adventures of law mommy

And They'll Know We Are Christians By Our Love...

2011-11-28T12:07:00.004-05:00

I don't often speak of my faith on this blog.

My relationship with God is very private, very personal. I have struggled with my faith for more than ten years - a struggle that began on a sweltering morning in July of 2001, at the funeral of a friend who died far too young. I can pinpoint the moment that my unquestioning faith left me - it was the moment that his widow, only 27 years old and holding her infant daughter in her arms, read aloud a letter her husband had written her only a few days before, on their wedding anniversary.

At that moment my belief in a just God left me, I think I would almost describe it as a physical loss. Something, some part of me, the part that was able to BELIEVE without question, without pause, the part of my heart that held on to the idea that there was love and reason in the way the universe was ordered - was pulled out of me. I have been trying to find it ever since.

When, only a few months later, we faced the collective nightmare of September 11, followed by the very personal nightmare of my grandfather's death at the end of November 2001...the tiny bits of faith left in my soul were dashed against the rocks of despair.

This is not to say that I no longer believe in God. More to say that God and I are no longer enjoying the cozy relationship we once had. Possibly I am not speaking to him right now. These are my issues, I know, and issues enough to fill a whole book by themselves. They are not the point of this post, though. It's a lot of background to schlepp through, though, but I am getting to my point.

In the last few days on Facebook, there have been a number of people posting this (and I quote, including the obnoxious screamy caplock feature):

I DO NOT CARE IF THIS DOES OFFEND SOMEONE…THIS IS WHAT I BELIEVE…I AM SICK AND TIRED OF EVERY YEAR WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES AROUND; THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO WANT TO TAKE CHRIST OUT OF CHRISTMAS BECAUSE IT MIGHT OFFEND SOMEONE…WELL, HOW ABOUT ALL OF THE CHRISTIANS?...WHAT ABOUT OFFENDING US BECAUSE YOU ARE TAKING OUR CHRIST OUT OF CHRISTMAS?...CHRIST IS CHRISTMAS!...IF YOU AREN'T CELEBRATING CHRIST THEN WHY ARE YOU CELEBRATING?...CHRISTMAS IS ABOUT THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOR!...CHRISTMAS IS ONE OF A FEW HOLIDAYS LEFT THAT CELEBRATE "MY" CHRIST!...LEAVE "MY" CHRISTMAS ALONE!...AND TELL EVERYONE MERRY CHRISTMAS, NOT HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!...RE-POST IF YOU’RE NOT ASHAMED!!and I'm not...and I will add an AMEN to that!!

Okay, I'm not even going to touch the fact that much of what we celebrate as Christmas has its roots in some very ancient paganism, because that would be sort of like complaining that the Japanese borrowed curry from India and then declaring that it's irrelevant that Japanese curry is superior. (And friends, let me tell you, if you have ever had a bowl of the true perfection that is Japanese curry rice, you will be behind me on this - Indian curries may be delicious, but Japanese curry is a little piece of heaven. And it is no less heavenly just because the original spices came from somewhere else.)

I like Christmas. I like Christmas trees and Christmas presents and Christmas carols and Christmas cookies and Christmas dinner and I love Santa Claus and that unique smell of Christmas morning that is tangerines blended with pine cones and cinnamon.

I love to sit in church on Christmas Eve with the lights turned low, and the candles setting the stained glass windows on fire and the low hum of Silent Night and that feeling, for a brief, fleeting moment, that God and I are maybe, just maybe, on a first name basis again.

So, it's ridiculous and offensive to me that the above rant is making its way around my facebook wall. I'm not offended for the reasons the people posting it imagine I'm offended. I am not offended by Christ.

Christ, and Christmas, are about hope and joy and peace and love.

What Christ and Christmas are categorically NOT about is figuratively smacking your friends and family in the face with a ridiculous holier-than-thou rant about taking Christ out of Christmas.

In fact, I would venture that the above referenced rant goes a long way in taking Christ out of the lives of people who encounter it.

I am the last Christian who should be giving advice on effective evangalizing (see above history vis a vis, me and God) - but I can say with 100% certainty that creating a vortex of douchebaggery is the wrong way to go about it.

I am not ashamed of Christianity (although I will admit that I have, on occasion, considered not calling myself a Christian anymore, and calling myself "follower of a guy who got nailed to a tree for suggesting that we should be nice to eachother" - mostly because of people like the author of that facebook rant, who make me feel quite certain that we have NOT been reading the same sacred texts...but it's a bit longwinded. I'm not sure it would catch on as a religious movement.)

I do say Merry Christmas, but I also say Happy Holidays. And Happy Hannukah. And Happy Diwali. And Happy New Year. I would probably wish a pagan a Blessed Solstice but I don't know any actual pagans, but I certainly wouldn't spit on their holiday. It's not my style.

What are other people celebrating if they aren't celebrating Christ? They are celebrating what humans have needed to celebrate for millenia - they are celebrating the LIGHT that shines in the DARKNESS. The light that calls out from the bleakness of the endless snowy cold and dark, the hope that the sun will return.

And if they are greeting me with hopes that I, too, will find light in the dead of winter - I will accept those cheerful greetings and I will not greet them with the hatred that is embroiled in the sentiment above.

I know I have spoken often about my grandfather, and his music, and the ways in which his music still speaks to me, still reaches out to me, and comforts me when I am sad.

And he used to sing a song called, "They Will Know We are Christians By Our Love" - and I wish that I could bring him back and have him sing for the hateful creature who wrote that rant. But since he's unavailable, and since I cannot pinpoint the hateful creature, I will just leave one of the pertinent verses here, in the hope that it will bring a little bit of light to the darkness.

We will work with each other, we will work side by side
We will work with each other, we will work side by side
And we'll guard each one's dignity and save each one's pride
And they'll know we are Christians by our love, by our love
They will know we are Christians by our love

Have a Blessed Advent.

LM

Turn Me On Like a Light Switch

2011-11-11T12:03:00.004-05:00

I debated about sharing this story...but then I told it to Ella at Last, and she threatened to de-friend me if I didn't, "blog the sh*t out of that."

So...

The other night, Husband and I were in the kitchen. We were standing by the stove, hugging.

Lana stuck her head in, looked at us hugging each other and said, "Are you making the sex over there?"

Husband and I both said, "What??"

In point of fact, we were MAKING THE CURRY for the CROCK POT for the next day. NOT making THE SEX.

So she repeated herself, "Are you making the sex?"

For a moment, words failed me, and then I said, "No, making the sex is private. So we are not making the sex in the kitchen."

Quite honestly, the kitchen tiles are extremely hard and cold...I'm fairly confident when I say that those particular kitchen tiles have never seen anyone "making the sex" on them, ever.

So, my nine year old daughter, giggly madly, sweetly says, "I know making the sex is private. In your bedroom. You kiss each other and then you say, "don't you want to go to the zoo, my darling, to see the baby giraffes?" and then you kiss each other some more."

I wish I could tell you that I used this opening to have a frank and honest discussion with her about the birds and the bees.

But instead I laughed until I was shaking and then I laughed some more.

And Husband declared that "going to the Zoo to the see the baby giraffes" was the best euphemism for knocking boots that's he's heard since "fighting crime".

Probably I should have a talk with my daughter this weekend...and then maybe I'll see if Husband wants to go to the zoo to see the baby giraffes... :-)

LM

All the Other Girls Here are Stars, You are the Northern Lights*

2011-09-29T10:25:00.002-04:00

At night, when I am snuggling with my daughter, and singing her a song just before she falls asleep - if Lana has something important to say, that is the time she will say it.

Is this true of most children? I suspect so. It's certainly true of her older brother. Something about the dimness of the room, the closeness of lying together, the lullaby induced sleepiness - it makes important conversations accessible.

The other night, after I sang "You Are My Sunshine" and "K-K-K-Katie", Lana rolled herself into my shoulder and said, "Someday you are going to give me away to another mommy."

"No," I said. "I'm not ever going to give you away to another mommy. Not ever. You are stuck with me kid. Forever."

"My foster mom gave me away to you. So, you are going to give me away to some other mom, I know it. My foster mom keeped me for four years. Now you keeped me for four years. Soon you will give me away, and it will always go on that way."

Sometimes it amazes me, the cogs turning in that complex brain of hers.

"Your foster mom didn't give you to me, exactly," I said. "She kept you and loved you, and she loves you still. She emails us to ask about you. She still loves you. She didn't have any choices, honey. But she loved you and she will keep loving you and wanting you to be happy."

This distracted Lana for a minute, and we talked about what pictures we want to send to her foster mom, and what she might want to say in an email, and would I help her type an email to her foster mom, if she wanted to?

Then abruptly, she hid her face back in my hair and said, "Why did SHE give me away?"

The way she said it, I was pretty sure she wasn't talking about her foster mom anymore.

"Your foster mom?" I ask, preferring the idea of discussing Communist government red-tape over the can of worms I was pretty sure she was opening.

"No. Not my foster mom. My...the other lady. The one who had me in her tummy. Why did SHE give me away?"

"Well...that's a big question. I never talked to her about it. I never talked to her at all. But I know what she told the nannies at the place where she left you."

"What did she tell them?"

And so I told her, the two sentences that are written in her file.

They are not uncommon reasons for giving a child up for adoption, not here in the US, and probably not anywhere in the world.

"Why did she even have me then? Why did she even keep me in her tummy?"

Talk about a kick in the teeth.... I don't think that my daughter understands the concept of abortion, and I'm not sure that was what she was asking. She does understand (because of an event that happened in our family) that some babies die before they are born, but I wasn't sure if that was what she meant.

Sometimes "I don't know" is the only answer we have. And so that's what I said.

"I don't know. But I want to think it was because she loved you so much, but I just don't know. But I know that I am so glad she did, because I love you so much. And your foster mom loved you so much."

"I don't want any other mommies," she said. "Three mommies is enough mommies, okay? No more. No more giving me to any new more new mommies."

"Okay," I said. "It'll be just us three, then, forever."

Then she rolled over, and said, "I am lucky that my Daddy is my only Daddy. He's never going to give me to any other daddies."

I assured her that her Daddy was never going to give her to any other daddies, and I kissed her goodnight, and she fell asleep.

I suppose that one day in the not too distant future, she is going to figure out that somewhere, out there, someplace on the other side of the planet, is a man who donated half her DNA, who has no clue, that this beautiful, starry-eyed, fabulous, stunning creature exists. And I'm not sure how to tell her, that even though she only has one Daddy...biology dictates that she has another father.

LM

* Josh Ritter, Kathleen

As the fire of memory burns me, the grace of your love returns me, to this most traveled of highways*

2011-08-30T16:15:00.000-04:00

Grief is exhausting. And surprising. And really f**king frustrating.

It can leave you alone for months, buried deep beneath the day to worry about what to cook for dinner and did you pay the gas bill and what movie should you watch for family movie night, and what filings are due when for which cases.

And then, one day, when you least expect it, she shows up and bitch-slaps you across the face and kicks you in the teeth and leaves you curled up in a ball crying so hard you are gasping for the air to fill your lungs with everything you've lost. (I totally stole that last line from Snow Patrol, but it's an apt description.)

More than a year has passed since J~ left us. Fourteen months have gone by, and most days in the past few months have been mostly fine.

And then last Monday (14 months to the day since he shuffled off in that early morning thunderstorm) - I find myself enraged. Enraged with the universe, enraged with the other people he left behind, enraged with him for being dead and not being f**king HERE where I NEED him. Where I MISS him.

And for the last eight days, I am floundering, once again, in this foul soup of grief and loss and anger and mourning. And insomnia.

I need to remember that this sadness, this anger, this monstrous grief - this is not what J~ wants for me. I need to remind myself that he always walked with the sun on his face and treated everyone with grace. I need to remind myself he loved me like his own daughter, and he had hopes and dreams and expectations for me...that I let him down when I give in to the despair.

It's not easy, though. It's not easy to remember those things when grief is all up in your grill, screaming like the wicked banshee she is.

Sorry to be morose. It's just something I have to get out of my head before the grief drives me crazy.

* John Hiatt, Come Home to You

People Are Raising Their Expectations, Go On and Feed Them*

2011-08-09T14:30:00.004-04:00

If you've been watching the evenings, the photos and stories coming from the famine stricken Somalia, and the relief camps in Kenya, are probably reducing you to tears of hopelessness. (Well, that's what they are doing to me, anyway.)

I sent an email to my aunt and uncle in Tanzania, where they have been working for Southern Baptist Missions for the past 15 years. (Not all in Tanzania, but in Uganda, and Lesotho as well.) My uncle is a doctor specializing in AIDS treatment and prevention. But he's there, he's boots on the ground, so to speak. And he knows about Africa and corruption and what's working and what's not working.

So I asked him, point blank, "I can't see this news footage without crying. What can I do, who can I give money to and know it will go to help these starving people?"

His response was immediate and decisive - Doctors Without Borders. (He is not working for DWB, by the way.) Here's a link if you are so inclined to donate: Doctors Without Borders. You can click on the "Donate" tab at the top.

(This post is not sponsored by Doctors Without Borders and I am not affiliated in any way with them. I just could not watch the news one more day without doing something. This isn't much, but it's what I have.)

LM

* Shakira, This Time For Africa, which is, admittedly, about Soccer and not Famine, but I defy you to not want to dance to this song

Making Kafta in the Rain

2011-07-28T10:10:00.003-04:00

This past weekend we went "camping" with my entire family.

I say "camping" because the event took place at an alleged "campground" in Indiana, which is really more like a "parking lot for RVs and campers." (Question - are all campgrounds like this anymore? I do not remember campgrounds looking like this when I was a child. I mostly remember...trees, and streams and fairly large spaces between sites. Was I imagining this? Am I just seeing things differently as an adult?)

Were it not for the fact that our four campsites sat directly on a little lake, (and they were amoung the only 12 such sites in the vast RV park) - it would have been...really ugly.

On the upside was the fact that all five of my siblings, all of their spouses, all of their children, and my mother and step-dad were all in attendance. This was the first time since my brother's wedding in December of 2008 that all 28 of us had been in the same place at the same time. (Yes, there are 28 people in my immediate family. Fourteen adults and fourteen children. On four campsites. In an RV park.)

It was 97 degrees most of the weekend. And humid. (In an RV park. With twenty-eight people. Come on, you are totally jealous now, aren't you?)

Between us we had two large campers, three tents, one "rustic cabin" courtesy of the alleged campground, and three dogs. One of which is cross between a Great Dane and an Irish Wolfhound. Which means, for all practical purposes, that she is rather more the size of a horse than a dog.

On Friday night, there were a few moments of utter bucolic bliss, as I watched my son and my niece floating together in the lake, sharing an inner tube and laughing, while my daughter and another niece ran off together, hand-in-hand, towards the playground, giggling. (It was actually a really nice playground.)

On Saturday, most of the family spent the morning and early afternoon floating in the lake, supported by a variety of vinyl blow up toys. (Rings, rowboats, rafts, etc.) The lake water was really warm, and there was a lot of seaweed, but it was nice to be swimming and chatting and drinking adult beverages and watching the kids play in the water.

On Saturday afternoon...it began to rain. And it rained some more. And it kept raining. And almost immediately upon the rain beginning, the power went out, so that the two campers and the "rustic cabin" became hot boxes of humidity.

And in the midst of the rain, my mother and my husband and my brother-in-law and my sister-in-law were trying to make dinner, huddled under the awning of my sister's camper.

They were making kafta.

Okay, okay, I know, you are thinking, "who in their right mind makes kafta on a camping trip?" To which I say, OBVIOUSLY NONE OF US ARE IN OUR RIGHT MINDS. We were camping with twenty-eight people and three dogs in an alleged campground in the middle of Indiana on one of the hottest weekends of the year with two normal sized dogs and a horse-sized dog. We were not in right minds.

Anyway, under the awning of my sister's camper, there was smashing of garlic (lots and lots and lot of garlic) and mincing of mint, and then the forming of twenty pounds of ground beef and lamb and garlic and mint and onion meat sticks. (Rather like a meat ball, but longer and log-shaped.) My mother was also slicing an eggplant and zuchini and tearing up two heads of cauliflower, and rolling them in garlic and olive oil and some kind of spice packet she found at the Middle Eastern market (incidentally, a Middle Eastern market is a "suq". This is an EXCELLENT Scrabble word if you ever need it. It can also be spelled "souk", which also doesn't suck as a Scrabble word.)

And the rain kept coming down, and the electricity stayed off, and the guys tried to light a fire in the fire pit in the rain, and finally the rain let up enough so that we could grill the meat and the vegetables.

And everything was really, really delicious.

But I couldn't help thinking that it would have still been delicious if we had been, you know, inside. In a kitchen. With electricity and running water.

I mean, let's face it, making kafta, or anything, really, outside, in the rain, at an alleged campground, is pretty inconvenient.

My siblings want to plan this all-family getaway again, possibly at the same campground, for next year.

And as much as I want to spend the weekend together somewhere...I really wish we could find someplace less...crowded with RVs. And more cabin but less "rustic".

Anybody know of any nice cabins for rent in a pretty place that sleeps 28 people and is within a few hours drive of Lake Erie?

Yeah...probably not.

LM

Various

2011-07-12T16:06:00.002-04:00

I'm trying to write a real post, truly I am, but here are some things on my mind:

1. Trader Joe's Freeze Dried Strawberries. This is all M's fault, because she introduced me to them when we were visiting her in Oregon, and WOW are they good. I've been on a quest to get a hold of them for days, and snapped some up when we were in Ann Arbor on Sunday. They are addicting. Like, crack or heroin, but full of fiber and antioxidants, and you probably won't want to knock over a liquor store to get them. (Okay, you might think about it, but you probably wouldn't actually do it.)

2. My son is such an old soul - recently, in the back of my car, Gabriel and Lana were trying to decide what music they wanted to hear - the conversation went like this:
Lana: Mom, please play Katy Perry!!!
Gabe: Mom, no Katy Perry, please!!!
Lana: He never wants Katy Perry!
Gabe: Because I don't LIKE Katy Perry.
Lana (exasperated): What DO you like, then???
Gabe (matter of factly): Classic Mo-Town. And Michael Jackson.
I swear he is the oldest 11 year old boy there ever was.

3. My daughter CRACKS me up, regularly. The other day I overheard this:
Lana (to Gabriel): If you don't stop that I'm going to scream bloody murder.
(a pause, during which, presumably, Gabriel kept doing whatever it was)
Lana (loudly): BLOODY MURDER! BLOODY MURDER!
(I can't decide if she was being intentionally hilarious or not.)

4. The television show Medium has me completely and utterly hooked. I have been watching an episode nearly every day on Netflix streaming. It's a compulsion, and my husband cringes every time I turn it on, because he hates Patricia Arquette for reasons he has not articulated. I hate having a tv obsession I cannot suck him in to.

5. I just finished the fifth book in the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series, which was released last month and called, "Sisterhood Everlasting." HOLY MOLY I cried. I mean, serious, serious tears. I still love the series...but, wow, that book made me cry.

6. I am utterly obsessed with a new feature at our public library called Overdrive. This allows me to put audiobooks from the library website onto my Zune in a very easy interface. I cannot tell you how much more pleasant my communte to and from work has become when I know I have a good audiobook to keep me company. It's also really wonderful at night - I can listen to a book and not need to have a light on to read. Our library is starting to get more and more titles, it's a wonderful service!

Thoughts on Asian Skin Care?

2011-07-11T11:52:00.002-04:00

Dear Internets,

I'm looking for recommendations on an appropriate facial moisturizer for Lana. She is 8, but the skin on her face is very dry.

I am using Aveeno Ultra Calming on my own face, and I really like it, but since it is advertised as reducing redness (a problem in my very Scandinavian skin), I am hesitant to put it on my daughter - am I wrong about this?

The prescription non-steroidal cream her last dermatologist prescribed was completely useless, and it costs $40 to re-fill. (I wouldn't be opposed to spending $40 if I thought it was helping, but it doesn't do anything. We've had more luck with Cetaphil, but she still has some very dry spots.)

So, should I stick with cetaphil, try the Avenno, or is there something better?

Your input is appreciated!

LM

I live too many miles from the ocean, and I'm getting older and odd*

2011-05-26T20:56:00.003-04:00

Wow, so...long time no see?

I guess two months went by, and I had nothing to say.

Or, actually, I had things to say, and I felt I didn't have enough time to say the things I wanted to say eloquently enough to do them justice, so I said nothing at all.

And the longer I didn't write anything, the more difficult it came to conceive of writing anything...

It occurred to me the other day that if I didn't start writing again, this little corner outlet for my creative juices might dry up completely - which led me to worry that all those creative juices might dry up as well.

Time to get back up on that horse, as they say.

Some bullet points, because I'm not sure how else to sum up 2 months of time:

1. I had a birthday. It wasn't a "big" birthday, but the birthday right before the big birthday. I spent a few days moping about feeling old, but then:

2. We went on vacation to an island where the water is so blue it looks like raspberry kool-aid. I walked around all week in a daze, awed by the crazy delicious beauty. (And, okay, the rum helped a bit with the daze.) The sand was so fine it was almost like powdered sugar, and the water was so clear it felt like you could see straight to the bottom of the sea. I spent 7 days floating in the surf, and walking on the beach, and watching my kids (and Husband) build fabulous and complex sand castles, and it was perfection.

