July 2008

When I talk about Maymo, sometimes I just say, “He’s Four” because that, really, sums up his actions, reactions and personality. Conversations can be surreal (at best) or totally incoherent (and not due to his speech issues) and “reality” is something I’m not always sure he’s grasping.

He’s not weird or crazy.. I mean, he’s four in the truest sense of the word.

Every night for the past while, Coffee and I have started re-laughing about something that happened a few months ago that TOTALLY sums up “he’s four” for us… and so I must share.

Maymo had hunkered down on the sofa to watch “Muppets from Space” which he hadn’t seen before and thus he was pretty excited.

After watching for a bit, I left the room to do something else.

Shortly after that, he shouted, “MOM! SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH THE MOVIE!” so I came back into the room to see absolutely nothing wrong.

Me: What’s wrong? It looks okay to me.

Maymo: It’s not the puppets anymore!

Me: Yes it is. Look! (pointing to screen)

Maymo: No. It’s the NEWS. Where did the movie go?

Me: Umm.. no, that’s the movie.

Maymo: NO. IT’S NOT THE MOVIE ANYMORE.

Me: (looking closely at the screen and grinning) Yes, May, it’s the movie. I am positive. Do you see the big muppet bear in the back of the ‘news room’ there? That’s how I know it’s still the movie.

Maymo: No. It’s the news.

Me: Honey, really, it’s a muppet. There are no bears on the news. This is part of the movie.

Maymo: Okay. When will the news be over and the movie back?

Me: Uhh.. okay… well, you just watch for a while and I’m SURE the movie will come back.

Now, seriously, the BIG muppet on the screen? The TALKING bear in the background? Is that not a pretty big-sized give away that, perhaps, it’s not REALLY the news?

Apparently not when you’re four years old.

I know you’re out there, somewhere, wondering how my bleach/dye attempt ended up. Did you send me good vibes? Did you cross your fingers for a good outcome?

The result is that I bleached, I dyed, and now I have deliciously luscious purple hair again. It’ll fade, in time, to the bright pink most people have seen in the past few weeks (months?) but for now it’s a deep gorgeous colour and I’m thrilled.

I didn’t end up bald. All Hail Me!

My hesitation to bleach my own hair stems from my inability to see the back and underside of my hair – the part that’s darkest on my head – and the fact that Coffee’s attention to detail is usually a lot stronger than mine. I’m the “slap the stuff on and wait” kind of person and he’s the sort who methodically applies the bleach and makes sure every strand is perfectly coated before he makes me walk around with a plastic bag on my head to keep the heat in.

But I wanted to do it myself simply so he wouldn’t have to worry about it. He’s got heaps of stuff that he wants to do, some stuff that he needs to do, and I want to make it as easy on him as possible when he’s home. Dyeing my hair shouldn’t be on HIS list.

So I’m relieved that things turned out well. My dye application went as well as the last time, so that’s good to.

Combining that good outcome with my adventures in linux-flash-muttering yesterday (and subtract the miserable parenting failures I experienced that I’m not talking about right now) and I’m feeling pretty darned confident at the moment.

Feeling all cocky this morning, I whipped up my first-ever batch of Zucchini Bread With Pineapple. Actually, it’s my first-ever attempt at cooking anything with zucchini at all.

It’s in the oven right now, so I’ll have to get back to you on how it turns out.

(For what it’s worth, and thus far, every single recipe I’ve made from “Simply Recipes” has turned out to be EXCELLENT, so I have high hopes over here..)

Sadly, once the batter was made I discovered that I only own one 9×5 loaf pan. I have no idea if you can refrigerate the batter but I guess I’m going to find out in a few hours when the second loaf is finished baking. (Fingers Crossed.)

There’s something really satisfying about baking.

Especially when my hair is purple.

Since upgrading to FF3, I haven’t had Flash. I just couldn’t get it to work despite it repeatedly assuring me that it was installed. I yum’d and I rpm’d and I tried giving my computer the finger (surprisingly ineffective) and finally I resigned myself to the fact that Coffee would have to do it whenever he had a millisecond of time to spare.

