attention span is ZERO and I’m really glad I didn’t have any majorly important tasks to deal with today because, ohmygod, I can’t sit still.

We’re as ready as we’ll ever be – our lists of questions have been checked, we’ve pondered deeply, we’ve talked and talked about this – and that means I’ve technically got nothing left to do but wait for the meeting to happen.

Coffee has been telling me – begging, nearly – to not get my hopes up. If I were anyone else in the world, perhaps, this advice would be reasonable. The boys are not ‘ours’ and it’s possible they never will be.

There are many things we don’t know about the boys.

Throughout the adoption process, Coffee and I have had to talk a lot with each other about what we can and cannot handle. We’ve talked about disorders and personality traits and illnesses and behaviours.

For each thing we felt “iffy” about, we pored over books and Googled the hell out of the subject. Then we talked more.

We don’t expect a perfect child. That probably goes without saying.

We know that all kids in care have certain issues – even if that issue is ‘only’ the loss of their birth family. Our concern is with the bigger issues like aggression, violence against animals and similar problems. Big warning signs, in other words.

So I’ve been trying not to get my hopes up. I have, really.

But it didn’t work.

I’m just not the sort of person who can keep her hopes under control.

I’ve been daydreaming about the boys and pondering how they’d fit into our house, our lives, our hearts. I’ve been saying their names out loud over and over to get used to the sound.

I’ve wondered what they look like in person and what it would be like to have a room full of them and a dining room table with them seated around it.

I’ve even looked in the mirror, smiled brightly, and said, “Oh! And these are my sons, X Y and Z” (with their real names in there, of course) while pretending I’m introducing them to someone.

So I’m getting my hopes up AND I’m crazy!

I know that getting my hopes up may very well mean that, tomorrow afternoon, my hopes are stabbed and deflated. Either by a social worker who feels we’re not appropriate or by Coffee and I discussing the situation and deciding not to go further for some reason.

Tomorrow night may find me in tears.

More likely, though, the social workers will take a few days to discuss us and the situation. So we may not hear back for a few days, perhaps. Tomorrow night may find me more anxious than ever or it may find me quietly accepting of the wait.

And it’s okay.

My whole life has been a series of ups and downs because I’m not very good about “not getting my hopes up”. I’m used to it. I know where to find the kleenex if I need it.

But, having said that, I’d really appreciate any good vibes you can send in our direction tomorrow. (Or now, if you prefer.) And if you happen to have some spare Maalox and a big bottle of Tylenol, I’ll take that too.

I discovered last night, whimperingly at 3am, that while my stomach can totally handle MEDIUM chicken wings it cannot – absolutely not! – handle the hot.

The hot, apparently, makes my stomach ANGRY.

ANGRY! STOMACH SMASH! ANGRY!

Blergh.

More later. On, uh, a different subject hopefully.

It’s probably not much of a surprise that I have a hard time writing blog posts on Sunday, generally. I’m too busy trying to wring every last good moment out of the weekend.

But NaBloPoMo demands that I write something here. So I am.

A bigger part of why I’m writing, right at this moment, is because Coffee won’t stop making comments about the fact that I haven’t written anything yet.

I’m writing in order to shut my husband UP already.

We had a good weekend, as always. Sushi on Saturday, a few errands, and, of course, ample time playing on the new computers.

I gotta’ tell you – trying to type on the teensy little keyboard in the dark is not an easy task.

Other than the tiny keyboard, I am greatly enjoying the whole Eee experience. It’s a saucy little minx. Plus, it’s kind of fun to pretend I’m A GIANT and the laptop is normal.

There. I’ve fulfilled my blog posting duties for today. My husband will shush for a while, and I’ll post something much more interesting tomorrow. Deal? DEAL.

Narf.

“Just tryyyyy it. Come on! Just TRY! Just for a second? Come on!”

He kept pleading, offering up his little tiny new laptop, while adding in offers to load up certain sites for me or show me a particular UFC clip.

And, an hour later (give or take), I was on the phone asking the store to please put one aside for me.

Along with a photo printer.