3. Attempting to return home from the isle of paradise, Delta Airlines did it's very best to drive me to the cliffs of insanity, leaving me sitting on the floor of not one, but two airports with my head in my hands, trying hard not to bawl. We ended up stranded in Atlanta overnight, re-routed in a wholly irrational way, and literally running at full speed through the Baltimore (Baltimore, yes, Baltimore) airport so as not to miss our (new! re-routed!) connecting flight, and arriving at the airport in Detroit fully 22 hours after we were supposed to, only to find that, not only had Delta lost our luggage, but they made a valiant effort to deny that some of our luggage even existed. That was...not ideal.

I declared that I was never going to get on another Delta flight as long as I lived, but then I remembered that we had already booked a flight to Husband's brother's wedding in Seattle, which includes a plan to spend some time in Oregon visiting Groucho's Family, so I guess I probably will get back on a Delta flight.

4. My husband ran his second marathon in a storm of wind and freezing rain, immediately after which he declared that he had, "never felt so awful in his entire life." Four hours later he was discussing when he would run his next one. Runners are masochists, apparently.

5. Work is busy. Like, completely, insanely, "can't catch my breath, feel like I'm drowning in paper" - busy. There are a lot of attorneys who don't have enough work right now, so I'm not complaining, I'm just...expressing my feelings that there aren't enough hours in the day.

6. My new cat is on a quest to keep me from sleeping more than three hours at a time. I feel a little like I'm living with a newborn, except one who meows and licks and my face a lot.

7. My old cat is very sick. He's been hospitalized two nights this week. He is 15 years old, and he seems to have a sinus infection. Also, the vet suggests he is a grieving the loss of our cat who died just before Christmas. (They had been companions for more than 12 years, so...the vet might be right about that.) I'm very worried about my little guy.

8. In about 10 days my son is going to be finished with elementary school and moving up to the big junior high school and I'm a bit...sad, nostalgic, worried about the whole thing. Junior high was pretty much the three very worst, wretched, horrifying years of my entire life, and I am hoping that he will have a much better time than I did.

I'm hoping to be back here and writing more frequently.

* Patty Griffin, Mother of God

I want to tell you about my Husband

2011-03-22T14:12:00.002-04:00

Warning - I'm about to get all political, which I don't usually do. But politics is hitting too close to home for me to keep quiet about this anymore.

*****************************************************************

There are any number of things happening in the world that make me want to crawl back under the covers and pretend the world isn't turning outside...the earthquake, the tsunami, the nuclear problem (all happening in a place I once called home, which, well, see my previous post); the new war in Libya (look, we've spent eleventy-gazillion dollars fighting wars in the middle east, only one of which (Afghanistan) did we have any business whatsoever getting involved in.)

I'm very seriously thinking of becoming a Quaker. That might seem like a non-sequitor. It's not.

But the thing that is making me the most upset, because it is affecting me most personally, is the idea that seems to have sprung suddenly, and out of no where, that public school teachers are Public Enemy Number One.

I don't usually get political on this blog, but this isn't politics to me. You talk smack about public school teachers, you are talking smack about a man I happen to be very much in love with.

So today, I want to tell you about my Husband.

My husband gets up at 5:45 every morning, so that he can be at school by 7:00 AM. If he doesn't have a meeting, he leaves school at 3:00 PM. If he has a meeting, he might not leave until 3:45PM.

He has 22 minutes for lunch. 22 MINUTES. It takes him 3 minutes to walk to teacher's lounge, so, really, he has 16 minutes.

My husband gets home in time to meet our kids as they get off the bus at 4:00 PM, and he helps them with their homework.

After dinner, my husband grades papers. He teaches English and Science, and between the two, there are many, many nights and weekend afternoons and early mornings where he grades papers for three hours. Many of these papers, based on the indecipherable handwriting I have personally observed, appear to have been written by a right handed lemur writing with his left hand, possibly with his left hand encased in a cast.

During the summer, he is required to use his own money to pursue a Master's Degree. If he doesn't work towards a Master's Degree, (and after his M.A. he will have to pursue continuing education) - his teaching certification will not be renewed. During his other free time, when he isn't grading papers or working on continuing education, he must put together lesson plans and curriculum plans. (Because the district he works in doesn't have a curriculum director.)

So, let's see, 7:00 AM to 3:00 PM is 8 hours...plus 2 to 3 hours per night, let's say 10.5 hours per day. And probably six hours per weekend. So, let's say, conservatively, that he works 10 hours per day on the 187 days per year he is contracted to work - that's 1870 hours. Then let's say, also conservatively, that he works 6 hours per weekend, approximately 30 weekends per year. That's another 180 hours. And let's not forget the hours he must put in during the summer, on his own dime, towards his Master's Degree, and putting together lesson plans and curriculum, so, again let's say, conservatively, 10 hours per week during the 10 weeks he has "off" in the summer. That's another 100 hours. Add those up? 2150 HOURS. Guess who has a FULL TIME JOB? MY HUSBAND. Full time and then some. SO PLEASE - stop screaming that teachers don't have full time jobs. It makes my head want to explode.

My husband's job is teach 16-17 year olds enough chemistry and physics and geology that they have a working knowledge of these things. It's also his job, as an English teacher, to teach them how write in an intelligible way.

Special education has been phased out in his district, so, among his students are several severely learning disabled students, and also some who don't speak English as their first language.

He has some students who has to remind, over and over and over again, to stop hurting themselves in the middle of class, and to not eat the chemicals that are part of the labs.

In spite of these challenges, my Husband is GOOD at what he does. He is a good teacher. He is good at helping children understand difficult concepts. If you ask him what part he loves about being a teacher, he will tell you it is the time when his door is closed and his class is full and he is teaching his kids. If you ask him why he became a teacher, well, that's a very personal story, and it's not mine to tell. But I can tell you that his reasons were compelling. He might have gone to medical school, or he might have become an engineer, but he chose to become a teacher because that's what he cared about.

He is not a miracle worker.

He is not a social worker or a psychiatrist but he is expected to act in these capacities as well.

The fact that his union has asked for him to be paid a living wage and for him to receive health insurance (for which we DO pay a portion) - is not him "fighting for things he doesn't deserve". (Thank you very much (NOT!), FOX contributor Tracy Byrnes, you horrible, wretched two-faced, abominable, low down shameful talking head, for that ridiculous assessment of what teachers are concerned about.) (In case you missed it, you can see Jon Stewart's piece here.)

My husband is not the enemy. My husband is teaching children how to understand chemistry.

Please - get off his back and let him do his job.

LM

World Turned Upside Down

2011-03-12T08:28:00.003-05:00

One afternoon when I was 24 years old, I left my office on the 4th floor of a five story building in Hitachi City, Japan. I was on my lunch break, and I walked to a department store called Isejin to get something to eat. (Department stores are probably not good lunch choices here in the US, but in Japan, at the time at least, the bottom floor of a department store was likely to have a grocery, a ramen noodle stand, and a bakery.)

When I returned to my office building after lunch, I walked into the elevator, hitting the button for the 4th floor, and the elevator began to rise, and then...

The elevator stopped, and the lights went out, and the elevator car began to shake violently, and it tilted for one brief and horrible moment, smacking against the walls of the elevator shaft.

I clung to the railing inside the elevator and I was pretty sure I was going to die.

Seconds passed. I don't know how many. It felt like a lot, but it was less than 2 minutes.

The lights came back on, and the elevator continued its ascent. When the doors opened, three of my co-workers were standing in the vestibule, staring at the elevator. (I believe they had been standing in the door frame between our office and the lobby, seeking the soundest structural place to wait out the earthquake, and then they stayed there when the realized the elevator was moving and someone must have been stuck inside during the earthquake.)

I stumbled out of the elevator and grabbed my friend Riyako's hand. She squeezed my hand back. "Jishin," she said, her eyes wide. Yes. Earthquake.

I took the stairs for the next four months.

I experienced a few more earthquakes during the time I lived in Japan, and while only one was anywhere near as frightening as those moments in the elevator, they still scared the crap out of me. (My husband slept through that one, he has no memory of me dragging him by the hand to stand in doorway of our apartment building in the middle of the night, or of watching the lamp hanging from our kitchen ceiling sway back and forth.) (I wish I did not have that memory myself.)

There is something indescribably terrifying about what happens during an earthquake - that the ground, the earth, the very thing that is supposed to be IMMOBILE and SOLID and RELIABLE, is shaking violently. There really isn't anything to hold onto when the ground beneath your feet begins to tremble. So you pray that it passes, and that it's small and that it isn't "the big one".

When I turned on my phone yesterday morning, there were two emails at the top of my inbox, one from our friend Keiko and another from our friend Miho. Both were short, "I am okay."

But you have two emails from two Japanese people that you hear from a few times a year, both saying, "Hey, I'm okay." You KNOW something bad happened.

The images and news stories are horrifying and I cannot wrap my head around it. Trains? NOT RUNNING? IN JAPAN THE TRAINS ARE NOT RUNNING? If you've never been to Japan, the gravity of this statement might be lost on you. I cannot even begin to describe the Japanese rail system in a single blog post, but the adjectives generally used to describe it are "precise" and "punctual" and "efficient" and "reliable" and "like clockwork".

If you get on a train in Tokyo, and the schedule says it will stop in Sendai at 4:17 PM, it WILL stop in Sendai at 4:17 exactly. They are not late, they do not fail to arrive. It is admirable, this efficiency. And the Japanese people rely on these trains. They are used by TENS OF MILLIONS OF PEOPLE every day.

So to hear that they ARE NOT RUNNING and that FOUR OF THEM ARE MISSING - (FOUR TRAINS ARE MISSING. MISSING!!) - I cannot even begin to fathom the chaos.

I have had to stop watching the footage coming out of Japan. Because while I know that Keiko and Miho are okay - so many others, so many other people I cared about and have lost touch with - I don't know.

We've lived less than a mile from the beach on the Pacific Ocean, south of Sendai, north of Tokyo...I don't imagine that area could possibly have come through this unscathed.

LM

The Mystery of the Yellow Gatorade, Explained

2011-02-21T13:48:00.002-05:00

I realized in my last post that I didn't add my mother-in-law's postscript to the Yellow Gatorade Mystery. :-)

I didn't have the answer to this mystery myself, until a few months after Gabriel was born, when I remembered to ask her about it.

But the answer is that my mother-in-law and father-in-law had had the flu themselves a few weeks earlier, and her friend had brought her some yellow Gatorade and my in-laws felt much better after they started drinking it. Eleven years later and I can assure you that there hasn't been a day that we haven't had at least one bottle of Gatorade in the pantry, for flu emergencies. :-)

My mother-in-law maintains to this day that the yellow kind is the best for post-flu. I sincerely think this has to do with the fact that the yellow is less likely to stain than the orange or the red or the blue, if, you know...well, if it makes a reappearance all over your living room carpet.

In Which I Take a Walk Down Memory Lane

2011-02-18T14:37:00.002-05:00

Have I told you this story before? If so, bear with me and treat me like your dotty old aunt who tells the same story over and over so you nod politely and smile...and wish you could spike her holiday eggnog so she would just shut up and fall asleep on the couch. Er, or something like that.

Eleven years ago - February 18, 2000 - was also a Friday. (Question - is this true of any date at any given time? Is eleven years the number of years at which a calendar will be exactly the same? Or does it vary depending on how many leap year periods have been in any given eleven year period of time? I don't know.)

At any rate, February 18, 2000 was a Friday.

I was a gazillion months pregnant. (OK, maybe I was only nine months pregnant. But it FELT like a gazillion months pregnant.)

I was really OVER being pregnant. My back hurt, my feet hurt, everything hurt. I had to pee every 3 seconds.

Despite the generally achey-ness of my condition, I worked fiendishly that day - I had a weird, manic energy and a compulsion to finish EVERYTHING on my desk.

I wasn't a lawyer then. I was a "research specialist" - a job that involved crunching data from the US Census, and researching whatever odd or bizarre questions that came up in the process of doing consumer research. (When I interviewed for that job, the man who would later be my boss said, "I need someone who I can call in here and say, "How many Chihuahuas are there in Boston?" and by the end of the day they would either know or present a model for finding out. Can you be that person for me?" And the answer was, yes, yes, I could. I actually really liked that job, and I was good at it. But I didn't see myself counting Chihuahuas or crunching census data for the rest of my life.)

As I prepared to leave for the day, I wrote a clear list about what things needed to be accomplished the next week - not something that was usual for me. (I tend to keep lists in my head rather than on paper, especially at that (pre-child) point of my life.) But that evening, I knew I needed to write everything down, secretly hoping that I would not be there on Monday and that the note would assist my co-workers. (God forbid there should be a Chihuahua counting crisis in my absence.)

I waddled out to my car, and it was already dark. Husband had telephoned me when he got home from school (as was his habit and is still his habit today), and told me he didn't feel well. I told him I didn't feel well either, what with the baby feet grinding in my ribcage and all.

When I walked in the door I knew something was wrong, because Husband was ASLEEP on the couch at 7:00 PM in his PAJAMAS.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen my husband in pajamas before bedtime. While I may prefer to pass entire weekends in my pjs, Husband is not that kind of peron. Nor does he nap. Ever.

So to come home and find him napping and be-jamma-ed...something was up.

And the thing that was UP was his TEMPERATURE.

Husband normally runs a temp of around 96 to 97 degrees. He's cold blooded or something.

But eleven years ago tonight, he had a fever of 102 and climbing.

When I woke him up he barfed.

This was not good news, because all during my drive home, I was having pain in my lower back. I was beginning to think I was in labor.

Have I mentioned that I was a horrible pregnant person? Because I was. really. wretched. Cranky. Petulant. Pouty.

Whilst Husband was tossing his cookies again, the phone rang. It was my mother-in-law. I told her what was going on with her son.

My mother-in-law said, with a conviction in her voice that implied her next statement had years of empirical data behind it, said, "He needs Gatorade. The yellow kind. Do you have any?"

No, of course we did not have any yellow Gatorade, because Gatorade was not something we ever had at our house.

I told her so.

"He needs some," she said. "Call one of your sisters to see if they will bring you some."

(It should be noted that my mother-in-law did not bring me the Gatorade herself because she two hours away, and she did not want me to go out and get the Gatorade because she was also convinced I was about to give birth.)

I hung up with my mother-in-law and told Husband I was going to the store to get him some Gatorade. He was laying on the couch again in a feverish lump. He mumbled something about not wanting me to go out. I went anyway.

(Both of my sisters and my mother lived on the other side of town. There was a grocery store at the end of our street. It seemed silly to call my sister to drive across town to bring Gatorade.)

Have I mentioned that it was snowing?

No?

It was.

SNOWING HEAVILY.

It was snowing like our city was competing for a chance to host the Winter Olympics.

I went outside and brushed all the snow off of my car that had accumulated in the time since I got home from work. I drove to the grocery store, my car slipping all over the road.

I waddled/skated/slid into the grocery store, where I wandered the aisles fruitlessly - unable to find Gatorade or a human being working there.

I also determined that I was hungry. STARVING, in fact. Ravenous. And I had a craving.

A ridiculous craving. I wanted a Wolfgang Puck BBQ Chicken Pizza. Why? I don't have ANY IDEA. But I wanted one, desperately.

I toddled over to the frozen foods and stood there, staring sadly at the collection of frozen pizzas. I can assure you that there was no BBQ Chicken pizza option there.

I left the frozen food aisle and stumbled upon a teen-aged boy stocking shelves.

"Where is the Gatorade?" I asked him.

HE DIDN'T KNOW.

WHAT KIND OF TEENAGE BOY WORKING AT A GROCERY STORE DOESN'T KNOW WHERE THE GATORADE IS?

He wandered with me, and we ultimately found the Gatorade over in the produce section. WHY? I still don't even know. I bought the last two bottles of yellow Gatorade and realized I was still hungry.

And there was still no BBQ Chicken pizza in the frozen food aisle.

I decided (?? WHY ??) that a can of Chef BoyRDee Spaghetti and Meatballs would suffice. A product I had not consumed since I was a child. But I wasn't about to argue with my very pregnant self. The baby wanted BBQ Chicken Pizza and I couldn't deliver. So the baby wanted canned meatballs. Who was I to quibble?

I slipped in the parking lot walking to my car and I really thought I was going to fall down and end up giving birth, alone and frozen, in a snow drift in the parking lot of a poorly stocked grocery store.

I somehow regained my balance and lurched into my car, driving home at about 5 miles per hour, since visibility was minimal.

When I walked in the door, my husband was on the phone with my mother. They were hatching a plan to start calling both the hospital and the grocery store, concerned that I had actually gone into labor while on the hunt for yellow Gatorade.

He was so relieved to see me he threw up again.

I got him some Gatorade, and I ate some canned spaghetti product.

We both fell asleep.

At some point, in the middle of the night, Husband's temperature spiked to 104.

I think I gave him some ibuprofen. A few hours later his temp was 95.

I probably should have taken him to the ER.

In fact, I think I definitely should have taken him to the ER, since a temperature swing of eight degrees in a few hours is really not normal in a human being. I think. I mean, I'm not a medical professional, but that seems wrong to me.

But I didn't take him to the ER. I went back to sleep and so did he. And we slept all day and all night Saturday.

Little did we know that was the last uninterrupted sleep we would have for about three years, because by Sunday night, Husband was feeling much better (and he confessed that his mother had never ever once, not a single time, in his childhood, given him yellow Gatorade to recover from the flu) and I was very definitely about to deliver the sleepless little man who has been making me laugh and keeping me awake for the last eleven years....

LM

Eminem and Chrysler's Curious and Compelling Love Song to Detroit

2011-02-07T11:11:00.003-05:00

If you were watching the Super Bowl last night, you may have noticed this ad.

If you were watching the Super Bowl in the general geographic region where I was watching the Super Bowl last night (confession - I was watching the ads, and eating and chatting during the game) - this ad probably made you sit up and take notice.

We were watching with two other families, and the room mostly went silent when the underlying music (the bass line of Eminem's "Lose Yourself") began, and the screen panned over the Detroit Institute of Art's magnificent Diego Rivera murals.

I'll admit I was glued to the screen.

I wasn't sure what the ad was for, and even when the end revealed the ad was for Chrysler, this was so much less about a car to me, than it was about a city that has, indeed, "been to hell and back". (And I'm not entirely convinced it's "back". Yet.)

I spent a good portion of my childhood playing in my grandparent's back yard. In Detroit. Not suburban Detroit - but Detroit proper. Twenty-five years ago, it was a neighborhood in Detroit where pre-teen girls could safely walk to the corner grocery to get milk and lunch meat.

Last week, in that same neighborhood, somebody stole ALL FOUR TIRES off of my aunt's car. (Not just the hubcaps. THE TIRES. They left the car sitting on bricks.)

(And yes, a part of me wonders why they didn't just steal the whole car.)

I'm torn about Detroit - a city that dominates the area where I live, and yet which seems to be crumbling into chaos.

I'm weirdly grateful to Chrysler for putting this ad together - for saying, I think - "We have an ability here - here in the Midwest, here in America, here in Detroit - to make some amazing machinery. Don't give up on us yet."

On the other hand...I still worry about my aunt and my grandmother, and I worry that next time, it won't just be the car that loses something.

LM

...and my cat is HUGE*

2011-01-25T11:16:00.000-05:00

Random things in random order because I'm not feeling like organizing my thoughts today:

Work is extremely crazy stressful right now, for a variety of reasons, most of them involving stuff I can't discuss

I've started taking a belly dancing class, which I am enjoying very much. However, I am sore in places I didn't know I had.

I am completely horrified by this story involving a woman who was adopted by an American family at the age of 8 months. She is now facing deporation because her American citizenship was never established. As the author of the story notes, the moral of the story is that adoptive parents have a responsibility to establish citizenship for their children before they turn 18.

I am wholly devoted to the TV show Burn Notice and the capers of Michael and Fi and Sam. This is keeping me on the treadmill, thank goodness.

After devouring the Hunger Games Trilogy and a disturbing novel called ROOM that everyone is buzzing about, I longed to read something sweet. As such, I picked up a copy of Anne of Green Gables at the library and I am loving the quaint coziness of it. The last time I read through the series was 1996, when Husband and I were living in Japan and the series was one of the few selections available in English at the library. I am finding it as charming as I did then (and before that as a 12 year old girl) although I will confess to the fact that I giggle inappropriately every time the author uses the word "ejaculate" to describe someone's speech. (I.e. "Anne, why did you do such a wicked thing? ejaculated Marilla." Totally approprirate for 1905, of course, and yet hilarious in 2011.)

We adopted a new cat at the end of December. He is HUGE. He is one of the tallest, longest, largest house cats I've ever seen. Much larger than a number of dogs we know. But he is so charming and has such an empathetic look on his face I can't help but love him. Also, he loves me devotedly, and has since the day we brought him home. His devotion to me is undeserved - Husband is the one who rescued him from the cat shelter - but he adores me just the same. I've not had an animal so enamored of me since my dog died. (The dog I had growing up, from the time I was 12.) I'm quite fond of him as well, so I will spam you with a photo:

The photo really doesn't give you an accurate feeling above how massive this cat is. But trust me when I say, he is HUGE.