Linux is a mutherfucker sometimes.

Today I was apparently feeling FEISTY and so I turned on some loud music and parked the kids in front of the television to watch crappy movies and then I sat down to beat Flash into submission.

‘Lo, after an hour-ish of muttering and flipping between root and my own account.. I HAVE FLASH.

I celebrated by sending a derangedly happy email to Coffee – and paged him, too – and then immediately went to Facebook to play some Scramble.

I have priorities, people.

Load number 401,205,221 of laundry is in the machine as I type this. A big result of my “organizing” has been finding clothes to donate, re-pack (off-season stuff) or to wear – but most of it needs to be washed just because it’s been sitting in a heap somewhere for lord-only-knows how many months.

Plus? The kids have some new hand-me-downs from friends.

I remember as a kid when people would drop off a bag of clothes for me – sometimes for ‘dress up’ and sometimes for school clothes or whatever and I’d almost dive into the bag to see what was in there. New stuff! COOL stuff! Some of my favourite stuff was well-worn before I even got my hands on it.

Clearly I need to find some friends who are exactly the same weird proportion/size as me so we can swap stuff because now I’m all wistful.

Hand-me-downs ROCK and I am so glad my kids get to experience that delicious feeling, too.

–

I got myself all ready to bleach my hair last night and, as often happens, things conspired against me. Coffee was exhausted when he came home and the last kid wasn’t in bed until after 10 and, well, yeah, then it was time for adults to chat for thirty seconds before sleep.

I would rather spend time talking to Coffee than have my hair bleached. Actually, I’d rather spend time with him than do anything else.

(I am SO envious of people whose partners work 9-5 jobs.)

Today I’m going to attempt to bleach it myself for the very first time. Please join me in praying that I don’t somehow end up bald as a result of this because I have two and a half bottles of Virgin Rose dye that really won’t look great on, say, my LEG hair.

Or maybe it would?

Either way, I don’t want to find out.. so please cross your fingers.

(Edited to add: when I asked Coffee this morning about the ratio of powder to developer to whatever-else-goes-in, he said something along the lines of “I put in three scoops. Or maybe four? Six? I can’t remember if I usually double it. Oh, and make sure you use water to check the level I drew on the container so you know how much peroxide to put in so you’ll know it’s the right amount. The powder goes in after the liquid, I think.” Doesn’t that inspire confidence?)

–

The two younger kids spent yesterday running around the park with my friend Deb and her son. They had a fabulous time and they adore Deb and both of them slept like rocks.

Today they’re both collapsed on the sofa watching television – educational television, no less. In a while I’ll put on a movie that’ll totally rot their brains and render them comatose. If I had junk food I’d totally ply them with that, too, in order to maintain a peaceful household as it pours rain outside.

Oldest One is up in his room, still, finishing out his week of “sit in your room because you were being a dick”. He’s been reasonably okay with this consequence of being a dick – other than the first burst of ridiculous protestations. The truth is that he’s up in his room playing his DS and reading books and otherwise slugging around.

I figure the true ‘consequence’ won’t sink in until Friday when he’s bored out of his mind and tired of those 4 walls and he’s still gotta’ sit up there between 9 and 3pm.

Parenting: I rock.

If you don’t go download this mp3 and listen to it immediately, I will cry.

Ah, hell, just download the entire Best of Bootie 2005. It’s been on repeat the past few days around here because it makes me giggle. Then go download the other albums, too.

Do you want to know about my sex life? Like, beyond what you already know? Because I cannot imagine anyone is overly interested in that.. but hey, I’m asking anyway.

Can someone explain to me why the kids require food every day? And not just ONCE a day but MULTIPLE times per day?

I took a shower today. This, in and of itself, is pretty exciting. But I actually remembered to not condition my hair so that, when Coffee gets home tonight, we can slather my head in bleach and prepare to restore my hair to PINK! instead of “meh-pink-grey-brown”. Wheeehaaaw!