There is no end to the madness.

I concede defeat.

(And now I, too, own an Eee.)

Next up? MATCHING SWEATERS!

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Sure, we can’t use the key to unlock the passenger side (pictured) and, sure, it kind of looks like the car has wings now. But they never did come back to finish breaking into the car, so all is good.

• Sushi Saturdays!
• Visiting KW Surplus – Coffee bought me singing magnets!
• Jamma pants in the afternoon
• The very IDEA of 3boys3boys3boys
• Secrets
• Blogs and blogging and bloggers
• K and R’s new baby
• My digital camera (and lack of skill with it)
• Flowers on my christmas cactus
• Laughter and lots of it
• The term, “Chief Firewall Admin” which cracks me up
• Bad Santa.
• Inappropriate language
• Fuzzy dog bellies
• Feeling somewhat festive (IT’S A MIRACLE!)

Yesterday, Coffee picked up his new laptop (his is black). It’s a very tiny laptop – very, very tiny – and he seems quite happy with it so far. I’m sure he’ll post a review in his blog if, y’know, he ever remembers that he actually HAS a blog.

Watching him play on the new computer, however, made me realize that our house is seriously geeked-out. I mean, SERIOUSLY.

In fact, at this very moment, in our 11×14′-ish living room, we have a total of SIX computers.

There’s soap, who does all our music, media and television stuff, and there’s pippy whose job title is “Chief Firewall Admin”. Both of them sit behind and beside our entertainment unit for the time being – there are rumours that pippy will, someday, move downstairs to the basement. Both of those machines belong to Coffee.

Then there’s dirt, Coffee’s new [tiny] laptop, and ‘dessa, Coffee’s old laptop.

Then we have Nemesis (my desktop machine) and Sylphid (my laptop).

(Note that I capitalize my computers’ names and Coffee does not!)

In our office, downstairs, there’s Bettie (a desktop) and around the basement are scattered several half-consumed, half-salvaged, half-functional computers without names. And, of course, there’s Tic (my PDA) inside my purse, with her wifi access to our network.

We’ve talked about how to make the kid(s) computer literate in a big way – teaching them how to use them properly, perhaps a little programming, and how to keep them safe on the internet when they’re ready for that. There’s a strong likelihood that we’ll have a desktop machine in the living room or their playroom specifically for the kids.

The internet will only be active when one of us is there to supervise.

Somehow, I suspec the kids will quickly learn how great computers really are – two parents who are (mostly) fearless when it comes to technology can’t be a bad thing, right?

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This is one of the bunnies who live in our front yard – under the various shrubs, to be specific.

At this point, they have no fear of us (though we don’t get too close, obviously) and will simply sit there, a few feet away, watching us live our lives. We see them on a near-daily basis, just hanging out.

I always talk to them. I’m pretty sure the neighbours think we’re really weird.

Since Andrew asked to see all the random items in my purse, I decided to dump everything out and show you the 900 lbs of crap I haul around every day.

First, here’s a shot of my purse – full of stuff – sitting on a table.

So far, so good, right?
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Here’s a shot of all the contents spread onto the table – I even took the little bits and pieces out of the little “pencil case” I keep in there:

I could barely keep everything in the frame! Eeeeesh!
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But now, let’s break it down into smaller chunks, shall we?

Clockwise from top left:
Misc. receipts and grocery lists; Canada to US stamps; kleenex; 1 giant sharpie, 3 small sharpies and 1 felt-tip pen; 2 wet-wipes; an American $1 bill.



Clockwise from top left:
Photo of Coffee; “Tic” my Palm; my square-lined Moleskine notebook; a regular lined notebook (with my name on it); a purple lighter that I bought because it was cute; a purple hair elastic.



Clockwise from top left:
Two packs of Moo stickers; Canada’s Seafood guide (for grocery shopping); Olive oil hand lotion; small pack of Bebo/Moo cards; big box o’ Moo cards.