*Christopher Moore, from his book Bloodsucking Fiends

Happy Familaversary to Us

2011-01-08T12:10:00.003-05:00

Four years ago today, on a humid day in Da Nang, in a small government office near the South China Sea, Lana became our daughter.

Bach Ho (aka Ho Chi Minh) observed the ceremony stoically.

There are probably lots of things I should say, about how that day was hard for all of us, most of all Lana, who lost everything she had ever known that day. About how the days that followed, the months that followed, were painful and difficult and frustrating, and that it was a long time before we felt like a normal family.

I'm not feeling particularly wordy or thoughtful this morning, though.

Right now, I am sitting in our living room, cuddled with our new cat, watching both of my children play a game together.

Last night we went out to dinner to celebrate, at one of those Benihana style teppanyaki restaurants. (Because nothing says 'commemorate an adoption from Vietnam' like dinner at a Korean owned Japanese restaurant.) (Yes, I'm making fun of myself.)

Today we are all going to see Tangled, and tomorrow we'll go ice-skating, and right now, in this moment, I don't feel like we're a normal family. But I do feel like we're a happy one.

LM

The End of the World as We Know It?

2011-01-06T14:40:00.002-05:00

I have to admit, I'm a little weirded out by the combination of the following things:

1. Dead birds falling from the Arkansas Sky

2. Dead crabs washing ashore in Britain

3. Dead fish in Chesapeake Bay

4. The Detroit Lions winning FOUR GAMES in a row

So, Internets...is the end of the world upon us?

(Obviously I'm *mostly* kidding, but...those first three things ARE freaking me out a bit.)

LM

Just Be Here Now, Forget About the Past*

2011-01-01T21:50:00.002-05:00

Happy 2011!

I said goodbye to 2010 in the company of Husband and Gabriel and Lana and two of my siblings and my mother and step-father. We laughed, we ate too much, we played board games, and at ten o'clock I tried to convince everyone to celebrate the New Year on Buenos Aires time, because I didn't think I was going to make it to midnight.

I did manage to stay up to midnight (just barely) and share kisses and glass of champagne and fell asleep with high hopes for a shiny new year with no mistakes in it yet.

2010 began in fear and worry and anxiety about J~, and quickly spiraled into devastation and grief.

Grief and sadness were the primary emotions of 2010 - and I cannot say I'm sad to say good-bye to it.

I'm making resolutions, despite having never had much success with them in the past. Want to know what they are?

In 2011 I'm going to:

1. drink more water
2. eat more fruits and vegetables
3. get back on the treadmill three times a week (right now I'm only doing once or twice)
4. be a more appreciative spouse
5. read more to my daughter
6. do only one thing at a time (this is a big thing I need to work on, particularly at work, where I tend to take out 12 files at once and then wonder why I feel overwhelmed - so, I need to finish one thing before transferring my attention to something else. I honestly think I will get more done this way.)

We had a lovely and lazy New Year's Day - I slept in until 10:00 AM, had a Bloody Mary with my neighbors, and had Ella's Family over for a cheese and chocolate fondue feast.

Oh, I also made some kick-ass black-eyed peas, if I do say so myself. I was walking through the grocery store yesterday afternoon, and I saw a sign that said, "Don't forget the black-eyed peas to start your New Year right!" and I thought, "Well, I didn't eat any black-eyed peas last New Year's, and that year sure sucked" so I bought a bag of dried black-eyed peas - to ward off bad luck, etc.

Then I spent some time trying to find a black-eyed pea recipe that would taste like the black-eyed peas of my childhood, made by my great-grandma, who made them with lard and bacon, and none of the recipes sounded right to me, even the ones that called for lard and/or bacon.

Lacking both lard and bacon and a decent recipe, I improvised my own recipe, and it goes like this:

Lawmommy's Wholly Non-specific Recipe for Really Awesome New Year's Day Black Eyed Peas

1. Soak a 1 lb bag of dried black eyed peas overnight (this is really an important step, and yes, it's annoying cause it requires a day of planning ahead)
2. Drain the black eyed peas the next morning and set them aside
3. Chop up a bunch of left-over Christmas ham (I had about a cup and half of left-over smoked ham)
4. Chop up a bunch of carrots, onions, celery and garlic
5. Saute the chopped onions, carrots, onions, garlic and ham, add some olive oil because the ham probably doesn't have enough fat to saute everything properly
6. Saute these things until the onion is translucent-ish
7. Add the peas to the pan, and saute them for a while with the vegetables and ham.
8. pour about four or five cups of chicken stock** over the peas and veggies and ham (enough to just cover everything.)
9. Bring to a boil for a few minutes
10. Reduce heat to simmer and simmer on the stove for a few hours (in our case, it took three hours before the pea started to smell "right" to me. I cannot describe what the "right" smell was exactly, but the peas started to smell like my great-grandmother's kitchen.)
11. Add salt to taste - enjoy. Yum.

I hope everyone had a safe and festive holiday. Hoping for better days in 2011.

LM

* Colin Hay, Waiting for My Real Life to Begin
** We have been making quite a bit of chicken stock at our house lately, because about once a week I buy one of those Rotisserie Chickens from Kroger. After we eat the chicken (usually having it for two dinners - one as just a rotisserie chicken meal, and the next day in an Indian simmer sauce or casserole of some sort) - we boil the chicken carcass and make stock. This stock is very useful for all kinds of things

Ghosts of Christmas Past

2010-12-16T09:48:00.003-05:00

I lost my mind a little bit last night.

Possibly, I lost my mind a LOT last night.

I'm not sure where to begin. This might be a lot of disjointed nonsense. I don't know.

Yesterday was our firm Christmas luncheon.

Our original plan for a firm Christmas party was much better - we were going to do something we'd never done before, namely, go out to see a movie together.

In years past, we often went to J~'s favorite restaurant for our Christmas lunch, because he was completely enamoured of their shrimp cocktail.

I thought that the plan to go see a movie was a good one - make a new tradition, do something unusual - do something that would not remind any of us of J~.

Our plan was foiled by the fact that the movie we had chosen isn't playing in our city until next month. (Thanks so much R*A*V*E *C*I*N*M*E*M*A*S and the stranglehold you have on my city. I so appreciate your monopoly and the way you insist on dictating what 5 or 6 movies you are going to play on the area's 50+ screens. I love you. NOT.)

So, it was decided that we would hold off on our movie outing and order in lunch for our Christmas luncheon.

As we did last year.

As we did last year because J~'s neuropathy from the chemotherapy made walking through the cold torture for him.

And last year, on the morning of our Christmas party, I had to take J~ to the ER (a story that deserves its own post), and in the ER, the realization that J~ wasn't going to beat the cancer hit me for the first time.

Yesterday morning I put on my fuzzy snowman sweater and jeans.

Yesterday afternoon I realized that I had worn that same snowman sweater on the day of last year's Christmas lunch, and I had worn it to the ER that morning with J~.

I didn't make that connection until about 4:00 in the afternoon.

Hours after the Christmas luncheon, I sat in my office in my snowman sweater and fought back the overwhelming urge to vomit, because I swear that, in the moment - as I realized that the sweater I was wearing was the same one I wore last year on that horrible morning - I could smell the ER in the sweater.

Which is ridiculous - the sweater had been washed and fabric-softened and there was no way it was still smelling of the fear and anger and frustration and rubbing alcohol and hospital cafeteria stench of the ER.

But at 4:00 yesterday afternoon, I probably would have sworn on J~'s grave that the sweater reeked of the hospital and I couldn't stand to have it next to my skin.

From 4:00 to 5:15 I worked maniacally, throwing myself into tasks that didn't take a lot of intellectual effort.

At 5:15 I drove home, avoiding thinking about that morning in the ER, fighting back tears.

When I walked in my house I discovered that my son's "State Project" - a project that his teacher had indicated would be completed at school - was due. This morning. And it was 90% not finished.

As I realized that my meager plans for the evening - dinner, walk on the treadmill, straighten the house, maybe watch Modern Family - were shot to hell by the necessity of making a huge project about New Mexico. The idea of staying up late, gluing and pasting and cajoling my son to just get the damn thing done - it was just too much to bear.

My head cracked open and a whole bunch of crazy spilled out.

I screamed. I cried. I hissed profanities about the teacher and the State of New Mexico.

I screeched at my son.

And then I tried to leave my house. I don't know where I thought I would go. (In my haste to rid my body of the stupid snowman sweater I was in purple sweatpants and a red t-shirt. I looked ridiculous.)

So, I just sat and cried for a while.

Which is not helpful, at all, in getting a project finished.

In the end, the project got done. Lana and I went to the grocery store. I walked on the treadmill.

Husband and Gabe did the whole project by themselves.

The kids were in bed by 10, only 1 hour late.

I sat in the tub with a glass of sweet red wine and re-lived that morning in the ER of one year ago.

I cried some more and felt like a total failure at pretty much everything.

I really thought I was starting to feel better. I really felt that the grief no longer had me in a stranglehold.

Last night the grief brought me to my knees and ripped me into tiny little pieces.

I'm not entirely sure how to put myself back together again.

LM

And we will ride until the sun, goes to the place where it begun

2010-12-02T11:06:00.004-05:00

We were driving through Detroit the other day, and a song came on the radio that slammed into my brain and demanded that I pay attention.

It took me a while to figure out what the song was.

But I found it, and it's amazing, and you should listen.

Michael Franti and Spearhead, Hey Hey Hey from their Album The Sound of Sunshine.

(I would prefer to link to the artist's own Youtube page for this page, but for some reason it is blocked in the US. I didn't make this video, and, as always, I support paying artists for their work, and I have purchased a legitimate copy of the song from Amazon.com.)

EDITED: I found a link to the artist's official page for the video: Michael Franti and Spearhead Official Hey Hey Hey Video

All Roads Lead Back to Tucson*

2010-11-29T14:47:00.003-05:00

One sweltering afternoon in August of 1994, I walked into the Tucson Humane Society, and told them I was looking for a cat.

I was living on my own for the first (and, so far, only) time in my life. My apartment complex didn't allow dogs, but they allow cats, if they were front de-clawed. (I was a graduate student living in a furnished apartment.)

For reasons I don't fully understand, I had my heart set on an orange cat.

So, when I walked into the kennel that day, I said, "I'm looking for an orange cat, front de-clawed, neutered."

The woman working was excited - because while I was describing a potential ideal cat, she thought I'd come looking for a particular cat.

In their possession was a orange tom cat, neutered, front de-clawed, who had been dropped off 7 days before.

His number was up, so to speak. It was his last day before he would be "put down".

So, when I walked in with such a particular request, they thought maybe his prior owner had had a change of heart.

$40 and some signatures later, I walked out with that tom cat.

His prior owners had relinquished him to the pound because he chewed on things on night and cried because he wasn't allowed to sleep with them.

I had no interest in keeping the cat out of my bedroom, so I wasn't concerned.

His prior owners had named him...and at this moment it seems important to remember what that name was. But I can't. I cannot remember what his name was before he came home with me. I do remember that I tried to call him that name and he didn't respond at all.

So I renamed him.

I declared his new name to be "Johnny" Nolan, but I never called him Johnny - just Nolan.

He was named after the character Johnny Nolan in the book A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which is my favorite book of all time.

Nolan rarely chewed on anything, provided he wasn't left alone too long and he was allowed to sleep in my bed.

A few months later, he took to Husband immediately, (even though he was Fiance and not Husband yet).

He was a smart cat, and a good mouser, and a flycatcher, too. (And he once caught a bat, but I really don't like to think about that day.)

He rode across the country in the back of my Ford Escort, sitting in a laundry basket, watching the cars on the road.

He could jump high, and liked to hang out on top of the refrigerator. He once stole a jalapeno from a pizza and rarely tried to get "people food" after that.

We tried to camp with him, once.

Cats, let it be known, do not like to camp.

When I adopted him on that sweltering August morning, the vet said he was "at least 1, but not more than 3 years old" - when means he was born sometime in 1991-1993. Which means, this morning, he was between 19 and 17 years old.

He was a big cat - at one point hitting 23 pounds.

He had been sick for about a year.

On the morning of J~'s death, he had a mini-seizure. I yelled at him, told him he was not allowed to die that day.

And he didn't.

This morning, at 12:45, he stood next to our bed and cried. I pulled him into bed and laid him between Husband and I, because that was where he liked to be - right next to Husband's head.

He slept so deeply that at 6:00 AM, we weren't sure he was still with us, but then he lifted his head sleepily, and yawned.

At 7:40, I put him down on the floor as I got dressed.

He fell over, his whole body shaking, and he was unable to stand.

I think he used all the energy he had in him to make it up our stairs in the middle of the night.

He tried to drag his body to his water dish with his front paws.

I called the vet.

I called the judge I was supposed to be in front of at 10AM.

The judge's clerk told me to go to the vet and that the judge would call me if he needed to talk to me.

I wrapped him in one of Gabriel's baby blankets and drove to the vet's office.

At 10:00 AM, in the vet's office, he mustered the last bits of strength he had and threw himself off the examination table and landed on his head. His whole body shook, and the vet and I gently put him back on the table, and she said he was hurting and there was only one thing she could do for him.

At 10:20 his face was peaceful and for the first time I realized that his muscles had been bunched up in pain for weeks.

As I held him, cradled in the baby blanket, as he slipped away, I thought how far my cat had come, and how far I have come with this cat always by my side. I wondered if he missed the desert where he had been born, I wondered where he went when his body went limp. I like to think he is with J~ now. Maybe they are both chasing lizards in some heavenly Sonoran canyon.

Rest in peace, old friend. He is missed.

* Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers, Americano

I've Got a Good Mother, and Her Voice Is What Keeps Me Here*

2010-11-23T14:13:00.004-05:00

Considering it's two days before Thanksgiving, and considering that I've not done the Facebook exercise of listing one thing I'm thankful for each day, I thought I'd list a few things I'm thankful for.

I'm thankful for:

...being married to my best friend
...my parents (all of them)
...having two children who make me laugh
...my siblings and the comfort of a shared history
....my friends
....the strange sense of satisfaction of playing FB Scrabble with friends (see above)
...having a job, especially one that, on occasion, let's me really make a difference for someone
...books and music and the library and well-done television and people who still make intelligent entertainment
....buying that extended warranty on my car
...chocolate
....rum

I'm sure there are other things, but those are the ones that come to mind.

This is a bittersweet holiday this year, and I worry that Christmas will be even more so. I'm trying to focus on making it special.

* Jann Arden, Good Mother

Still Standing

2010-11-22T14:19:00.002-05:00

I'm still here. It's been a while.

Hello? Is anybody out there?

Random bullet points because I'm not sure how to sum up everything on my mind in any other way.

We went to Chicago for the weekend because Husband and the kids had a day off of school. We went to the Museum of Science and Industry, and hung out with Husband's best friend/roommate/Fraternity brother from college. We also had the opportunity to meet the very charming Ordinary Time family for a delicious Vietnamese lunch. E and J's son TM was adopted from the same orphanage as Lana, through the same agency. They entered the orphanage around the same time, and must have been cared for there together for a period of time. They are only six days apart in age. I am hopeful that knowing another person who experienced almost the exact thing Lana experienced will be comforting to Lana. (For her part, Lana was remarkably quiet throughout lunch, although she was very happy to have Summer Rolls, which I have never successfully made for her and which are nearly impossible to find at restaurants near us.) I would have liked to have visited longer with E and her family, but we had arranged for Gabriel to spend the afternoon with Husband's friend (Gabe hates Vietnamese food, a subject that probably merits its own blog post) - and we needed to retrieve him in time for Husband's friend to teach a class.

Someone on the bus said a very rude thing to Lana that was grossly racist. I am very upset about the situation, but I feel the school has, at least at this point, responded appropriately. I resisted the urge to confront the other parents, because I was so upset I didn't think I would be helping the cause of tolerance and understanding by ranting and raving like an angry bear. Thoughts on what to do??

Lana turned 8. I find that, around the time of her birthday, she is very sensitive to adoption related worry and distress. A few nights ago, I got in my car to re-park it in the garage (it was too far over and Husband would not have been able to get his car in). Lana was in the kitchen and she and I were home alone. When she heard the car start, she flung the door open and started crying. I got out of the car and asked what was wrong, and she wrapped herself around me like a rubber band and cried that I was trying to leave her. For days, on either side of her birthday, she was almost manic with intense energy and clingy in the extreme. I am hoping that she will calm down a bit now.

I've just discovered The Hunger Games books by Suzanne Collins. I'm about 75% through Book 1 and I cannot put it down. So, so, so very good.

I've also just discovered the show Burn Notice. It has all the qualities that keep me coming back to the treadmill, which is precisely what I need in DVD television.

And...that's about all for now.

How does a duck know what direction south is? And how to tell his wife from all the other ducks?*

2010-10-23T18:07:00.003-04:00

We interrupt this story of grief and loss (and coffee drinking and international adoption) to talk about...agriculture and baking.

You're glued to the screen, aren't you?

There are occasionally some distinct advantages to being married to a guy who teaches teenagers whose parents are farmers.

For example, downstairs in my freezer there is 1/4 of what used to be a very happy cow. Well, I suppose, since it was a boy, it's the remains of what used to be a very happy steer? A very happy bull?

I'm pretty sure it was a steer. It was one of Husband's student's 4-H projects. It had a name and grazed openly and generally led a the blissful life of a cow (er, steer) that wanders around a open pasture. It wasn't locked in a barn with a thousand other cows being administered massive doses of antibiotics and goodness only knows what else.

And it was reasonably priced, all things considered. (Of course, buying part of a carefully raised 4-H steer does require that one has room to store a side of beef. And probably, if everyone decided they wanted a side of beef from a happy 4-H project, there wouldn't be enough to go around.) But, from my perspective, it's tasty, convenient, and I feel much better about it than I do buying meat from the supermarket.

We also have a line on some happy chickens and some happy pork. (Well, I suppose the pork won't be happy. The pig it used to be? It was happy.)

But, actually, this post isn't about community supported agriculture or happy cows.

This post is about ducks.

Duck eggs, in particular.

Recently, we obtained a dozen duck eggs from one of Husband's students.

I was dubious at first.

I wasn't sure what to do with them, and so I googled, "cooking with duck eggs".

And the Internet responded with enthusiasm - BAKE WITH THEM!!!

And while I will be the first to concede that the Internet isn't always right, today I am here to tell you - baking with duck eggs is the bomb.

In the past 24 hours, I've made muffins, cookies, and french toast. The french toast, in particular, was amazing. The muffins and cookies have a really rich taste and the muffins rose really well. (I understand this is because duck eggs are higher in both fat and protein.)

I was so impressed that I asked Husband to get MORE duck eggs from his student.

And then I made the mistake of googling, "buying duck eggs" - and, apparently, duck eggs can be crazy expensive.

So, while I would not say that it would be worth paying $50 for 18 eggs...I would say that, should anyone ever offer you duck eggs at roughly the same cost as chicken eggs? But them. And bake something delicious.

One caveat - the shell of a duck egg is much harder than the shell of a chicken egg - break them into a separate bowl rather than breaking them over the rest of your ingredients, or you will find yourself with a lot of shell in your muffin mix.

Bon Appetit.

LM

* Crash Test Dummies, How Does a Duck Know?

Some Days I'm Bursting at the Seams With All My Half-Remembered Dreams*

2010-10-18T14:22:00.003-04:00

I've been having the most vivid dreams lately.

~

I dream the ponds behind our house are flooding, flooding our pool and subsequently our home. Gigantic catfish, bigger than actual cats, float through my living room.

~

I dream that I am running, faster and faster. The ground beneath my feet is the softest grass, and I am barefoot and I feel exhilarated, like I could run forever, like I want to run forever, barefoot on this silky meadow.

~

I dream that J- walks into my office, wearing his burgundy sweater and khaki pants. "Hey," he says. "How ya' doin'?"

I spin in my chair, surprised to see him. I have one of those moments of spooky clarity, where I know I'm dreaming. I have not dreamed of J- since before his death.

"You died," I say. "And it SUCKED. Don't do that again."

"Yeah," he agrees. "That sucked."

~

The next night I dream of J- again. He is sitting in my living room, which, in reality, now holds J-s last beloved leather lazy boy, recently moved from my J- and my aunt's home**.

In my dream, the lazy boy is conspicuously absent, and he sits in the chair he always sat in, when he sat in my living room.

He is holding our ancient orange cat on his lap, stroking his back, scratching his ears.

Again, he is wearing his burgundy sweater. Again, with the spooky moment of clarity, the realization of a dream state.

I want to ask him why he keeps wearing this burgundy sweater. I want to ask him where he is now. I say nothing.

He keeps petting the cat. "I'm going to have to take him with me when I go," he says.

"I know," I say.

~

When I woke up that morning, I went searching for the cat. He was hard to find, and his breathing was shallow. He was curled beneath one of the couches in the living room.