I located my very dark purple nail polish. I am going to chop off my long-ish nails and file ‘em down and paint them. It saddens me greatly that I cannot find any NYX nail polish anywhere in Canada because, holy crap, that stuff LASTS.

Now that the majority of my office is tidy, I really want to tackle the more minor details like my craft baskets (so they’d be organized by craft instead of random crap thrown into plastic bins).

In the very near future I am going to be purchasing eyeglasses from this company. I will get back to you with a review of the process and results.

The two younger kids went out to the park and splash-park today and had a picnic with their babysitter and his mom (my friend Deb). Oldest One stayed home as a consequence of being a dick. Do you think it will start to sink in for him? Maybe? Sometime? PLEASE?

I really like people named Deb. I keep meeting more of ‘em that I quite like…

I also really love WNET.

Okay, must go make some food for the herd now. Coffee will hopefully come home soon, too.

Yesterday, in talking to a friend, he mentioned that a particular woman he knew was quite proud of her blowjob skills and had no issue whatsoever with discussing this fact.

My response was that it IS a skill and hell, we all need to acknowledge and celebrate the things we’re good at…

Being “good at” blowjobs is the same as saying you make a really wicked chocolate brownie. Or you can walk well in super-high heels. Or you can recite the alphabet backwards without pausing. Or you know how to change the oil in your car. SKILLS.

So he asked me what my skill was – and I couldn’t answer.

What am I good at? I’ve been pondering. I’m sure there’s more than the list below..

• Organizing shit. Particularly for other people.
• Making granola bars.
• Blowjobs!
• Finding and recommending good books to read.
• Taking care of your house while you’re away on vacation.
• Making mixed CDs – assuming you have similar taste to mine.
• Folding t-shirts (years of retail experience).
• Cooking interesting dinners for people who aren’t my kids.
• Being non-judgmental about most things.
• Putting together care packages.
• Losing gracefully (at some things..*ahem*)
• Being really happy for people when they succeed.
• Finding things my husband has lost or misplaced.

So. What are YOU good at? What’s your skill?

The truth about parenting is that we rarely talk about the ugly sides. I don’t mean the barfing or the boogers on the wall – I mean the times when we are not happy or when we are stressed out or the times when our kid(s) says something horrible and we’re totally wounded.

From my side of things, I try to keep things as ‘real’ as I can around here. I mean, it’s a blog. It’s a place to talk and “think out loud” and try to figure out how to tackle certain issues.

And lord knows, I get a lot of compliments on my parenting style. I hear a lot about how Coffee and I are doing a good job and how we’re helping our kids to grow up into healthy, happy people.

I like that. Who doesn’t like praise? Who doesn’t like to hear that they’re kickin’ ass?

On the flip side, I always feel kind of guilty and shameful when I write something negative here. When I write that Oldest One is doing something shitty or when I complain that I’m exhausted and overwhelmed, my first thought is, “I don’t want anyone to think I can’t handle this.” and it’s followed by, “I don’t want anyone to think I’m not a good parent.”

And somewhere in there I’m reminded that some of the boys’ biological family members read this – and I don’t want them to think, for one single moment or longer, that I do not love these kids with every bit of my heart.

So I hesitate. I bite my tongue.

I know that, despite my best efforts, my blogging does impact on other people. I try hard to portray everyone fairly (when I’m not using a pseudonym for someone, in particular) but there are moments when I just don’t blog a situation at all because I can’t bear to hear I’m not doing things properly when I’m already feeling guilty about something or when I’m already questioning myself.

I do think we’re doing a pretty kickass job of parenting these kids. I do think it’s obvious that I love them and I adore them and I think the world of them. I do recognize that we took on a job that’s hard at times and that we’re doing a pretty fucking good job most of the time.

I regularly stress to people that any frustrations I have and any issues I have with parenting are not related specifically to the kids – they’re just my own issues.

Sitting with a friend today, in her yard, sipping a drink and staying far enough away from her to avoid spreading my sore throat, she talked about some of her own challenges in parenting. And she’s not the first person, lately, to tell me that the job isn’t all peaches and cream and rose petals.