Clockwise from top left:
(Top green is part of the little pencil case that holds all of this stuff); Burt’s Bees Chapstick; tinted lipgloss (Avon?); 3 tubes of lipgloss (orange cream, rootbeer and cherry cola); Labello SOS lip goo; Rescue Remedy; three tampons (just in case someone needs one – not me!).



Clockwise from top left:
Hippo figure; Bear figure; cell phone; Leatherman “Juice Xe6″; dog biscuit (for random new dog friends); peanuts-in-a-shell (for random new squirrel friends!)



Clockwise from top left:
Orange wallet (this holds all my cards); Vojo caffeine candy x2; dental floss; orange pill container; paper fan in sleeve; Tums; mini-LED flashlight (swag)



Clockwise from top left:
Silver change purse (disco ball-style!); camera case; Stride gum; assorted candies from restaurants; Violet candies (my favourite); wrapped maple candies; Halls “bursts”‘; Bold fruit TicTacs.



Clockwise from top left:
Rayban Rx sunglasses (pretty much always on my face outdoors); a paper bag containing a gift purchased for Michelle; car/house keys.
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And that’s it. From this we have learned that I am always happy to toss more stuff into my purse (which isn’t even halfway full, by the way, with all this crap in it) and that I cannot take pictures on that table anymore left I want to spend a LOT of time colour-correcting my images (the table is quite red in wood colour!).

Perhaps tomorrow I’ll show you more about the orange wallet – best damned invention EVER.

‘Shadowplay‘ by The Killers reminds me of Friday nights at university, particularly while I was living in residence.

On Friday, around 9pm, I’d toss my jamma pants aside and throw on the tightest pair of black jeans I could find. Tight enough that I could barely breathe. Tight enough that you could totally tell I wasn’t wearing any underpants. Tight enough that later, when I needed to pee, I’d struggle to get them off and wonder if this, at last, was the time I’d wet my pants in public as a (mostly) adult.

I’d do something with my hair – possibly involving hairspray but probably not – and then I’d slide on some glossy red lipstick and some black eyeliner. All-black clothes and a pair of Docs to top things off.

Accompanying all of my preparations was a white ceramic coffee mug with a “groggy” face on the front – that mug held about 8 ounces of pure vodka that I’d sip through a bendy straw as I got ready. And oh, god, I’d have my stereo turned up as loud as it would go (not very) and there’d be much running between my room and my friend’s to giggle about something.

It’s important, by the way, to apply makeup before you get too hammered to focus your eyes on anything. Seriously.

For the most part, I’d go out with my friend Hil-Olivia (not her real name but certainly a good nickname, no?) and various other friendss and we’d almost always go to the same bar on campus. Or, uh, pub. Whatever. Same dif’, really.

The pub was called “Jacks” and was, for all intents and purposes, a big space in the basement of one of the residences. It was a pit, literally, surrounded by steps, dark corners, a raised-up DJ booth and, in an adjacent room, an actual bar with actual bartenders to toss bottles of beer in our direction whenever we managed to get the coveted drinker’s bracelet at the door.

I was underage for most of my university days.

Jacks was the first place I heard “So What Cha Want” and it has been embedded in my brain as the ultimate “turn it up louder!” song. I get kind of giddy about it, really.

Since the pub was on campus, Hil and I would eschew jackets or coats (unless it was REALLY cold) so we wouldn’t have to worry about losing them in one of those dark corners.

We’d dance (in my case, badly, and in Hil’s case, perfectly) and we’d gently mock (behind her back) the “Jen Dance” of a friend’s girlfriend (she didn’t really move her feet and kind of looked like she was doing a Snoopy dance without the swirling legs, if that makes any sense). And we’d flirt with guys

Friday nights make me feel restless sometimes – all these years later.

I’m sitting in my jammas and I’m typing in my blog and I’m trying to wait patiently for my husband to come home. I can’t drink enough to get myself drunk these days (I’ve graduated to “sipping!”) and the idea of spending four or five hours in a smokey bar seems horrific, even if the music is good. But I’m glad I have those memories.

Some things are absolutely perfect at certain times in life, though. I’m where I should be now, and I was where I should have been then.