That was four days ago. Every day since I have been shocked to find him still with us.

He is (probably) 18, perhaps 19. He's been with us since 1994. His days are dwindling down. I am comforted by the idea that J- will take him to the other side...which is probably where the dream came from. Probably.

LM

*David Gray, Ain't No Love
** Having the chair in her living room was too painful for my aunt, and she asked us to take it.

A door that leads to light and grace, But the keys are in the darkest place*

2010-10-06T17:11:00.000-04:00

At the library the other day I ran into an old friend browsing through the mystery stacks.

Lavender** is old enough to be my grandmother, but once upon a time we were close. Our church had matched us up together in a small dinner group called "Tables of 8", and she and I hit it off, the way friends of wholly disparate ages sometimes do.

I was not lacking in grandmotherly attention, but I liked Lavender and I enjoyed her company. I also was a devotee of her baked goods, particularly an item she called "Chocolate Sin Pie."

About five years ago Lavender's husband passed away, and I hadn't seen her since.

I'll admit that we have not made it to church very often since we brought Lana home. (Lana, a child who loves to sleep, is never awake on Sundays in time to make the family service. It's a completely alien concept to me, to wake a sleeping child, and I'll admit that I love to sleep in on Sundays as well, and dawdle over coffee and the paper. But I do miss the comfort of our church services*** and I'm trying to find a solution.)

At any rate, I approached her and said, "Lavender? I haven't seen you in years!" and she blushed.

"I've been going to St. Tim's," she said.

I laughed at the idea that she thought I might be questioning her about her absence from the pews at St. Paul's when I have so rarely been found sitting in them myself.

"How are you?" she asked me. And for reasons I don't entirely understand, I told her that I was sad, that I was not dealing with "a situation of grieving" very well.

"Do you want to sit down?" she asked me.

We found two comfy chairs in a corner of the library, and we talked for almost an hour. About grief. About J~. About her late husband. About how important it is to let the tears out.

We talked about how, the spring that Gabe was a tiny, sleepless baby, I would find myself at our church's Lenten potluck dinners, exhausted and worn to pieces. Lavender would come and hold him, so that I could eat something and drink a cup of coffee and talk to grown-ups. We talked about how those hours meant so much to me, and how it was comforting for her, to hold a tiny happy baby for a while. Lavender called it "mutually beneficial baby wrangling".

As it happens, since her husband's death, Lavender has been volunteering as a hospice bereavement counselor.

After that hour spent talking with her, I felt...well, I felt exhausted, but I also felt a real sense of peace. A sense of peace I haven't found in all the time I've spent talking to my grief counselor.

Which is not to say that there's anything wrong with my grief counselor...I think it's probably a matter of there being a real value in having real, meaningful conversations with people who know your history, and who understand where you've come from, and who simply "get" you.

Or maybe it was just Lavender herself. Some people are just special that way.

LM

* Pat Green, I'm Trying to Find It
The whole lyric I wanted to use (although it was too long for the title) was:

A door that leads to light and grace
But the keys are in the darkest place
Though it feels like I've been there before
Though I don't know what I'm looking for
And I'm trying to find it

** Not her actual name, although her actual name is equally unique

*** Let us not delve, at this moment, into the complexities that arise when one is the daughter of a clergy person from one denomination who has chosen to (albeit sporadically) attend services at the church of another denomination. Suffice it to say my clergy mother (mostly) understands our decision.

Here Where You Were, There's Just a Shadow of Wings from a Disappearing Bird*

2010-09-17T15:17:00.002-04:00

Hello? Anybody out there?

I didn't mean to disappear for a month.

I just...didn't have much to say.

And typing, "I'm sad" a gazillion times doesn't seem very entertaining.

I've started a few posts. The one entitled, "I'm gasping for the air to fill my lungs with everything I've lost" was particularly morose. I'll spare you. (Although the song is good - Snow Patrol, so good for the emo in all of us.)

Yesterday my grief counselor told me I should write...that it would be helpful to write things down in a journal, that it would be helpful to write a letter to J~.

I'm not sure what I want to say. "Dear J~. I miss you. I'm a mess. Love, Me."

Two days ago I walked into his office to find that someone had left a message on his voicemail.

I dialed into our voicemail system to figure out who had called him. Unexpectedly, J~'s voice filled my ear.

"This is J~, I can't take your call right now, please leave a short message and your phone number and I'll call you back."

He sounded so...alive.

Of course he sounded alive, he was alive when he recorded it.

Dead men don't return phone calls.

For a second it struck me as absurd. How is it even possible that he recorded that message, that the message exists now when he does not? I think I had a moment of existential crisis.

***********************

On the window ledge outside J~'s office are the bones and feet of some small creature, a mouse or a vole, probably. Proof positive that J~'s bird has been there recently.

J~ used to say that he would be working in his office and suddenly have an overwhelming sensation that he was being watched. He would look up at the window and a falcon - a creature he came to refer to as "my bird" - would be there, staring in.

He was uncommonly fond of his bird, despite the gory messes it left on the window ledge.

I haven't seen the falcon since J~'s death. I only see the remains it leaves behind.

I like to think that the falcon misses him, that it returns to the window, ever hopeful to find he has returned. There is no way to explain cancer to a bird.

I find myself trying to move forward. Baby steps. I vacillate between anger and tears, anger and tears, anger and tears. But there are lots of other moments - hours and minutes that are not filled with anger or tears.

Maybe it's those times that aren't filled with grief that make the times when the grief arrives and smacks me in the side of the head seem that much more painful.

* David Broza, Here Where You Were

Away Laughing on the Laughingest Camel

2010-08-18T13:54:00.002-04:00

The hilarious snark machine that is Tom & Lorenzo had me in stitches this afternoon with their hilarious take on the national costumes on display at the Miss Universe Pageant.

(Here's a tip - don't try to drink Diet Coke while reading TLo's commentary on the dresses.)

Miss Universe 2010 National Costumes Part 1

Miss Universe 2010 National Costumes Part 2

I empty drawers of other summers, Where my shadows used to be

2010-08-16T10:40:00.002-04:00

Last night, as I was contemplating what word to play in a Scrabble game on Facebook, an instant message popped up from an old friend.

"How's your summer?" he asked.

After a moment I typed back, "It's been...weird. How about you?"

He told me about a summer trip and I chatted with him, amicably, about the Ozarks.

I did not mention that grief had run over my soul and my summer like a freight train.

Facebook is nice, in that it can connect with old friends from your past.

But in my head, this old friend is still a boy who took me to a dance in a silly purple dress, and who stayed up all night, once, helping me study for a test.

And in his head, I am certain, I am still that girl in that purple dress, who had nothing more to worry about than what grade she was going to get on her World Geography exam.

Maybe the girl in the purple dress is still in here, somewhere. If she is, she is buried under a mountain of black fabric.

I should have taken some time off after J~ died. It wasn't practical, or possible, really.

When your boss dies, even if he happens to be family, it's not really feasible to walk away from work.

Last night, at the dinner table, my husband made me laugh. Actually, it was a combination of my husband and my cat, but the laughter poured out of me like water.

It felt good to laugh like that - to laugh at something real.

I've been watching a lot of funny television (a friend recommend Hot in Cleveland, which is hilarious.) And a few weeks ago, Husband and I went to a comedy club in Cleveland to see a very funny guy.

So, I won't say I haven't been laughing, because I have been. I have been actively seeking out things that will make me laugh.

But the spontaneous laughter, at the antics of Husband and our small auxiliary cat, it's been a while since I laughed like that.

It felt good. I wish I could say that it washed the grief from my soul. Maybe it did, a little bit.

But the truth is that I am still not okay.

I became furious with my sister the other day. The thing my sister did was, probably, infuriating, but my reaction to the thing that she did was out of proportion to her action.

I've yelled at Husband for things that are not his fault.

I said something to a defendant in court the other day that was...cruel. The thing that I said was true, but I was cruel, deliberately cruel. As it came out of my mouth, I knew that the thing I said would have made J~ upset with me. It was not something he would have ever done. I had to excuse myself and I walked into the ladies' room for a few minutes. When I returned, I apologized, to the defendant, to the judge, to the judge's clerk. The settlement conference continued. As I was leaving the courtroom, the judge touched my arm. "We all know what you've lost," she said. She was kind to me when I had just been wretched in front of her. Her kindness in that moment was invaluable.

All of these instances, taken together, and it dawns on me that I am angry.

Angry at the universe and the circumstances and the cancer and the doctors. Angry, maybe a little, with J~ himself. Is it wrong to be angry with him for leaving us?

I don't know. I don't have any answers. All I know is the only way to go from here is up. Because what is down a crater of anger and despair and I don't think that is good place to spend what's left of the summer.

LM

*Counting Crows, Hard Candy

To unlock a truth that you may never find, For it was in a cup of kindness all the time

2010-08-04T15:45:00.002-04:00

I read two articles this morning about mothering.

The first one involves a study of working mothers and is found here: Do Working Mothers Really Still Need to Justify Themselves?

The second is a post by Julie at A Little Pregnant, regarding World Breastfeeding Week. Her post is called Breastfeeding is awesome. There. I've Encouraged You.

I know that working mothers and breastfeeding are not the same topic, but what they do have in common is that they are both hot and touchy topics.

When I first pregnant with Gabriel, way back in 1999, I spent a lot of time reading the parenting discussion boards at babycenter.com. I don't think those forums exist anymore, at least in the way they did then. What I found both shocking and upsetting was how ugly an argument could get on the Internet. There were very personal attacks and there were several times, just during my pregnancy, where the moderators of BabyCenter threatened to shut down the "Great Debates" discussion forum.

I wasted a lot of time on those boards.

I mean that. I wasted a lot of time. I spent a lot of time defending my own decision to work and watching the wretched sparring match that would go on between formula feeders and breast feeders.

What was the point of all of those hours wasted? To the extent they had any bearing on my real life or real choices? I would have been better served watching daytime television, I'm pretty sure. Or reading more mysteries. Painting my toenails? Learning to make Moroccan food? Crocheting Gabe's initials on the backs of diaper cozies?

My point is that I had a lot of time and emotional investment in those boards, and, in retrospect, it was absurd.

It didn't matter.

Being a working mother was the reality for my life and my family. I don't regret it, and I don't feel guilty about it. And I don't feel a need to justify it. (Some of you are sitting back and saying, "well, if you don't feel a need to justify it, why are you writing about it at all?" and I say, "I'm getting there, really, I am.")

Similarly, breastfeeding my son was the reality for my life and family. I was suffering from a wicked case of post-partum depression during Gabriel's first year, and there is very little that I enjoyed about his infancy.

Nursing Gabriel was one of the few things I enjoyed about mothering an infant. Yes, it was hard at first. Yes, it hurt. Yes, I was tired. I'm still glad I did it. It was fulfilling in a way I cannot adequately explain.

But, my decision to nurse Gabriel or be a working mother is not a judgment about other mother's choices. I have held the hand of more than one of my good Girlfriend's and said, "If you don't want to do this? Don't do it."

What worked or works for me is not always going to work for other mothers. I'm happy to be the biggest cheerleader for a girlfriend who wants to breastfeed and is having trouble getting started. I'm happy to look at a resume for a girlfriend who wants to go back to work.

But I'm equally happy to hold their hands and say, "This mothering business? This mothering gig is HARD. It's hard and sticky and messy and sometimes the only way to experience it is to hold on to the people you love and drag them with you through the sticky mess. And let them drag you when you are too tired to do the dragging."

The most powerful sentence in the piece Julie has written is this one:

"What I want, more than to promote breastfeeding itself, is to promote kindness to mothers."

Hallelujah. Hallelujah and Amen.

There is no point to finger-pointing and nay-saying and "I love my kid more than you love your kid because I did X and you did Y."

So don't say those stupid things.

Instead, be kind. Be kind to each other. Be kind to other mothers. Grab hold and help them be the best mothers that they can. Be kind. Be gentle. Remember - Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.**

LM

*Emmy Lou Harris, Cup of Kindness
** Plato (Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.)

Random Rant

2010-08-02T10:21:00.002-04:00

I have some heavy, substantive, adoption and high school reunion related posts rolling in my head, but for now, I just want to rant about things of no substance.

1. Why is Yahoo! telling me it's "Back to School Time" every time I log on to my home page? It's AUGUST 2nd. My kids don't go back until the 1st of September, and other kids in our area don't go back until September 7. So, please, Yahoo! Cease and desist.

2. Do we really need another song professing the superiority of "California Girls"? I submit that we do not! Do we not, already, as a people, harbor a deep-seeded belief that the California Girl is superior to all other girls? Doesn't this song just serve to further demoralize all other American Girls who are NOT California Girls? Like the California Girls NEED another ego boost? Somebody needs to write a song about Ohio Girls or Wisconsin Girls, STAT.

3. Why is there almost NOTHING worth watching on TV all week, and then Sunday night we have Leverage, Mad Men, and Rubicon? Thank goodness for my DVR or I would be really miffed about having to choose between Leverage and Rubicon.

4. Why does my daughter want to watch the SAME EPISODE of iCarly over and over and over again, ad nauseum? Why? I don't hate iCarly. I actually find it kind of amusing. It's probably my third favorite children's television show (after Phineas and Ferb and The Penguins of Madagascar (oh King Julian, how you make me laugh)) - but over and over and over, it makes me want to tear my hair out. Aren't there something like 70 episodes of this show? Why must we watch the one where Spencer gets locked in the basement ALL. THE. TIME.

Okay...that's the end of my pointless pop culture rant. Check back later for something to sink your teeth in to.

LM

It took so long to bake it, and I'll never have that recipe again*

2010-07-20T14:50:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow afternoon two 16-year-old Japanese high school girls will be arriving at our home. They will be staying with us for 3 weeks, as part of a "sister cities" exchange program.

This will be the fourth summer we have participated in the program, but I haven't really been myself and have done less planning for their arrival.

I'm tapped out of recipe ideas and so I ask you, oh wise Internets - what should I feed my exchange students?

I want recipes that aren't too hard and are "typical North American dinners".

So far on my list I have:
1. Spaghetti with meat sauce and garlic bread
2. Hot dog and hamburgers on the grill with cole slaw
3. Carnitas (recipe courtesy of E. at Ordinary Time)

Hit me with idea, please?

LM

*Donna Summer, Macarthur Park - a song I cannot hear without thinking of a night in Osaka in September of 1996, when my boss, a woman named Alison who I think was a native of Chicago, took all of us ESL teachers out for a night of karoke singing. As I recall, I struggled through an embarrassing rendition of Copa Cabana with three other teachers. Then Alison stood up to sing and knocked us all over with an incredible singing voice as she burst into a trio of Donna Summer hits...good times, good times.

We can begin again, shed our skin, let the sun shine in...At the edge of the ocean we can start over again*

2010-07-17T13:29:00.003-04:00

Some schools of thought tell us that there are five stages of grief - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.

A lesser known theory tells us there are only three stages - Numbness, Disorganization and Reorganization.

The second theory feels more recognizable to me, and I think I am bouncing back and forth between numbness and disorganization.

When I say, "My uncle died".... people who don't understand my situation don't understand my grief.

Probably, most people only see their uncles at Christmas and Easter...Sure, they are sad. But it's not a life alterating sadness.

Probably they didn't work with their uncle every day for seven years. Probably they didn't learn how to be a lawyer (or a plumber, or a doctor or a carpenter) from their uncle. Probably they didn't have lunch with their uncle every other Sunday for decades.

I am mourning the loss of a man who was such a huge part of my life.

This is a much more depressing intro than I meant it to be.

At the beginning of the year, I started trying to lose weight, and I did pretty well, losing 10 lbs.

Except that, in my sadness, frustration, (anger, denial) - I have gained back 9 of those 10 lbs.

And it's time to begin again. Or to try to begin again. Or to try to strive for either acceptance or re-organization.

This grief has enveloped me with a very literal weight around my neck (er, abdomen).

I'm going to lose it.

I've spent the last five years worrying that J~ would die.

And then, J~ died.

All of the time I spent worrying, all of the anxiety that wracked my body and soul - did nothing to stave off the worst case scenario. All of the worrying in the world did not prevent the end outcome that I was so very worried about.

Worry and anxiety does not give me an iota of control over vicious raging cancers or out of control drivers.

I am going to let go of this anxiety, and I'm going to let go of this weight, I'm going to grieve J~ until the grief is fully realized, and then I'm going to find my way towards acceptance, or re-organization.

LM

* Ivy, Edge of the Ocean

Someone dug a hole six long feet in the ground, I said good-bye to you and I threw my roses down*

2010-07-05T16:01:00.003-04:00

My house smells like dead flowers.

I'm not sure what to do with them and I'm having trouble bringing myself to throw them away.

The roses...the roses I pulled apart and the petals are drying in a box, someday destined to become potpourri.

But the rest of them...the daffodils and snapdragons and daisies...I think Husband is quietly putting them in the compost when I'm not looking.

I was also not looking when Husband came downtown to meet me for lunch and quietly took the pictures out of J~'s office (at my aunt's request, of course. She wanted them. I couldn't bring myself to do it.)

Life goes on. I go to court. I meet with clients, some of them J's clients, some of them my own.

We invited friends over for our annual July 3rd bash. Friends came, we ate and we drank and we swam and we watched the fireworks from the comfort of our front yard.

I laughed. I laughed quite a bit during the party. I embraced having some of most favorite people around me for an entire day and into the night. It was a lovely respite.

Tomorrow it will have been two weeks since J's death and today I am gloomy and melancholy and full of anxiety.

I'm not sure how long the grief goes on. I wanted this day - this day to be lazy and do nothing, but I'm not sure the empty day is good for me.

LM

*Patty Griffin, Long Ride Home

Random quick thoughts about things that deserve their own posts

2010-06-24T13:53:00.005-04:00

Grief is funny. I am alternately numb and then agitated and then forgetful. I tell myself I'm completely fine and then find myself crying over something mundane. Today it was while I was filling my cup with Diet Coke at Jimmy John's. Why? I don't know.
One week ago today was Husband and my 15th Wedding Anniversary. We saw Patty Griffin in Ann Arbor and spent the night alone! without children! at a hotel. It was a lovely break.
Gabriel has spend the last month reading Harry Potter like a madman. He is now partway through Book 5. At the library they had to give him an extra sheet to keep track of his (many many) summer reading hours. I predict he will have finished Book 7 by the end of July. Last night he asked me to lie down with him for a few minutes because we were having a thunder storm. We laid in bed in the dark and quietly talked about Harry Potter for about half an hour. It was a very sweet mother-son moment.
Lana and I had a few really difficult weeks that culminated in what I have been calling "The Incident of the Cherry Pomegranate Crystal Light." Have you SEEN the cherry pomegranate crystal light? It is the reddest drink I have ever seen. It is ALSO incredibly tasty. Lana was behaving badly, and while she did not deliberately dump the red juice on my lime green carpeting, she did deliberately kick the table which cause the juice to spill. There is a big stain on my carpet. We had the fit of the century that involved tears and screaming. We spent a long time scrubbing carpet cleaner into the stain together. Lana has been behaving better since this incident, but my carpeting is definitely worse for wear. Part of me wonders if she was testing me for several weeks to see if I would still love her when she was bad, and maybe she figures the carpet stain is proof I won't kick her to the curb? I don't know.
Lana handed me a piece of paper two nights ago that read as follows: "I have ?s for Mom. Plees circl YES or NO. 1. Do you love me? YES OR NO. 2. Will you alwys tak care of me? YES OR NO. 3. If you did not love me, do you think that I woold love you? YES OR NO." So, the first two questions were easy. That third one? WHAT THE HELL? Is that an emotionally complex and loaded question or what???? I circled YES. Lana studiously made check-marks next to each of my answers. I asked, "What did you want me to answer for the last question?" She said, "It's not what I want you to answer, Mommy. It's would I love you if you didn't love me. It's not about wanting or not wanting." I said, "That's hard for me to answer because I DO love you." Lana went back to making check-marks. I still am clueless about this exchange.
The next two days will be full of rituals to say good-bye to J~. My heart is heavy and I'm not sure if it will be worse when all of the friends and family have gone back to their normal lives...

The Thunder Rolls and the Lightening Strikes

2010-06-22T10:12:00.002-04:00

J~ slipped away from us at 2:45 this morning.

Immediately afterwards the sky shook with thunder and lightening for almost an hour.

Like his mother (my grandmother), J~ loved thunderstorms.

Perhaps there is a scientific explanation for the timing, a change in atmospheric pressure...

Perhaps it was merely coincidence.

But I am choosing to believe it was his grand farewell.

LM

Though We Meet With the Darkness and Strife, The Sunny Side We Also May View

2010-06-15T14:46:00.002-04:00

On Sunday we attended the baptism of the lovely Ella Man Li.

During the service, I was sitting next my friend H~ (aka Ella's mommy.)

It was a Lutheran service, somewhat different from the Episcopal service we are used to, and it featured some modern religious music.

Towards the end of the service, however, we sang what I will affectionately call an "old timey" hymn. I am hard-pressed to tell you what hymn it was, but it reminded me of songs I sang as a child during the "hymn-sings" my grandfather often led in the church basement.