Why do I expect myself to be perfect? Why do I feel so ashamed and embarrassed when I’m not perfect or when I’m short-tempered?

Part of it is that my kids came from a history that wasn’t perfect and I feel this incredible obligation to NOT make things worse in any way, shape or form.

Part of it is because I know what my kids’ issues are, and how they’ve been impacted, and I want to heal some of that.

Part of it is trying, desperately, to make myself feel competent and strong when I’m not always feeling that way. I am the parent, dammit, and I cannot let myself feel anything other than in control, right?

Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not doing anything remotely traumatic. I am giving the kids attention and love and affection and breakfast/lunch/dinner along with clean laundry and time spent with their friends and games to play and I listen to them talk and I read them stories and.. all the rest.

But when I am grouchy, I feel like I’m letting them down.

When I need time to myself, I feel like I’m letting them down.

When they whine and cry and throw themselves to the ground and all I want – really want – is for a SANE adult to step in and then, ohshit, I remember that I’m supposed to the that person… I feel guilty.

I feel like I’m simultaneously sucking and rocking at this parenting thing.

It’s literally minute to minute.

And when I talked to Kitty a while ago, she told me that’s how ALL parents feel. Like they have no idea what they’re doing, like they’re only half-kicking ass and sometimes failing miserably.

But I want to know – why doesn’t anyone talk about this? Is everyone feeling guilty and ashamed? Is it because I’m mostly reading blogs about parenting and no one writes the negatives for the world to see?

WHY ISN’T ANYONE ELSE TELLING ME HOW HARD IT IS TO BE A PARENT? Why am I wandering around feeling lost and incompetent by myself?

It’s 10am on a Monday and all three kids are still asleep.

Seriously. They’re asleep.

Asleep! At 10am!

They had a sleepover at their new cousins’ place on Saturday night – cousins by love, not blood – and there was, apparently, much fun had and much laughter made and many Gameboy games played.

They’re sleepin’ it off, is what I’m saying.

While the kids were partying down, Coffee and I had an entire night to ourselves. At home, alone, no kids. *ahem*

And, I probably don’t have to say this, but.. it was WONDERFUL.

I already feel about 400 times better – a few hours spent reconnecting with my beloved husband, some time to be “me the human and not the mom” and knowing that my kids were all having fun.. all good.

Today I’ve got a sore throat, runny nose, sore sinuses and other signs of impending doom. But I feel fabulous psychologically. Uplifted and relaxed and prepared for the week ahead.

I’m also considering heading upstairs to see if the kids are all still breathing – but that might wake them up… Hmm.

Our adoption worker, who is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, handed us the stack of papers and we started signing ‘em. One after another after another after another. Duplicates of this one and duplicates of that one.

We printed, and re-printed, the kids’ full (new) names.

We applied for their new birth certificates – a totally surreal concept.

We signed our affidavits and had them witnessed and stamped.

And that’s it.

We’re done.

The affidavits and paperwork now go to a judge who will, sometime in the next three to four months, sign the “Order of Adoption” and then Coffee and I will be served with the legal papers.

We have one more meeting scheduled with our adoption worker for October – a final check-in to make sure all is good – and then.. we’re REALLY done.

Is anyone else kind of finding this surreal? Or is it just me?

At 2:30pm, EST, the whole family will be crammed into a tiny office with a collection of pens in our collective hands.

And we will sign on all the various dotted lines and we will answer some questions and then, THEN, we will be finished signing things.

Forever.

Sure, there’s a judge (somewhere, out there) who needs to add a signature to all our paperwork – but we, the family in question, will be DONE with the signing and the appointments and the questions and the essay-writings.

It looks, too, like our adoption party will take place in September. The entire month of August is booked up for nearly everyone we’ve ever known and we want the kids to experience a HUGE party that’s TOTALLY about THEM.

The kind of party where they’ll go home at the end and already have forgotten half the names of the people who were there. The kind of party where they leave and think, “Holy shit, man, we are SO LOVED.”

We can wait for that. I mean, really.

But there you have it: today is the official end of our journey to adopt. Can you believe it?