Unbeknownst to me, H~'s uncle was sitting directly behind me, keeping in check an impressive voice. But when he began to sing the old-time hymn, he let loose with an accomplished baritone...or possibly a tenor.

I will admit to being emotionally vulnerable these days. Highly, highly emotionally vulnerable. The death we are all expecting/anticipating/dreading is a lingering one. We are caught in a web of waiting and grieving. It's painful.

All of this is a preface for this admission - his voice made me cry.

The tears began slipping out and then wouldn't stop. I wondered if I was hearing the voice only in my head, because, for a split second, I thought...that I heard my grandfather singing the hymn in my ear.

H~ handed me a tissue. "Who's singing behind me?" I asked her, choking on my own tears. I was afraid to look, afraid that the answer would be "no one". Afraid that I was the only one hearing my grandfather's voice in warm sanctuary.

"My uncle," she whispered.

Later, after the service, I explained to H~ why I was crying, and her uncle very sweetly apologized. (As if he had anything to be sorry for!)

It made me wonder, though...if because of J~'s closeness to the 'other side' - if those souls who are waiting to welcome him aren't a little bit closer to all of us now? Is that crazy?

This morning I got into my car to drive to work, and I plugged in my Zune and hit "play all".

There are about 3000 songs on my music player, and as the strains of "Keep on the Sunny Side" started to fill my ears, I was taken back.

I had forgotten the song was even ON my Zune.

But my grandpa sang that song often. Sometimes accompanied by his banjo, more usually by his guitar.

I thought maybe he was trying to tell me something...maybe he was trying to tell me, "everything will be all right" or that J~ is going to be fine (in the grand scheme of things). Perhaps that I shouldn't dwell too long in the dark grief that threatens to pull me in.

As the song came to an end, I hit repeat, and I swear I felt him telling me not to worry.

But THEN, as if I needed more evidence...something happened.

My grandpa's passion, aside from singing, was restoring old cars. Model T's, Model A's, that sort of thing. One of the last cars he began to restore, but did not finish because of his death - was a bright canary yellow Ford pick-up truck, circa 1940-something.

I have rarely seen anything like it, but this morning, as I drove towards work, a bright canary yellow Ford pickup truck with historic plates pulled out right in front of me, as the strains of Keep on the Sunny Side continued to play.

I don't know that I have ever received a clearer message.

I'll try to keep it close to my heart.

Though the storm and its furies rage today
Crushing hope that we cherish so dear
The cloud and storm will in time pass away
And the sun again will shine bright and clear

* Keep On The Sunny Side, The Whites (originally recorded by the Carter Family, lyrics by Ada Blenkhorn)

Time For Something Lighter

2010-05-27T15:24:00.007-04:00

This blog has been ENTIRELY too depressing, and I need to lighten it up.

So...let's talk about television, shall we?

1.

Crystal was robbed? Yes or no? DISCUSS.

(Of course my personal (and biased) opinion is that YES! CRYSTAL WAS ROBBED. But for the sake of good discussion I'm open to hearing other opinions. Also, discuss further - in the long run is it better to be the Runner Up to the Idol?)

2. What are you looking forward to watching this summer?

I am looking forward to the new show on ABC about the family of thieves, I think it's called Scoundrels. I love a good heist story, so, I'm hoping ABC delivers with this. Also, I just got Season 2 of True Blood in yesterday's mail, so I am looking forward to watching that with Husband after the kiddos go to bed.

3. Glee - DISCUSS - Gaga songs on Glee? Love it or hate it?

I...think I loved it. (I need to write a post about Lana's question (sometimes I let her watch the music and songs from the show) about Rachel and her bio mom, because Lana heard the the words, "I'm your mother but I'm not your mom" and then she and I actually had a really deep and good discussion about her "other mother who had me in her tummy who I never met".) (By the way, KUDOS to Glee's casting agents for the match up of Idina Menzel as Lea Michelle's birth mother, because WOW, that was a stroke of genius.)

But, back to Glee - Burt Hummel is one of the most positive father figures on TV now, I think maybe ever. I love Burt Hummel a little bit. I liked the Glee version of Bad Romance, but my favorite part of the episode was the guy's singing KISS's Beth.*

Further, I think the writers should consult with an adoption attorney in the state where the GLEE is set because, HELLO! GLEE! WRITERS! in the state where you have set this story, Quinn cannot give the baby up for adoption without Puck's signature!!! So it's not "Quinn" putting the baby up for adoption, it's "Quinn and Puck" putting the baby up for adoption. Puck acts like he has no say in the matter. (And hey! Glee writers? It just so happens that I might KNOW of an adoption attorney in that state, so...if you want some assistance, just let me know.) ;-p

4. What other TV should I be borrowing from Netflix to fuel my continued treadmill walking? (The following shows have kept me on the treadmill at various times: Veronica Mars, Alias, Grey's Anatomy, Mad Men, The Wire.) But I need MORE. Please rec me something addictive.

LM

* Have I ever told you about the time Husband and I went to Toronto to see Phantom of the Opera, and Paul Stanley from KISS was playing the phantom and Gene Simmons was seated directly below our (balcony) seats? And can I tell you? Gene Simmons is very tall. Very, very tall. Also, the woman he was seated with had breasts the size of Texas. True story.

After Your Laughter Like Thunder*

2010-05-26T14:37:00.002-04:00

I have been compulsively watching Chevy Chase movies during lunch lately. Old school Chevy Chase films. Foul Play. Seems Like Old Times. Vacation. Movies I hadn't watched in years.

(Thank you kindly to Netflix Instant Play for allowing me to indulge in a little Chevy at my desk over chicken salad....)

For several days, I couldn't put my finger on what was driving me to seek out zany physical comedy from the 70s and 80s during my lunch hour.

And then...oh...yeah. J~ loves Chevy Chase movies. Particularly the Vacation movies, most especially Christmas Vacation, which I haven't actually watched. (Not since Christmas.)

J~ spent a long time after the release of Christmas Vacation on a quest to find moose-head-shaped eggnog glasses like those used in the movie. He ended his quest in a small shop in FINLAND about ten years ago. He didn't find moose-shaped eggnog glasses, but he did find reindeer shaped liquor glasses, and he decided that was probably as close as he was going to come.

Every Christmas thereafter he drank eggnog out of a crystal reindeer head, saying things like, "If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn't be more surprised than I am now."**

I should stress that that was endearing...I suppose in a different sort of person it would be less endearing and more obnoxious. But it was endearing. It was endearing because J~ is an endearing sort of person...

Hospice keeps telling us he we leave us soon. He keeps breathing. And I, I guess, until the time for crying is upon me, will keep seeking out those things that will make me laugh.

* Sleep, Melissa Etheridge
** Clark Griswold to Cousin Eddie, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

How the sky turns to fire against a telephone wire, Burns the last of the day down*

2010-05-19T12:18:00.000-04:00

Last Labor Day Weekend, Husband and I drove J~ up to his cottage in northern Michigan.

I went back through my archives to see if I had blogged about it, and, to my frustration, I had not.

As I recall, we left on Thursday afternoon. We drove him up north that evening because my aunt could not leave until Friday afternoon, and J~ wanted to have an extra day at the cottage.

Along the way we stopped at Fuddrucker's for dinner.

J~ loves Fuddrucker's, he always has, and there are none anywhere near our city.

We all ordered cheeseburgers and milk shakes, and they were delicious and decadent. J~ made the kids laugh, he was always good at making my kids laugh.

We didn't arrive at J~'s cottage until late, but the next morning, we packed a cooler with drinks and Husband helped J~ get the cover off the boat.

We set off in the boat, gliding across the crystal blue water. J~ was driving the boat and we had a perfect ride.

We didn't have our camera with us.

At the time it seemed like an unfortunate thing to have forgotten, but now?
At this moment? I cannot believe we forgot our camera. It seems like a crime...

How could I not have known that we were running out of good days? How could I not have known that that was the last day I would ride around the lake with J~? How could I have left the camera at home and not captured any photos of that day?

When I was a very little girl, on a different lake, in a different boat, J~ would let me pretend to drive the boat...or he and I my grandfather would walk down to the dock and sit in the boat, dangling fishing poles over the edge.

J~ was happiest on the water, or near it. As I have mentioned repeatedly, he is a joyful person, and was capable of finding joy in all kinds of places.

But on the water, near the water...at the beach or at the lake. Those were his places. I am grateful, that in the last few months he was able to return both the beach and the lake.

He will not see his places again.

Ten days ago they told us he had two days left.

I guess they didn't tell him.

Yesterday he awoke from his deep sleep and announced that a friend, long dead, was coming to pick him up and take him to a movie.

I have no doubt that is true.

The not knowing when that last moment will find us...it's killing me a little bit. Almost as much as the knowledge that I left my camera behind on that beautiful end-of-summer day.

LM

Patty Griffin, Useless Desires

Dancing Queen

2010-05-18T11:01:00.006-04:00

Lana had her dance recital last night. My very sweet friend Heather took these photos of my very sweet girl.

The Tide Come In & The Tide Go Out, And the Waves They Come Toss My Little Boat About*

2010-05-08T11:39:00.003-04:00

There are songs, at least two of them I can think of off of the top of my head, telling us we should "live like we are dying".

I'm not sure this is great advice, since, from my particular point of view at this moment, living like you're dying seems to involve spending a lot of time stuck in bed, and having your dignity stripped away from you one piece at at time.

But, that's probably not what those songs are talking about.

What I think about, as we watch J~ slip away from us...well, I think about a lot of things.

Sometimes...I think that I have never seen a sky so blue or a day more vibrant. I took a picture of the courthouse on my cell phone the other day because I was struck by how pretty it looked, how quaint and lovely. The squirrels were frolicking on the courthouse lawn and all the trees were blooming.

It's the same courthouse I see nearly every day. But, in that moment, it was as if I was seeing it for the first time.

I was joyful, in that moment, watching the squirrels, smelling the flowering trees - joyful in that moment, almost blissful. And I think - and maybe I'm wrong - that my ability to feel joy in those moments has a lot to do with knowing that J~, were he walking next to me, would feel joy.

He has always been one to find joy in small things, and his heart is so big.

Other times I am engulfed with the sadness of his absence, or rather his anticipated absence.

I had an amazing opportunity, recently, to see one of my favorite musicians play live. We had incredible seats, 4th row center seats - we were close enough to count the strings on the artist's guitar. The venue was sold out, the audience enthralled - and I spent most of the evening feeling like I was intoxicated by the whole experience. And then the concert closed with a song so mournful**, the sadness that swooped through me upon hearing the lyrics was painful. I cried through that last song...

This is such a strange roller coaster of emotions.

I cannot watch or listen to the news right now. It's as if my brain is incapable of processing it - my mind jumps immediately to, "the world has gone mad because J~ is dying and the Gulf is full of oil and therefore the world must be coming to an end" - and I have to turn it off. Because I don't want my head to go there.

I cannot bring myself to watch any television that hits too close to home, and sometimes I cannot figure out what, precisely, has hit me as something too sad. Husband and I watched the first 20 minutes of Couples Retreat - a movie that stars both Jason Bateman and Kristen Bell, both of whom I usually LOVE - and we turned it off and sent it back to Netflix. It's probably a funny movie...but the first twenty minutes made me so sad I didn't want to watch any more of it.

Yesterday afternoon I had to look for something in J~'s desk. It feels wrong to sit in his chair, and it strikes me that the office has been cleaned so many times since the last time he sat in his chair, that his office no longer smells like J~'s office. Now it just smells like an empty office, an office that could belong to anyone. Which is silly, really, because everything else that made it J~'s office is still there - his photos, his law books, his files, his desk drawer full of novelty pens. But all of it is overshadowed by the knowledge that he will never occupy his office again.

It is clear we have come to the end. There is no miracle coming to wash the cancer from his body. The cancer eats away at every part of him now. I ache with the finality of this knowledge. I am angry with God, the universe. I want to smack people who tell me this is "God's will" and "God has a plan." I cannot conceive of a God who would decide to do this horrible thing to a man who saw his 58th birthday only YESTERDAY.

YESTERDAY.

In a just world, J~, who is kind and good and joyful, would have 30 more good years. But he doesn't. It was his last birthday.

LM

* Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers, Leaky Little Boat
** A song, unexpectedly and painfully, about the untimely death of the artist's uncle
(As always, this link is not mine, I don't know who placed it on Youtube - the song is from Mark Knopfler's most recent album Get Lucky).

Are You Kidding Me?

2010-04-29T14:47:00.003-04:00

Dear Kristen Davis:

I love you in the Sex and the City.

But, if you think you qualify as a "curvy" woman...I really have to ask, what planet are you on?

Or, more realistically, what planet is Hollywood on?

You are thin. Small, tiny, svelte, willowy, slender or lithe, even. Pick your OWN adjective. Leave curvy to me, m'kay?

Because, out here, in the real world...most of us would probably be trying to stuff a cheeseburger down your throat to keep you from blowing over in a stiff wind.

Kristen Davis says she's never going to be the thinnest actress

LM

Truly, it's articles like this that make me want to hide in a parka beneath a down blanket and never reveal an inch of myself to anyone in public ever again. That's sad, isn't it?

Girl Got Pipes

2010-04-21T13:18:00.003-04:00

I didn't get to see this last night, so I had to find it on Youtube this morning.

Crystal Bowersox's voice gives me shivers. You can see her performance here. It's definitely worth a few minutes of your time. (I am having trouble figuring out which video is actually sanctioned by FOX. I did not make this video, am not associated with the person who posted it, etc.)

Choosing to Remember

2010-04-19T13:04:00.002-04:00

I was working the morning shift at the front desk of a hotel in Tucson, Arizona on the morning of April 19, 1995.

For reasons I did not understand then and do not understand now, an employee of the Federal government had been living in that hotel for several months. She had her two sons with her, who were attending the local public school.

The hotel had an atrium in which we served a continental breakfast. For some reason - sickness, conferences, perhaps - one of the federal employee's sons did not go to school that morning, and he was sitting in the atrium eating doughnuts. The television in the atrium was playing the Today Show, I think, but it might have been Good Morning America.

The lobby (where I was working) was empty that morning. The boy came running into the lobby from the atrium, worry and concern plastered across his face. "My mom!" he said to me. "My mom's work just got blowed up!" He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the atrium, where the news was showing footage from Oklahoma City. The newscasters kept talking about "the federal building" and the boy looked at the TV and started crying. "My mom works in the federal building...my mom works in the federal building."

I watched the news in horror for several seconds, and then I asked the boy if his mom was in Tucson today, or if she had gone to Oklahoma for something.

"No, she's here. She's here in Tucson," he said.

I told him that the explosion was in Oklahoma, very far away from Arizona. Together we called the telephone number he had for his mother's office, and her staff tracked her down so she could talk to her frightened son.

I don't remember what happened after that. I know that I wanted to talk to my friend Ann, who was in graduate school with me, and whose parents lived in OKC. I know that I didn't get a hold of her until after I got home from work that afternoon, and when I talked to her, she said that her parents had heard the explosion from miles away.

I remember being glued to the television for days afterwards. I remember the initial belief that the bombing had been the work of Islamic Extremists giving way to news of the unthinkable - that the bombing had been the work of an American, a veteran.

In retrospect, what strikes me most is the emphasis that was placed on finding a suspect called John Doe #2. The sketch of John Doe #2 was EVERYWHERE for DAYS. And then, suddenly, we were told he didn't exist.

I accepted, at the time, that if the federal government was telling us that John Doe #2 didn't exist, he must not exist.

I was naive enough, then, to believe the media and the government would never lie to us.

Today, I am sad for the families of the 168 people whose lives were cut short that morning by the actions of a mad man and others unknown.

I do not believe that Timothy McVeigh acted alone that day, with only the prior assistance of Terry Nichols and Michael Fortier. (McVeigh died insisting that he blew up the Murrah building alone. But we know that McVeigh was a monster, don't we? Why should we take him at his word?)

I think that there are others out there whose acts were complicit in this tragedy. I think it is a gross injustice that no one is looking for those others who were responsible.

LM

Hold Me Closer, Tony Danza, Count the Headlice on the Highway*

2010-04-18T09:40:00.003-04:00

Misheard....

Yesterday, Lana and I were running some errands and picking up a gift for Husband's birthday.

As we were driving out of the mall parking lot, Lana said to me, very seriously, her voice grave as it came to me from the back seat,

"Mommy, I don't like your lies."

Considering that I had just purchased her a pair of monkey shaped earrings and that she and I had been laughing and happily sharing a cookie and cherry slurpee only moments before, I was taken aback.

"What?" I asked.

"I don't like your lies," she said, again, or so I thought.

"What have I lied about?" I asked, incredulously.

"You don't lie about anything, mommy," she answered, sounding confused.

"Then why did you just tell me you don't like my lies?" I asked.

Lana huffed. "I said, I don't WRITE good "Y"s, Mommy. I don't WRITE good "Y"s. When I am writing, you know? My "y"s don't look good."

Oh. Well, that was clear as mud, I guess. But, for the record, I don't see anything at all wrong with her "Y"s...

LM

*Misunderstood song lyrics for Elton John's Tiny Dancer

April 15, Blog For Adoption Day

2010-04-15T13:09:00.002-04:00

Earlier this week, the Joint Council On International Children's Services issued this call to action in response to the tragedy surrounding 7 year old Artyem Saviliev.

We Are The Truth – an adoption blogger day: To ensure the world knows about every successful adoption, on Thursday, April 15, 2010 blog about your adoption or the adoption of someone you know. It doesn’t matter if your adoption is with Russia, domestic or otherwise international. Let the world know your truth!

This is my truth.

**************

Motherhood is a hard landing.

My son came into our family in the usual way. His birth and early infancy were incredibly hard for me. I struggled with postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety*.

Sleeplessness, caused by Gabriel's intense dislike for sleep and my own anxiety-driven insomnia, drove me the brink of sanity. My thoughts became jumbled, fixated, dangerous. I believed my son would not be able to breathe if I fell asleep. Even as I recognized that such thoughts were ridiculous and impossible, I cannot stress enough that my belief in the truth of that insane conviction went to the very core of my being.

I took to sleeping with my hand curled into Gabriel's bassinet.

Or I sat in a rocking chair watching endless episodes of Law & Order re-runs, my hand resting on my baby's abdomen, so that I could physically feel him breathing.

My desire to insure his continued breathing battled with my exhaustion. The burden of keeping a child alive, the burden of having to be awake to make sure he was breathing became impossibly heavy. I resented what motherhood was asking of me.

I wished someone would come and take Gabriel away, that someone else could bear the burden of making sure he breathed.

Only then did I realize how ill I had become.

Fortunately, my family practice doctor is a wise man. Far wiser and more compassionate that my then ob-gyn.

(To this day I wonder if I had never shared my concerns with Dr. D~, if I had only shared my concerns with my then obstetrician...I worry what might have happened to Gabriel and I.)

After I was feeling better, I shared with my doctor that I didn't ever want to feel that way again. I didn't ever want to feel my sanity slipping away from me. I told him I didn't ever want to be pregnant again.

Dr. D~ agreed that never again being pregnant was one solution. He suggested not making any rash decisions.

Years went by.

I grew to love Gabriel with a fierceness I cannot begin to describe. But I still had no interest in becoming pregnant again. (In fact, on the evening of my grandfather's funeral in November of 2001, Husband and I looked nervously at a pregnancy test in our small bathroom, hoping for a negative result. Earlier that day, my great-grandmother looked me in the face and said, "girl, you're pregnant again." Thank God she was wrong.)

Gabriel was five before I could even rationally consider the idea of another child.

Husband and I made a decision, on the day after Christmas in 2005, that we wanted another child. And we felt sure that that child, our child, the child meant to join our family - we were sure that child was already here, already living, breathing...somewhere.

We set about to finding that child. And only two months later, when we found the child we believed was meant to be ours, we suffered a heartbreak. As it turned out, that child was a red herring. (A child who went on to meet the forever family who was supposed to be his and I truly wish them every happiness.)

What was helpful about that heartbreak was that it pointed us in the right direction, and I will always be grateful to that little boy for that.

Four months of painful choices went by. We were presented child after child by our agency. None of them was meant to be.

And then, we found our Lana. She was living in the same city as that first little boy. And when we saw her file, we took a leap of faith. Our agency approved us as a match to Lana only 3 days later.

When we brought Lana home, at the age of 4, six months later...it wasn't easy.

It wasn't easy and it wasn't magical and it wasn't what we expected.

It was hard. She was angry. She missed her foster mother. She missed her foster sister and the little boy who was fostered in the same home. (Later, in one of Lana's first real English communications with me, she would hold up a photo of that little boy and ask me, "Where is my brother?")

Lana's heart was broken. My heart was battered. I won't speak for Husband's heart, but I suspect it was battered as well.

On that first Easter Sunday after Lana had been home about 2 1/2 months, I sat in a chapel with my mother, and I told her that I didn't like this little girl very much. My mother struggled with what face to put on (her clergy face or her mom face.) And then she said, "I guess it doesn't matter how our children come to us, it can be so hard. But time will fix this. That child is not broken. She may be damaged and hurting, but she isn't broken."

My mother was right. Time WOULD fix it. Time and love and care and patience. And Lana wasn't broken.

I cannot tell you the exact amount of time it took to fix it. I can tell you that after 20 months had passed I had a realization that my love for her was intense and equal to my feelings for Gabriel.

I'm not going to lie and tell you that this is an easy road. I am not going to tell you that Lana doesn't struggle with issues surrounding her adoption. She questions, she challenges, she demands reassurance that she is loved as much as Gabriel.

I struggle to be equitable in all things between my children, but I think most mothers know how hard it is to walk that tight-rope of fairness.

But at the end of the day, there is no other child, no other means of being a family, no other option - she is my daughter. She is Gabriel's sister. She is her daddy's little girl. We are complete, we are four, and that is the perfect number. For our family.

That is my truth.

LM

Island Music

2010-04-15T11:19:00.002-04:00

The resort we stayed at in Jamaica played this song several times a day...

I think they were trying to encourage the parents to make use of the (included) kid's camp and take advantage of some 'alone' time. (Nudge nudge wink wink.)

I had to google the lyrics to find it, but I love it. It puts me in a 'island mood'.

Check it out: Kevin Lyttle Turn Me On Featuring Spraga Benz

I Hope the Russians Love Their Children, Too*

2010-04-11T19:49:00.004-04:00

My head is spinning, SPINNING, from this horrifying story.

I know the media gets things wrong, dead wrong, sometimes. So, perhaps we don't have all the facts yet.

But, it seems that a Tennessee mother, who adopted a Russian child six months ago, PUT HIM ON A PLANE and SENT HIM BACK TO MOSCOW, with a NOTE that said that she didn't want to parent him anymore.

And the sheriff of the county where she lives ISN'T SURE if ANY LAWS WERE BROKEN???

(Let me clarify a few things before I spout off.

1. I am not licensed to practice law in Tennessee.

2. I am not involved in this case in any way, shape or form.

3. I am just a lawyer and an adoptive mom who has a small adoption law practice, particularly in the area re-finalizing foreign adoptions.

4. I am not an expert and this is just my (educated) opinion. )

This article (linked above) implies that whether or not any laws were broken depends on whether the child was a US Citizen.

Generally speaking, a child who has been adopted by a US Citizen, and who enters the country on a IR3 visa BECOMES A US Citizen at the moment that child enters the United States of America.

It is my understanding that most Russian adoptions are finalized in a Russian Court, usually after the parents have already seen the child. This would lead me to believe that the child probably would have entered the US on an IR3 visa, which would indicate that he became a US Citizen as soon as he landed on US soil.

(Again, I don't KNOW anything about THIS case in particular. Perhaps he entered on a IR4 visa, which would mean he would have to have his adoption re-finalized in a US court and then applied for a birth certificate and then a Certificate of Citizenship before becoming a citizen.)

But, I would hazard a guess that the child IS a US Citizen. However, even if he entered the US on a IR4 visa, it doesn't make the situation any less nauseating, and I don't see how it has any bearing on whether or not a crime was committed. Is it a lesser criminal act to neglect or abandon a child who ISN'T a US Citizen? If a family of immigrants did this to one of their biological children while living in the US, it would still be a CRIME.

In my experience in viewing documents from Russian adoptions, the adoption is final in the Russian court before the Russian government allows the parent or parents to leave Russia with the child. (I am curious to know if there is anyone reading this who knows of any circumstances in which the Russian government allows the adoptive parent or parents to leave Russia without issuing an adoption decree? I am genuinely curious about this - if you are reading this and have a child adopted from Russia, drop me a comment about this? Did you child enter on an IR3 or IR4? Did your child receive a CoC as a matter of course or did you have to apply for one?)

Here's the thing - once a government - ANY GOVERNMENT - issues a decree of adoption, that child becomes the LEGAL RESPONSIBILITY OF THE ADOPTIVE PARENT. Exactly the same way that giving birth to a baby and walking out of the hospital with that baby creates a legal bond and obligation between a parent and a child. If this child's adoption was finalized in Russia or the US - HIS MOTHER WAS HIS MOTHER WAS HIS MOTHER - period. Full Stop. She was HIS MOTHER. With all of the legal obligations that motherhood brings with it.

So, in my opinion, the act of the adoptive mother of putting her child on airplane and sending him back to Russia is EXACTLY THE SAME, legally, as me putting Gabriel on an airplane and sending him away with a note saying I did not wish to parent him anymore.

That, in MY STATE anyway, would be a pretty clear case of child neglect and abandonment. Which is a crime (in my state). And I would expect that the State of Tennessee also makes it a crime to neglect or abandon one's own child (but, as I have said, I am not licensed to practice there.)

It's not that I don't have any empathy for this woman. I have parented a child who came home at an older age. I know, intimately, how frustrating, exhausting, and hard it can be to try to learn how to love a child who doesn't want your love and who really, really wants to go "home."

And I also know that Lana was, all things considered, an "easy" older child adoption. Lana, certainly, never drew a picture of burning my house down, or threatened to kill me in my sleep. She is not violent, she is loving and lovable.

But those first six months? Those first six months were hard. Really, really hard. I think, at one point, in my despair, I told Husband I felt like we had made a horrible mistake. I cannot stress enough that those first six months were hard.

But never once, not in my WORST MOMENTS, did it cross my mind to try to return a child like a broken jacket from the Land's End catalogue.

And again, I know, Lana was not a difficult child in the way that I know that hurt children (dare I say broken children?) can be.

I do not doubt that this child was difficult to live with. I do not doubt that this child scared his mother. I do not doubt that this mother felt like she was in a desperate situation.

BUT BUT BUT - again, I say - children are not merchandise that can be returned!!!!

Where was the social worker who approved this family's homestudy? Where was the adoption agency that facilitated this adoption? Did it never occur to this mother to call the social worker or the agency? Did it never occur to this mother to google the words, "broken adoption" or "disrupted adoption" or "revoked adoption"?

I know that adoption agencies loathe these kinds of situations. I know that social workers hate to see these kinds of failures. But I can guarantee that if she discussed the situation with either the social worker or the agency THEY WOULD NOT HAVE TOLD HER TO PUT HIM ON A PLANE TO MOSCOW!!!! They would have quietly whispered the word, 'disruption'. (Presumably after suggesting any other number of options, like, oh, I don't know, FAMILY THERAPY?)

Didn't anyone, at any time, tell her that this child could be adopted by another family? Did she have knowledge of the adoption community? (I know the adoption community doesn't like to talk about the failures, but we know they happen! I mean, don't we know they happen?)

I don't blame this woman for failing to learn how to love and parent a child she found she couldn't parent. (Though I do wish she might have tried for more than six months.) But what I DO blame her for is becoming yet another person to have failed this child in what is, no doubt, a long line of people and entities that have failed this child on a massive scale. If she no longer wished to parent him? She had an obligation to find someone who could. She IS his MOTHER.

And if he IS a US Citizen? If he entered the US on an IR3 visa? He should not be stripped of that privilege. If nothing else, he should be able to hold on to that.

LM

*Sting, Russians

Because Paradise is Nice

2010-04-11T12:02:00.006-04:00

I've Still Got Sand in my Shoes,* or, Come to Jamaica and Feel All Right

2010-04-10T14:27:00.002-04:00

Husband and I and the kiddos returned last night from a week in Jamaica.

We stayed at a family all inclusive resort (Beaches Boscobel) and we had a lovely time.

Delta Airlines did their best to completely ruin the vacation by screwing up our reservation, but we made it home yesterday evening. (I will post about that tomorrow, I think. If I post about it now, my head my explode, because I am still pretty angry.)

I do believe I may have gained back all the weight I lost (owing to the fact that I was offered rum in various forms all day long for an entire week, and who am I to say no??? Oh, and the food...well, that might have contributed something as well. You know what is AWESOME for breakfast? If you take some raisin bran, and then add whole milk, chopped pecans, sliced almonds, and shredded coconut....yum...especially if eaten as a side to a made-to-order bacon omelet and a mountain of fresh pineapple... And then there was the beef tenderloin, and the curried pork and the red snapper in coconut sauce and the coconut shrimp and the coconut rum and drinks INSIDE of coconuts and um...yeah. I need to get back on the treadmill STAT.)

I will say that going to a family all inclusive resort during the busiest week of the year for family travel (Easter week) - was a bit frustrating. I wish that we had more flexibility in terms of scheduling a vacation, but we are pretty much bound to my husband's school district's spring break, which is pretty much always Easter week. The resort was FULL, and I mean, FULL. But we did have a lovely time.

I will post pictures once I unpack the camera.

LM

*Dido, Sand in My Shoes

Nine Pounds

2010-03-23T11:27:00.002-04:00

I'm not dead, and I haven't dropped off the face of the earth. But I am NINE POUNDS lighter than I was on January 5.

That's nine pounds in ten weeks.

It's not a staggering weight loss, but it's been fairly consistent (I had one week where I was up, but every other week, I have been down. Some weeks it was only .2 lbs, or .5 lbs, but each week has been DOWN.) It's coming OFF. And since it took ten years, one pregnancy, law school, the Bar Exam, and an adoption to go ON...I guess I can accept that it will take a year or two to come off.

If I can keep this up for the year, by next January 5, I should be almost to my goal weight.

I have many bloggity things on my mind...so there should be more posts soon.

LM

Got tissues?

2010-03-10T11:55:00.002-05:00

As I mentioned yesterday, our friends H&L returned home from China with their beautiful new daughter, Ella.

We went up to the airport to greet them.

H's friend Nikki was there with her camera, and she put together a slideshow of Ella meeting her extended family. (And there are some shots of my adorable children as well.)

Get some tissues and watch: Welcome Home Ella Man Li

I'm a winter flower underground always thirsty for summer rain*

2010-03-09T17:16:00.002-05:00

I'm not dead.

I'm not entirely what I have been...but I'm not dead.

Sad? Maybe.

Overwhelmed? Yes.

Crying in the bathtub with a glass of wine? I plead the fifth.

Thirty-five days ago we all came to the realization that J~ was fighting a losing fight. On and off for much of the past month, I prepared myself for the very real possibility that J~ was not going to make it, that he had only days left.

Having prepared ourselves for him to be transferred to hospice, we were a bit surprised to find him rallying.

He is in rehab, now. (Cue the Amy Winehouse song. It's okay, I have laughed about this.)

Is it wrong that it's hysterical to me that they call it "rehab" when you have to check yourself into Betty Ford, but also called "rehab" when you have a couple feet of your small intestine removed by surgeons and you have to get strong enough to walk again?

I will take my humor where I find it, thanks. I need to laugh.

He will go down fighting like hell, I tell you. I've never seen anyone with a greater will to live. He fights. I struggle with his absence. His office is dark. There is a falcon who hangs out by his window. I swear that bird is looking for him.

This news is not all sunshine and roses. He does not have a lot of time left. But he is sure as hell going to fight for every day he can.

****

I might as well get all the sadness out in one post. My cousin Kelsey? Still missing. The charges against the people who are believed to have hurt her have been dropped. Why, you ask? Because Kelsey isn't here to testify against them. And without Kelsey's testimony, or God forbid, Kelsey's body? There is no case. There is a very real possibility that two people who did some really wretched things to Kelsey will walk away.

Show of hands - am I the only one who thinks it is pretty strongly evident that the people who HURT HER IN THE FIRST PLACE, are probably the ones responsible for making her disappear??? Call me crazy, but I don't think you have to be a rocket scientist to see that. (Of course, yes, I know. EVIDENCE. We need evidence and we don't have any. Apparently not all criminals are stupid. I only wish that these two in particular were dumber than they appear to be.)

Where is the justice in this?

****

Two rays of sunshine:

Our friends H&L returned from China with their beautiful Ella. Go and check out their blog and their beautiful baby girl!

I am back on my Weight Watchers plan and I lost 1.6 lbs this week!!! This brings me to a grand total of 6.6 lbs lost. (I had several weeks where I lost .2 lbs, and then one week where I gained 1.2 lbs, but as of today, I am down a total of 6.6 lbs from the beginning of January.)

* Pink, I'm Not Dead

Tell me Sister Morphine, When You Coming 'Round Again?*

2010-02-16T13:08:00.004-05:00

I am sorry to be absent. J~'s illness touches so much of my life - at work, because his office is dark and empty, and yet there are cases that need attention. At home because he is family, and it's impossible not to grieve.

And grieving seems wrong, because he's not gone yet. But the hope - the hope that he will get better, will return, will beat this monstrous cancer - is gone.

I would like to tell you that I lost .2 lbs this week - which was a surprise, all things considered.

I would like to tell you that we had a lovely Lunar New Year celebration on Saturday, and that the food was delicious and everyone had a good time.

I would like to tell you that H&L are leaving to bring Ella home and I am thrilled for them. (I would also like to tell you, that while we watched the Super Bowl with H&L, Lana lamented that "this is the last time it will just be us and H~ & L~. This is the last time we will be having fun like this, just us four and them two. Everything will be different now."

And last night, when we met H&L at our favorite Mexican place for a goodbye dinner, Lana came home afterward and WAILED that her life was RUINED because Ella coming home meant that H&L wouldn't want to play Uno with her anymore. Lana really has a special place in her heart for H&L, and she is struggling with the idea that they will be gone for two weeks, and when they go home, Ella will be with them. I have tried to tell her that adding Ella to our dynamic will make things better, not worse. I think only time will prove this to my girl!)

I would like to tell you how much I am loving a new show I have been watching while working out - Sons of Anarchy. So good. I mean, yes, it's disturbing on all kinds of levels, but it's so removed from my own life and experience that's it's escapism on a strange level.

Oh, and lastly, I would like to tell you that I can't stop listening to this song, Lady Antebellum's Need You Now, and that I wonder if the fact that I am listening to country music compulsively says something about my state of mind...

LM

*Rolling Stones, Sister Morphine

Where the very loud voices of my own fears, Ringin' and ringin' in my ears

2010-02-07T11:14:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure how to categorize what I am feeling right now.

I was chatting with MAM the other day, and I asked her if she thought there was a such a thing as "anticipatory grief." She agreed that it was possible.

It's the only way I can think to describe this miasma of emotions.

Husband is at the airport right now, picking up my cousin at the airport. She is J~'s only child.

The decision that she should come home was made in the last 48 hours.

And what we are telling ourselves right now is that it would cheer J~ up to see his daughter.

But in the back of my head, in the dark places where monsters dwell, I hear the whispers that she is coming now, because if she doesn't come now...she may not have a chance to say good-bye.

These are not the things we say out loud.

There is a chance, a decent one, that what has happened this week can be fixed. There is a chance he will go home.

But the realization that we are fighting a losing battle is sinking in. I do not want it to sink in. And to his face, to my aunt's face, to my cousin's face - I am not willing to acknowledge this.

Here in this place, this place where I have always been honest...I will admit that my fears are running rampant over my hope.

I am ashamed that I have stopped thinking in the long term. My hopes at the moment are very short term. That he will walk on the beach again, that he will be able to eat my aunt's sour cherry pie (his favorite) again. That he might sit on his deck with his favorite people and drink a good beer and watch the sunset.

These are small hopes. The big hopes seem like pie in the sky at this point.

I want to tell you that J~ is not despairing, that in spite of everything, he is still laughing. His whole life...he has been joyful. And even now...he is laughing.

I wish I could be more like him.

LM

*Patty Griffin, Nobody's Crying

Her Hair is Always a Mess*

2010-02-04T12:06:00.002-05:00

I took Lana to the mall yesterday to buy some earrings. This Sunday will be six weeks since she had her ears pierced, which means she can change out of her starter earrings.

We found some very cute little roses and turtles that were marked, "sensitive solutions" and got in line to pay for them.

There was a woman standing near the check out counter, who moved to the side when we walked up, presumably to indicate that she was not actually in line.

She was Asian, and my first thought was that she looked A LOT like the woman who played Mrs. Kim on Girlmore Girls. My second thought was, "why is that woman touching Lana's hair?"

I was kind of embarrassed because Lana's hair was a mess, and in my head I was having all these horrible and complicated feelings that this woman was judging me for having an Asian daughter and having failed to keep her hair nicely brushed.

(Honestly, Lana has a LOT of hair, and by the end of the day, it is kind of a mess, and yes, her hair needs a trim, and no, we haven't actually managed to get to the salon in the last couple of weeks.)

Anyway, I was standing there feeling twelve kinds of awkward while this stranger touched my daughter's hair. So, I was surprised when she smiled at me broadly and said,

"Your daughter has beautiful hair. I remember when MY daughter had beautiful hair."

She said this second sentence quite loudly, and the woman in front of me in line turned around.

I realized the girl must be the woman's daughter - a teenage girl with a beautiful face, but who had obviously dyed her black hair an extremely unflattering shade of yellow.

The girl looked at me, she looked at Lana, and she hissed, "Mom, you are embarrassing me!"

At that point, all I could do was laugh. I was so relieved that the encounter was not about me, and not about my daughter's hair, and not about race or ethnicity, but instead a plain and simple universal truth - mothers and daughters will probably always disagree about hair!

LM
* Train, Meet Virginia

My Heart's Like a Wound*

2010-02-02T20:58:00.002-05:00

J~ has been admitted to the hospital.

If you are the praying sort, you might include him in yours, would you?

I find the injustice of this disease infuriating. Horrible, wretched people live to see ninety years or more - but J~, a man who is beloved by virtually everyone who has ever met him - is fighting tooth and nail to see 59. It's not fair.

Have you seen those bracelets? Those, "What Cancer Can NOT Do?" It's a nice idea, that poem. The idea that cancer cannot cripple love, cannot corrode faith...right now? I feel like's it's bullshit. This disease? Is eating someone I love alive. And watching that happen? Like a knife to my heart.

LM

*I can't remember who wrote this verse, or what song it is from...I'm sure it's someone brilliant, though.

It was nothing at all, just making me small*

2010-02-02T15:42:00.002-05:00

I lost another 1.4 pounds, which means, in my quest to lose 52 pounds this year, I have lost 6.2 pounds! Only 45.8 to go!

This also means I have acheived 12% of my goal. I think. Math has never been my strong suit. (Even when I crunched numbers for a living, it wasn't my best thing. There is irony in there somewhere, I know it.)

We had another Weight Watchers at Work meeting today - I am so thankful that this meeting has started. I feel like I really need the support of the other ladies in my group to keep concentrating on this endeavor.

LM

*Patty Griffin, Blue Skies

Scenes From A Life

2010-02-01T20:37:00.004-05:00

First and foremost, I am so, so thrilled for our friends H&L H&L - they have travel approval and they will have their precious Ella in their arms in 20 days!!! Hurray! Four long years of waiting is about to melt away. You can follow their journey at Ella At Last.

****************************

At dinner tonight, I watched Lana dip her apple slices in srichacha sauce. I have joked about the fact that Lana puts hot chili sauce on everything, but I have never seen her put it on fruit before. I'm guessing that she will make money in college by betting fraternity boys that she can eat food that is hotter than they can even smell. And she will win.

****************************

I had to have some slightly horrifying dental work today. Fortunately, it was relatively quick, but still awful. Even worse, I have to go back on the 11th for MORE horrifying dental work. I swear that deep inside every dentist is sadist trying to get out.

***************************

I took Lana to her first dance class last Thursday. I was a bit surprised that the dance studio was surprised to hear from a parent in January, looking to sign a daughter up for dance classes. Apparently, dance classes start in September??? Who knows this? Also, apparently, I am some kind of failure as a parent for having allowed my daughter to reach the age of 7 without having ever attended a dance class. (Am I the only one who feels like there is some kind of super secret club of moms who hold the information about things like when Little League sign-ups start, and when dance classes begin, and I am somehow shut out from this super secret mom club? Maybe I need to know their super secret handshake? Sigh.) The good news, they found room for her in a class and she started on Thursday and she LOVED it. The bottom line is that the child is built like a dancer - tall and willowy and she moves fluidly. I don't know how else to describe it except to say that she put on her leotard and leggings and looked like she had been dancing her whole life...

When I was little, I loved the book, "Ballet Shoes" by Noel Streatfield. (Which, by the way, was made into a movie with Emma Watson (the girl who played Hermione in Harry Potter), but I digress.) ANYWAY, in the book, the youngest Fossil, Posy Fossil, I think - puts on her dancing shoes and dances like she was born to dance. And that's not QUITE how fantastic Lana was, but she was GOOD. I was proud of her.

**************************

On Sunday, the alumni associations for the Law School and Medical School of the University from which I graduated had a family ice-skating outing. (Yes, somewhere in that sentence is a fabulous lawyer-doctor-liability joke. I'm choosing to ignore that.) I cannot even begin to tell you how much fun we had. Lana took ice-skating lessons all last winter, but Gabe had never skated and it had been YEARS since Husband or I had gone skating.

I took figure skating lessons for about five years when I was growing up. I was not good at it - I mean, I took the lessons, I learned the basics, and my instructors would wring their hands at my parents and say - "she's never going to be good at this, why are you spending this money?" The truth was the ice-skating lessons (and ballet lessons) were prescribed by a doctor my parents took me to see - a bone specialist at the University of Michigan. I was born with hip displaysia, and when I was five, a doctor wanted to fillet me like a fish on a table, slice me open from ankle to hip, and turn my bones and create deeper, more "normal" hip sockets.

My parents went for a second opinion. Thank god. I remember sitting in the hallway, waiting for the doctor, surrounded by children with tragic bone malformations. Children who couldn't walk. Children who couldn't even sit up. Children twisted painfully. I had worn braces on my legs for several years, but was otherwise unremarkable.

When the doctor saw me, he took me back into the hallway and asked me to run. And I did, rather clumsily, but I did it. He asked me to skip and to gallop. And I did. He turned to my parents and said, "When she was born, they told you she probably wouldn't walk. But today you brought me a child who can run, and skip. There is no point in slicing her open. Make her go to ballet and ice skating lessons. She will never be graceful, but she will be fine."

And so it was that I spent many years as the worst student in numerous ballet and ice skating classes.

The point of this is that, when I stepped on the ice on Sunday, it had been many, many years since I skated. And for a few minutes, I thought that I no longer knew how. And then, I stopped thinking about skating and I just...skated. I think this phenomenon is called "muscle memory" - like riding a bike, your body doesn't forget how, even though you may not have ridden a bike a long, long time.

So, my legs had not forgotten how to skate. I forgot how much I love it - how much I love the feel of my skate against the ice, that little sound that the blade makes every so often as it pushes against the ice, the feeling of going fast. (I am not a fast person, not by any stretch of the imagination. I probably wasn't skating particularly fast, but it felt fast.) It felt like flying. It felt wonderful.)

*****************

LM

T minus 47.2 Pounds

2010-01-26T13:25:00.002-05:00

I LOST 1.2 POUNDS THIS WEEK!!!

Bringing the Grand Total of Weight Loss in my QUEST to LOSE 52 POUNDS to....

4.6 pounds in 3 weeks. I am very pleased.

In other good news, we began a Weight Watchers at Work program in my building today. I think the meeting is going to be really helpful to me in achieving this goal.

One pound per week remains my mantra.

********

The other good thing about this weight loss goal is how much Mad Men I am getting to watch while walking on the treadmill. So very well done, the attention to detail is remarkable.

In the episode I just watched, Roger Sterling gets on the elevator with Don Draper and says something like, "Fifth Avenue is a mess, in BOTH directions!"

Such a little, throw away line, right?

That's what makes this show so interesting - FIFTH AVENUE is a one way street, TODAY. But at the time the show is set, it went both ways. These are the little things I love about this show!

Anguish

2010-01-21T14:05:00.002-05:00

This morning a child was hit by a car and killed in front of my children's school.

She was 15 years old, crossing the street to get on the bus.

The bus had its stop sign extended and its red lights were flashing, but the driver did not stop.

I put my children on their bus this morning, wondering why the bus was a few minutes late. I put the breakfast dishes in the dish washer and brushed my teeth and got in my car to drive to work.

The road in front of my children's school was closed to all traffic. There were many, many police cars. The police officer motioned for me to turn my car around, and my hands shook against the steering wheel as I did so.

I was terrified, terrified that something had happened at the elementary school, and I am ashamed by my own immediate feeling of unbelievable relief when I was told that the victim of the accident was fifteen.

"Not one of mine, not one of mine, not one of mine," spun in my head for a few seconds.

And then I was filled with horror and sadness.

I cannot imagine the anguish this child's parents must be feeling. I am angry with the driver, and I want to know...why didn't she stop? Why didn't she stop?

I am worried about what my children saw when their bus drove them past the accident. (They were allowing school buses to go through the police barricade.)

The collective grief of my pleasant little suburb is heavy on my heart.

T-Minus 48.4 Pounds

2010-01-19T11:47:00.002-05:00

I am down .8 pounds this week. And while I am still 2/10's of a pound away from my goal for the week, I am still down, overall, by 3.6 lbs after 3 weeks.

In the interest of full disclosure, I had movie theater popcorn TWICE in the last three days and also at restaurant food on Saturday night and Sunday lunch, AND I made a decadent cheese and prosciutto and potato dish on Sunday for dinner. So, truly, the fact that I lost any weight at all this week is kind of amazing.

What am I doing?

Well....basically making an effort to follow Weight Watchers, but I don't have the benefit of a meeting, which is hard. (I am trying to get a Weight Watchers at Work meeting started in my building.)

1. Writing everything down. If I eat it, I write it my notebook. I had a really nice, leather bound notebook that I got as a Christmas gift from a client last year (2008), and it was just sitting here, on my desk, doing nothing. So, I started using it as my food journal. It is too big to lug around so I got a small notepad for my purse for weekends.

2. Drinking lots and lots and lots of water and caffeine free herbal tea. I am going to float away. At least 6 glasses a day. My favorites right now are Celestial Seasonings True Blueberry and Celestial Seasonings Very Berry Cherry. If I just can't stomach the thought of any more water or tea, I am drinking Raspberry Lemonade Crystal Light or Pomegranate Cherry Crystal Light.

3. Eating fruits and vegetables with every meal, and trying to remember to eat them FIRST. (I am not eating a vegetable at breakfast. I cannot face broccoli that early in the day.)

4. Eating lots of high fiber foods.

Anyway, please keep cheering me on!

LM

Any Gamer Geek(ettes) Want to Give Me Recommendations?

2010-01-14T12:52:00.003-05:00

I'm releasing my inner geek to make a confession and hopefully get some recommendations.

Husband and I got a Playstation 3 for Christmas. We have one game at the moment, Assasin's Creed, which I like, but I am looking for something...else.

In previous game systems (N64 and Gamecube and also some PC games), I have loved "platform" style cartoon games - such as:

Mario 64
Banjo Kazooie
Banjo Tooie
Rayman 2
Sphinx and the Cursed Mummy
Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers
Phantsmagoria

So, any thoughts on a game for PS3 that would be perfect for a girl who loves old school games?

LM

T-Minus 49.2 Pounds*

2010-01-12T11:30:00.003-05:00

I lost 2.8 pounds this week.

I am actually quite surprised by this number, since it is considerably over my goal of 1 lb per week.

I think this was probably due to my dramatic shift from "holiday eating" to "healthy eating" - so my goal for this coming week is to be able to come back next Tuesday and tell you that I lost 1 lb.

1 POUND is still my mantra, as I eat my fruits and veggies and drink (and drink and drink and frigging drink) my water. But I feel good, very good, right this moment, about what I accomplished this week.

LM

*Last week I announced a goal for 2010 to lose 1 pound per week, a post I entitled T-Minus 52 Pounds...

Happy Familiversary to Us!

2010-01-08T11:25:00.004-05:00

Three years ago, today, in a courtroom in DaNang:

Lana became our daughter. We took her back to the hotel room for a nap. She was so sad:

They had a going away party for us at the ophanage. Lana was shy and terribly sad. (Michelle! That is Bronte sitting next to Lana in these photos!)

We've come a long way, baby!

One Less Creepy Song?

2010-01-07T13:11:00.003-05:00

I am the only one, upon hearing the song "One Less Lonely Girl" who thought, "Hmmm...this is going to be the biggest Sapphic love song since the Indigo Girls covered Dire Strait's* 'Romeo and Juliet'"?

And then I thought, "This Colbie-Caillait-sounding-chick who is singing this song really should have called it 'Two Less Lonely Girls' because, really, they would be together, and then it would TWO less lonely girls, since they found eachother and all."

I kind of liked the song, and I heard it about fourteen times a day for the last few weeks on the radio.

And then, to my HORROR, I realized it is being sung by a tiny little boy who appears to be about 12, and FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, is he TRYING to seduce a broken-hearted-35-year-old divorcee?

(I mean, seriously, the lyrics, "Christmas wasn't Merry, 14th of February/ Not one of them spent with you/ How many dinner dates, set dinner plates/ And he didn't even touch his food?" These are not lyrics aimed at 14 year old girls. How many fourteen year old girls do you know who could even relate to this stanza? NONE, I tell you! None! ")

Now I cannot listen to the song. It just creeps me out and makes me think about Mary Kay LeTourneau...

Maybe someday Melissa Etheridge (or, you know, an actual adult male) will do a cover of this and make it okay, but for right now? I am creeped out.

LM

* Speaking of Dire Straits, Husband and I have tickets to see Mark Knopfler in April and I am VERY excited.

T-Minus 52 Pounds and Who Let The Dogs Out*

2010-01-05T11:19:00.002-05:00

I arrived at work yesterday morning with five healthy lunches. (We are fortunate in that we have a nice kitchen in our office so I could do this every week. It's just that in the past I have been bad about remembering to bring healthy lunches.)

I gained a lot of weight after my surgery in May. I have since lost a little bit. I don't even want to tell you the number on the scale back in July after 6 weeks of bed rest. It made me cry. Hard.

Actually, I don't want to tell you what the number was on the scale yesterday, because it still makes me upset. What I do want to tell you is that I have a goal of losing 1 pound per week this year. If I accomplish it, I will back down to the number I was at when Husband and I got married. Which would make me a size 10 or 12. (I have no delusions that I will ever be a size 6 again, but I would like to fit into the Hello Kitty jammies my daughter gave me for Christmas.)

I have recently looked at wedding pictures. I think that was a good weight/size for me. (I was thinner a year later, when Husband and I had been living in Japan for a year and I walked several miles every day to get to and from work. But I don't think that weight is a reasonable goal for me right now.)

At any rate, my goal is lose a pound a week this year. Healthy lunches, lots of water, and exercising again. (I started last night, back on my treadmill, with the company of Don Draper and the rest of the Mad Men. I think Mad Men will keep me coming back to the treadmill for a while. After I burn through the rest of Mad Men, well, Husband gave me Season 1 of the X-Files for Christmas (or X-mas!) so that should work as my treadmill companion as well. I'll keep you informed. Cheer me on, okay?

***********************

My niece got a dog for her birthday on Sunday. It's an adorable little French Bulldog and Beagle mix, very cute. (I find this whole scenario peculiar because, of all my siblings, my youngest sister, the mother of the child who received the dog, has never liked dogs.)

My sister is lamenting that the dog doesn't like to sleep in her crate.

I am confused by this and I am wondering if I am the only one.

We had two dogs growing up, one a beagle/basset hound who lived until I was 11, and then what was, apparently, the bastard love child of a small shepherd mutt and a coyote. (We did know he was part coyote until we took him a new vet, when he was about a year old, and the vet said, "Who the hell sold you a coyote???" Upon further examination, the vet decided he was only half coyote. Probably.)

He was a good watch dog. Kind of terrifying to the mail man, though.

Anyway, neither of my dogs had a crate. The dogs slept with me, either under my bed or at the foot of it, actually on the bed. When I left for college, the half-coyote took to sleeping in my brothers' bedroom. (I guess we were not a typical family, though. I mean, what with the wild pack animal for a pet and all.)

I will accept that my family had unusual pet rearing techniques, but I do recall that many of my friends had dogs, and I don't remember those dogs sleeping in crates, either. I don't know that they actually slept with their owners, but I remember dog beds, and I remember dogs roaming freely through my friends houses when we got home from school.

We don't have a dog now, being cat people by chance and circumstance. (After college, I adopted a cat, because my apartment complex in Tucson didn't allow me to have a dog. That cat is still with me (barely hanging on) and his companion, the small auxiliary cat, is our other pet. They sleep wherever they want to sleep, with the exception of Lana's bedroom. (She has a strict 'no cats sleep in here' policy that drives the small auxiliary cat to distraction, attempting to sleep in her room in stealth.))

So...back to this crate concept? Is it new? Or have I just encountered bizarre dog rearing techniques in my life and the idea that the dog should sleep in a crate is entirely typical?

I'm truly curious.

LM

*Doggie (Who Let the Dogs Out) is interesting in that a legal battle ensued over who actually wrote the song, and I believe (I could be wrong) that the actual rights to the song are now owned by a Canadian ad agency. The song was made popular in the US by the Baha Men, although they were doing a cover of a song recorded by a Caribbean singer named Anslem Douglas. Frankly, I think the Caribbean version (difficult to find) is superior to the Baha Men version.

So Take These Words, and Sing Out Loud, 'Cause Everyone's Forgiven Now, Tonight's The Night The World Begins Again

2010-01-01T20:52:00.003-05:00

On this, the first day of a new decade, I am humbled when I read about the actions of others.

I hope that the actions of E's young adults are an example of good and kind things - a symptom, dare I hope, of a decade of compassion and thoughtfulness?

I will strive for these things in my little corner of the world.

**************************

We spent last night in the company of good friends - the same friends with whom we bid goodbye to 1999.

(On December 31, 1999, I was hugely pregnant with Gabriel, and slightly depressed that I didn't own Prince's 1999 CD, an album I only ever had on cassette, which by 1999 was long gone. For obvious reasons, I wanted to party like it was 1999, and without the music, how could I? It was the low point of the 90s for me, those last few hours I spent Prince-less. YouTube has brought us such a long way in these last few years, where almost any song you can think of is only a few key clicks away.)

Last night we said goodbye to The Aughts with good friends, good steak, good rum, and good chocolate. Who could ask for more?

* Goo Goo Dolls, Better Days - we all need to go and listen to the words of this song - you can find the video here.

Year in Review - 2009

2009-12-31T09:28:00.002-05:00

In which I post the first sentence from the first post of each month of 2009. Why? Well, why not? All the cool kids are doin' it.

January: Dear Mr. Gates and associates,So....That kind of wasn't cool yesterday.

February: Apparently, my blog is fabulous.

March: Is this racism or does she just hate lotion?

April: In spite of Delt@'s best efforts to keep us away, Husband and I arrived in paradise Friday afternoon, along with half of our luggage.

May: Driving Lana to the doctor's office on Tuesday afternoon, we were passed by three men on Harley Davidson's.

June: It's Monday morning, and I'm not really sure where most of the last four days went.

July: My Gabriel is home from camp, tired, but happy.

August: At present there are two sixteen-year-old Japanese exchange students in my living room playing Wii Bowling with Lana.

September: There was a lot of brouhaha on another adoptive parent's blog recently.

October: Lana has been asking the hard questions for about two weeks now.

November: ELLA WATCH: Our friends H&L have been waiting for their daughter for four long years.

December: Forgive me for my absence. Writer's Block. It's a terrible affliction.

I am looking forward to 2010. The new year lies ahead of us, all shiny and bright, with no mistakes in it.

My resolutions for 2010 are typical - to eat better, to work out more, to drink more water. I also want to laugh more, and write more.

I hope everyone has a wonderful time tonight. Be safe, drive carefully!!!

LM

On being a weepy mess...

2009-12-26T20:24:00.002-05:00

I don't know what it is about the holidays that can hit me with the melancholy blues to the extent that sometimes I feel like I have been hit by a bus, but it has been particularly bad this year.

My mother hypothesizes that my occasional "blue Christmas" is brought about by the memory of the fact that, when my parents divorced when I was very, very young, that my father left the house on Christmas Day. I have no conscious memory of his absence being associated with Christmas, but our subconscious can be a powerful thing.

There are some difficult things swirling around me, and I have had the thought, more than once in the past few weeks, of how this has been a year of "last times."

We have had to put my grandmother in a nursing center, and I have had to be involved (somewhat against my better judgment) in having her declared incompetent. There isn't a doubt in my mind that she is non compos mentis - she nearly set her house on fire and had begun hitchhiking - but it is painful to be at the center of a legal declaration of such.

Add in the fact that I rushed my uncle to the ER last Friday morning, where he was woefully and horribly mis-diagnosed (note to any doctor type folks who might be reading this - just because a man whose body has been ravaged by 5 years of chemotherapy and has enough drugs running through his system to kill a horse SAYS he doesn't think he's been given an antibiotic in the last week, if he says he feels like his ankles are broken - LOOK AT HIS DAMN CHART. And if your hospital GAVE HIM AN ANTIBIOTIC following an outpatient procedure FIVE DAYS EARLIER, and that antibiotic has a known, but unusual side effect of snapping Achilles' tendons - RUN A DAMNED MRI. Do not unhappily tell his niece that running a scan would be a "waste of time". Because his tendons MIGHT, in FACT be torn. And when it takes FOUR DAYS to convince someone else to run the damn scan, IT MIGHT BE TOO LATE TO ACTUALLY HEAL them) (um...I might be really, really, really upset about this) - my point is, it has not been a good situation with my uncle J~ this week. (And if you're just tuning in, J~ is my uncle, my boss and my mentor, so his illness hits me hard on every front. And it hits me even harder knowing he is hurting now from something that could have been made better if the egomaniacal and dismissive ER doctor last week had set aside her presumptions and her ego and looked at his medical history for 30 damn seconds.)

Moving on...my cat is dying. He is 17 years old but it doesn't make it easy to look into his sweet old face and know that is the last Christmas tree he will nap under.

And finally...my brother did a very sweet thing. He did such a sweet and thoughtful thing but the thing that he did has reduced me to a weepy, bawling mess.

My brother has a degree in broadcasting. He is very talented with sound systems. And somewhere, somehow, he found a tape of our grandfather singing and talking. And he superimposed the singing and the talking over photos of my grandpa and our family. And it's a beautiful video - absolutely gorgeous. Probably not to anyone who didn't know the man - but to me...well, I haven't cried so hard in a very long time.

My grandfather has been gone eight Christmases now. Eight years since I had heard his voice, more than eight years since I had heard him sing, because, at the end, the chemo did something to his vocal chords, and he couldn't sing. So to find myself hearing him singing today (and not just singing - the tape starts out, "This is Grandpa, and I want you to sing a song with me" - so it was like he was talking to ME (well, to any one of the sixteen of us to whom he was Grandpa) - well, it was precisely the trigger, on top of the above mentioned things - to create the weepy mess I am while typing this.

December 26th was my Grandparent's wedding anniversary. I always, always, always, spent the week of December 26 to New Year's with them. My memories of Christmas are so wrapped up with memories of my Grandfather singing to us...it's hard. I've got some deep and lowdown Boxing Day Blues.

I hope tomorrow will be a better day.

LM

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T13:50:00.001-05:00

I hope everyone is having a very Merry holiday!

There Are Nights When All My Aching Bones Won't Let Me Sleep*

2009-12-21T14:43:00.002-05:00

A few nights ago, at the mall, Lana saw a small Asian women with a chin length haircut.

"My foster mom," Lana said to me. "Mom, she looks like my foster mom."

I turned around. The woman didn't look very much like Lana's foster mother, but she about the same size, about the same age, her hair cut was quite similar. If you are only 7 years old, and you haven't seen the woman who raised you for the first four years of your life in a very long time...

I can see how she might find the resemblance.

"I miss my foster mom," Lana said. "I want to see her."

I told her we could write her a letter.

That night, Lana woke up screaming in the middle of the night. She was confused, combative, and probably not really awake.

Two nights ago, we had more of the same. We were putting together a photo album to send to her foster mother. She was picking through the photos, making sure to send the ones she thought were really important.

We had a fight because I wanted her to put the photo album down and get on her pjs and brush her teeth. She wanted to finish choosing the pictures. There was some mild crying.

But at 12:30 there was hysterical crying, and more confusion and distress.

I don't know how to take away the wounds that are deep within Lana's heart.

I don't know how a little girl is supposed to understand that someone loved her enough to keep her for four years, and then loved her enough to hand her to Husband and I.

I only know that in the last three years I have grown to love this child fiercely. I want her to know that she is loved beyond measure. I don't want her heart to ache, but I know that I grieve, to this day, I grieve, for people I loved who are lost to me.

And even though her foster mom is not dead, and even though we send photos and occasionally an email - the loss of her foster mother probably feels as if her foster mother is dead. And in the darkest hours of the night, in the deepest recesses of her unconscious mind...she grieves. And I ache.

LM

*Crash Test Dummies, Ghost That Haunt Me Now

"Hunnicutt, I've known a lot of people in my life. You are not among them."*

2009-12-18T16:43:00.002-05:00

Last night I dreamt that I was carjacked by BJ Hunnicutt. You know - one of the zany doctors from M*A*S*H who was always up to hi jinks with Hawkeye?

I didn't even watch an episode of M*A*S*H before I fell asleep.

I did take some cough syrup with codeine, because I have been coughing up a lung this week, but I don't think I've watched an episode of M*A*S*H anytime in the last six months. (Not that I wouldn't watch an episode if I stumbled on one, because M*A*S*H is one of those shows, along with Seinfeld, Night Court, Taxi and Cheers, that I will pretty much watch anytime. It reminds me of my childhood in a comforting way.)

I have no idea what the cough syrup dream was trying to tell me. Should I be on the lookout for menacing Mike Farrell lookalikes?

LM

*Major Charles Winchester III to Captain B.J. Hunicutt on M*A*S*H

If You Never Let Me Go, Well I Will Never Let You Down

2009-12-15T09:41:00.002-05:00

Forgive me for my absence. Writer's Block. It's a terrible affliction.

Yesterday evening, I was leaving downtown at around 6:20 PM, a good hour after most downtown work bees have already gone home. I pulled up to a stop light at an intersection just before the entrance to the interstate, where A HUGE, scary-looking man was crossing the otherwise deserted street. (No other cars, no other people, just me and the dude.)

He stopped in the middle of the road and started yelling at me.

I was frightened. He yelled some more, gesturing and pointing.

My heart was racing.

He came up to the driver's side door as I frantically checked to make sure the door was locked and wondered if I was about to be carjacked. (In hindsight, it never once occurred to me to blow through the red light!)

He leaned his face close to my window and yelled,

"LADY! YOUR LIGHTS AREN'T ON! YOU'RE GONNA KILL YOURSELF!"

Which just goes to show you that sometimes first impressions are worth a big pile of elephant dung. (Remember that Ted Bundy looked like the sort of harmless guy you could safely ask for directions.)

Thank you, kind, frightening looking Good Samaritan. Your mizpah was much appreciated.

**********

We have been celebrating the referral of the beautiful Miss Ella to our great friends H&L. If you haven't been over to see their beautiful girl - go bask in the adorableness that is Ella.

Lana, however, has been less than enthused about the idea of having to share H&L with Ella.

H~ and Lana have a special friendship - Lana likes to call H~ in the evening to talk to her, and she has also figured out how to text her - and Lana is smart enough to have figured out that Ella is going to change things.

I also think that Lana is a little worried, on some level, that Ella is replacing her.

When we opened up the photo on our computer to show Gabe and Lana Ella's picture - Gabe's first response was to say, "She's a cute baby, mom."

Lana, on the other hand, took one look and stormed from the room.

I followed her and asked what was wrong.

She turned and yelled at me, "You said Ella would look like ME! She does NOT look like me. She has white skin! I have brown skin! Not the same! Not the same at ALL!"

(She is still pretty upset that Ella's complexion is lighter than hers. I am at a loss about how to handle this - I keep telling Lana that her skin is beautiful, that people come in many shades. Skin tone is a HUGE issue in Lana's life right now.)

A few days later, when we were discussing Ella once more, Gabe again declared her to be a very cute baby. Lana glared at her brother, and said, "Why everybody keep saying that baby is cute? That baby is NOT cute. That baby....HAS NO HAIR!"

She pronounced this, about her lack of hair, with a look of triumph on her face.

I looked at her, a bit stunned. "Why would you say that?" I asked.

Lana growled at me. She actually growled. "You want that baby instead of Lana! You wish you had that tiny baby, not me!"

Oh my poor sweet misguided girl. I said, "You could not possibly be more wrong."

She said she didn't understand what I meant.

So I told her that our family was complete, that there were only four chairs at our dinner table, that our family had four people in it and that we did not want any more babies.

I told her that searched the whole world to find the person who would make our family complete, and that that person was Lana, and no other person would do.

She was satisfied, for the moment, that I was not coveting Ella. I keep trying to explain to her that I am happy that H&L have Ella, but that I do not want Ella for myself. It's a fine line to walk with my girl.

Last Friday night, we were having dinner with H&L at an Italian restaurant, sitting at a table for six.

H~ was sitting between Gabe and Lana so they could fight over her...er...enjoy her attention.

Lana looked at our table for six and asked, "When Ella comes home, where will she sit when we go out to eat?" (From her expression I had the impression that she thought she had a winning argument here - there wasn't a seventh chair at a table for six, so, there was no room for Ella.)

H~ said, "Well, at first, she'll sit in a high chair at the end of the table."

"Oh..." Lana said. Shot down by the high chair...

***************

Lana continues to need reassurance from Husband and I that she is our only daughter and the only daughter that we want or need. On Sunday, we went bowling for L~'s big birthday, and I was able to briefly hold baby Roz on my lap. Lana was having none of that, though, and Roz was soon returned to her mother's lap so that Lana could sit on mine.

At this point, I think I just need to keep my lap open for Lana - so that she knows her spot in our little kingdom is not about to usurped!

***************

* The Gaslight Anthem, The Backseat

Please Read This

2009-11-30T12:19:00.002-05:00

Please go and read Mrs. Broccoli Guy today. What she has to say is important.

For my daughter - for her daughter - for all the daughters and all the sons who were one day left behind and found by people who took them in and cared for them until a home could be found - go and read what Chris has to say today. For all those daughters and sons who are still waiting for homes - go and read.

Epic Fail

2009-11-26T21:18:00.002-05:00

We celebrated Thanksgiving with David's family today. I am very full and very tired.

We are celebrating Thanksgiving with my family tomorrow. Husband and I responsible for bringing the turkey tomorrow.

Last night, Husband and I spent two hours elbow deep in a turkey, creating tunnels between the meat and the skin of the turkey, and they filling those tunnels with a hazelnut, butter, shallots and prosciutto.

This was supposed to be a festive first thanksgiving for my aunt's two new step-sons. This is their first thanksgiving in America.

The stepsons? Follow a dietary code common to many people in certain parts of the world.

GUESS WHAT IS NOT KOSHER?

Prosciutto.

I suck.

I didn't even OCCUR to me, as I was elbow deep in raw turkey, that prosciutto is HAM.

And I'm told that the fact that the prosciutto is has now touched the bird makes any effort I make to pull the prosciutto off of part of the bird NULL and VOID.

The turkey should be delicious. I still feel like a schmuck.

LM

Should I tell them that Jesus would let them eat prosciutto?

Boo-Hiss!

2009-11-25T09:30:00.002-05:00

I'm home today with Gabe and Lana, because they don't have school on the day before Thanksgiving.

Husband, unfortunately, teaches in a different district, and they DO have school.

I slept in (hurray for one kid who can get his own breakfast and read a book by himself when he wakes up, and hurray for the other kid who likes to sleep in!)

When I pulled myself from the warm embrace of my mattress, I sat down to drink some coffee and read the paper.

The paper had some ads stuffed into it.

I assumed the ads would be advertising Black Friday deals, but, in fact, the ads were touting:

THANKSGIVING DAY ONLY SPECIALS!!!

To which I say, "WHAT?" and "EXCUSE ME VERY MUCH?" and "WHAT IN THE SAM HELL ARE YOU THINKING?"

I never shop on Black Friday because I have panic attacks when I am surrounded by too many people in enclosed places, especially when they are all fighting to get the only 2 WII Fits in store. But, at least I understand Black Friday. I have family members who get up at 4:ooAM to go stand in the cold to get the good deals. I get it. I don't want to participate, but I get it.

HOWEVER, "Thanksgiving Day Only" specials? BOO-HISS, retailers, BOO-HISS!!!

Thanksgiving Day? Is one of the few holidays that is both uniquely American AND not subject to rampant consumerism. There are no gifts to purchase for Thanksgiving. There are no costumes.

Thanksgiving? It's about FOOD, and FAMILY and FRIENDSHIP and PARADE FLOATS and watching "Miracle on 34th Street" for the 37th time (preferably the original version with Natalie Wood, but if the remake is your thing, I'm not going to rain on your parade). It's about gathering together with people you love and eating too much food and being thankful for what you have. It's a beautiful thing, Thanksgiving Day.

IT IS NOT ABOUT SHOPPING.

It should NOT be about retailers forcing their minimum wage workers to come in and work on a day when they SHOULD be home with their FAMILIES eating TURKEY.

And so, to the stores that send advertisement circulars in my paper today - and I will NAME you because that's the way I roll when I am ticked - I say this:

Meijer and Kmart - I AM SO DISAPPOINTED IN YOU.

And to everyone else, I am asking you, begging you, imploring and pleading:

PLEASE DON'T GO SHOPPING ON THANKSGIVING DAY.

Unless you have a sick kid and need to find an open pharmacy because you ran out of ibuprofen or something (and in which case, can I take this moment to remind you, while you are at the grocery TODAY buying the fixings for green bean casserole - buy iburprofen...and Tums) - PLEASE DON'T PLAY INTO THIS ATTEMPT TO RUIN THANKGIVING. Retailers need to hear a message from consumers - and that message should be - we want people to spend Thanksgiving with their FAMILIES, not waiting on customers.

LM

I feel your ghost again, when I thought you'd gone for real

2009-11-18T13:14:00.002-05:00

I thought about calling this post "The Ghosts of Facebook Past" - but that was maybe more lighthearted than I am really feeling.

I believe I mentioned some time ago, my cousin who was arrested for...um...something really bad.

So, he's in prison. Where it is likely he will stay for the rest of his days.

I have considered writing him a letter, and, in fact, on one occasion, started a letter.

Unfortunately, it started, "I am so disappointed" and ended with "WERE YOU EVEN F**KING SOBER IN JUNE WHEN I LET YOU TAKE MY CHILDREN TO RIDE ON THE ROLLER COASTERS WHEN I COULDN'T BECAUSE I JUST HAD SURGERY???"

I didn't feel it was a productive letter. (For the record, I let him walk my children out of our hotel and into the world's best amusement park to ride a 'mid level thrill ride' that I was not able to go on because I had surgery in May. So, he walked with them there and walked with them back, he didn't drive them anywhere. And I am 99% sure he was sober at the time, but I don't have a lot of experience in what a functioning heroin addict looks like when they are high, but I would like to think I would have noticed. Maybe I am fooling myself.)

So I didn't send it. Or finish it.

I read a news story recently that Facebook will make a memorial of your deceased loved one's facebook page...which is nice, but it's not an option for your run-of-the-mill "not dead, but incarcerated forever" loved one.

As such, on a regular basis, when I log in to FB, it tells that I should RECONNECT with said cousin. Or, alternately, that I should "help him find a profile picture" or "write on his wall".

It's like a kick in the teeth every.single.time.

I thought about 'unfriending' him. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Tell me, internets - does Facebook kick you in the teeth on a regular basis?

**************

In other cousin heartbreak...Kelsey is still missing. I keep hoping. Hope in a hopeless world, I guess.

LM

*Richard Shindell, You Again

I saw tail lights last night in a dream about my old life, Everybody leaves, so why, why wouldn't you?*

2009-11-16T14:49:00.002-05:00

I'm sorry for my absence from blogging.

My children were sick all last week. Husband and I were busy trying to get each of us to work on days when we needed to be at work, and trading off as necessary. It was not a great week at our house. Certainly lots of people had it worse, so I shouldn't complain.

Lana has hit me with some seriously, seriously heavy stuff this week, and I had an upsetting conference with Gabriel's teacher. I'm not even sure where to start.

Forgive me if this starts to feel free form and pointless.

Gabriel's teacher tells me that Gabe has trouble focusing on the material and that she often finds him reading a novel under his desk instead of paying attention. While she appreciates his love of reading, his failure to pay attention when she is giving directions means that he is coming up and asking her to repeat directions for assignments.

In spite of this, Gabriel has As and one A-. I asked if everyone in the 4th grade has grades that high. She said, "no, there are other children in the class who would much prefer to have Gabriel's grades. But he needs to pay attention. The material is getting more difficult. If he doesn't pay attention, his grades will slip."

I don't know what to make of this. Gabe can focus for a long time if something is interesting to him. (He can build a huge Lego creation, or read a book for a long time. The book that he is currently hiding under his desk is book three of the "Percy Jackson and the Olympians" which I think is catalogued at a 6th grade level.)

I've spent a good long time wringing my hands about this. The bottom line is that I think that Gabe is partly bored at school, and partly he does need to focus and be more responsible. His teacher seems to think he has some ADD, although she concedes that he is bright enough to cover the areas in which the ADD is a problem. She stated categorically that he is not bothersome or hyper and that he is well-liked and gets along with everyone, that he volunteers answers (when he is paying attention) and has good problem solving ideas.

I am considering signing him up for karate lessons so that he can learn some self-discipline? Is that a bad idea? Thoughts?

And then there is Lana. I have heard the following statements from Lana in the past 10 days:

Lana (out to dinner for her birthday with our friends H&L) - to H, "I wish you were my mommy." (H & Lana have a special relationship and they are extremely fond of each other. Lana appears to need to push boundaries - and I think she still isn't convinced that I am not going to leave. She still asks pretty regularly if I will always be her mommy.)

Lana, after I have yelled at her for being awful to her brother - "Are you still my mommy when you are mad at me?" (My response was, "There is nothing you could do or say that would make me not be your mommy anymore." She eyed me with suspicion.)

Lana, to me, after yet another fight between her and Gabriel, "I hate Gabe! I don't want him to live with us anymore!" (And I told her that it hurt my heart when she said that because I love both of them, and they are going to be brother and sister forever, and they are stuck with each other, and that's the way it is.)

Lana (after attending a birthday party for her friend Charity**) - "I was the only brown person there. There weren't any other Indian people there." (Okay, I have to admit, this made me scratch my head for a second. So I said, "all of the other girls at the party had white skin?" Lana says, "No, they all had skin the same as YOUR skin." So, I said, "why do you think you're Indian?" and Lana answered, "because my skin is brown like Rekha's, and Rekha** is Indian." "Rekha is Indian because her parents are from India. You are Vietnamese, because you are from Vietnam." "Why is Rekha's skin and my skin the same color then?" This conversation went on for QUITE A LONG TIME. We talked about how our friends Miho and Keiko have skin that is pale like my skin but hair and eyes like Lana's. We talked about how her friend Becca** has skin like hers, but hair that is very different. We talked about how her friend Katie has skin and hair like Lana's, but a mommy and daddy who look like Husband and I. We talked about how people come in all shades. This is something that Lana spends a lot of time thinking about. What I find particularly interesting is that Lana does not identify at all with the one other child in her class who is Southeast Asian (her mother is Thai and her father is white). Lana is insistent that there is nothing similar between herself and that child. Insistent to the point of obstinacy, almost. I wonder if it's simply that she likes Rekha and Becca and doesn't like this other child? I told her that if she wanted a word that described both her and Rekha and also describe Miho and Keiko and, L~ (the Thai child in her class that she doesn't like), that the word she was looking for was Asian. It is clear to me that this is weighing heavily on Lana's mind. I think she and I need to sit down with a map and talk about race and geography in general terms.)

Lana (as we were getting mommy-daughter pedicures, to the girl who was painting Lana's toes) - "How come you got the same name as me?" (The girl's name was Lan, and it was on her name tag.) The girl painting Lana's toes said, "Your name is Lan?" "My name is Lana now." The girl painting her toes looked at me, and I said, "Her Vietnamese name is Bich Lan." So, the girl says, "You're from Vietnam?" and Lana says, "Yes." And the girl said, "How long have you been here?" and Lana says, casually, "three years." The girl says, "That's how long I've been here! You like it here?" and Lana says, "Yes, yes I do. But sometimes I miss the food." (At which point, I had a salon full of Vietnamese people explaining to me where to buy the best Vietnamese food. Which, in fact, involves driving to a suburb of Detroit, about 90 minutes away.)

I'm not sure where I'm going with these vignettes. I think I just want to convey that Lana, at the age of 7, is extremely self-aware.

She knows she looks different. She knows that people have loved her and left her and she doesn't have that much faith that the people she loves right now won't leave. She's knows that she's from Vietnam, but she's not entirely sure what that means. Some days, when we ask her if she wants to visit, she is adamant that she does not. Other days, she misses her foster mom and wants to see her again.

I feel like I can't get my feet underneath me in this parenting gig these days...I had a date with Husband on Friday night, and we were sitting in a Japanese restaurant, eating sushi, and I found myself missing Japan, missing the time that we lived there. I expressed as much to Husband, and then I said, "I'm not sure if I miss Japan, or if I miss the luxury of all that time we had, to just be alone together." It was easier then, when I wasn't wearing my heart outside my body...

LM

*The Gaslight Anthem, Great Expectations

** not their real names

Panic Bells It's Red Alert*

2009-11-10T10:10:00.003-05:00

ELLA WATCH

Our friends H&L have been waiting for their daughter for four long years.

They have a LID with China of 3/29/06.

If you follow China adoptions at all, you know we are all sitting on pins and needles over here.

If you have good and positive thoughts, please send them in their general direction!!!

* 99 Red Balloons, Nena

You Knock Me Off of My Feet*

2009-10-29T11:39:00.003-04:00

On the afternoon of June 25, our fabulous friends H and L had plans to take Gabriel and Lana to a baseball game. Said plan had the added benefit that Husband and I would be able to go out to dinner for our anniversary.

As we were pulling up in their driveway to drop the kids off, the news came over the radio that Michael Jackson had died in Los Angeles. We shared this news with H, who is a lifelong Michael Jackson fanatic.

She was distraught by the news. (I don't know that distraught is really a big enough word to describe H's reaction. She was very upset.)

She decided to go back into her house to get some Michael Jackson CDs to listen to on the way to the baseball game, which is how my son, at the age of 9, was introduced to Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5, and how, on the day of his death, Gabriel became a Michael Jackson devotee.

Not because of the news coverage, which we shielded him from, but because of his innate love for music, and because of the particular music H shared with him that afternoon.

I think I have talked before about Gabriel, and music. Gabriel loves music. And he doesn't love the music that is on the radio just because it's on the radio (although he does love some of that, too. He likes what he likes because he likes it). We have never played "kid" music for Gabe - we just played whatever we wanted to hear, and some things resonated with him, and others didn't. (He loves bluegrass, but he also loves 80s hair bands...he's as musically schizophrenic as his parents.)

After H introduced him to Michael Jackson, he began playing it ALL THE TIME. He even went on Youtube and found old footage of the Jackson 5.

So when it was announced that there would be a movie with footage of Michael's rehearsals for what was supposed to be his comeback concert, H called me and asked if she could take Gabriel to see the movie. And I said yes, of course.

Which is why, last night, at 6:00, my son had a date. With H -to see This Is It.

This morning, I received an email from H, which I am sharing (with her permission) - because I just have to share it. This is what it said:

About half way through the movie, the footage shows MJ performing Jackson 5 songs on stage. The backdrop is ripped from the past with the big, bubbly psychedelic Jackson 5 graphics behind him. At this point, Gabe is warmed up to this movie experience and is singing unabashedly. He leans over to me and says, "You know. He really was born to sing these songs. This is what he was supposed to do." It renders me speechless. I smile at him, kiss the top of his head and put my eyes back on the screen thinking, "Who is this old soul sitting next to me?"

"How does he get his feet to do that?" (I heard this no less than two dozen times.)

"This is one of my top five songs." (Heard this a lot.)

"Where's the moonwalk??!!!"

Gabe: "What song is this, again?"
Heather: "Black or White. It's a song he wrote about how the color of one's skin shouldn't matter."
Gabe: 3-4 minutes later... "Well, you know it doesn't matter, right? It doesn't matter what color we are."

Upon exiting the theater, we see a older teen male dressed in the red leather Thriller jacket. He's waiting in line for the next show with about 40 others. This cat has a microphone in his hand and is totally playing the part. I discreetly point him out to Gabe and smile. "Man! Too bad he wasn't in the movie with us! I bet he would've danced to the music!"

It wasn't until we walked out out to the car that things turned somber. He was holding my hand and dropped his head. His voice cracked when he said, "The only bad thing is that we didn't get to see all that live...that he's not alive anymore." There were tears. Oh hell, we both got teary-eyed and sat in the car and talked about life and death and how at least we had this memory, this experience together.

Thank the sweet Lord for the search light. Across the parking lot to the right of our car was the big haunted house. They had the search light throwing a huge, twirling beam into the sky. Attention was diverted to "how cool!" the light looked and a discussion ensued as to why it was being used. I was saved by the search light!!

Whew.

Thanks again for letting Gabe and I be kids together last night. I felt 14 all over again.

Love, H

All I can say is that I have a sweet, sweet boy, who is such a tender old soul.

LM

*Michael Jackson, The Way You Make Me Feel

Waiting Child - Breaking My Heart

2009-10-22T12:20:00.002-04:00

This probably isn't entirely kosher...but my heart broke when I read this email from our local FCC chapter this morning. So I am putting the email, in its entirety, here. This little boy is the same age as my son, and I cannot stop thinking about this.

I was asked to share this. it is from the director of homeland Adoption Services:

Hi Everyone,We need your help. A child we know, a nine year old boy with scoliosis, has been waiting for his family to arrive. But, the family approved to adopt him cannot complete the adoption for reasons that have nothing to do with this child.

We are beyond heartbroken, because this is the second family that has backed out on this child at the 11th hour. He is a smart, kind and completely adorable little boy whose entire demeanor changed when he learned that a family wanted him. He was beaming in his update photos.

Now, if we cannot find parents for him, he will have to be told that no one is coming after all.If you know anyone who is paper ready, or almost paper ready, who might speak up for him, PLEASE have them contact us right away. Nancy and I are quite distraught over this, because we have met this child and spent time with him. He has waited so long and has been so hopeful. We thought he would be part of a family by now.

If someone can adopt him, there will be no agency fee and there is some extra funding available. We did some fund raising for this child because we really felt for him and we knew that not many families would be open to a boy of his age.

If someone who is pre approved to adopt would be open to adopting a second child on the same trip, that may be possible. He's in Jiangsu Province.

It is very painful to think that this child will be left behind...please let families know about him. If you think he could be your son, call us at 845-727-0500 or email homelandadoption (at) aol (dot) com

Many thanks,Pam Thomas

I Run For Hope, I Run To Feel*

2009-10-18T13:48:00.003-04:00

I am very proud of Husband, who ran his first marathon this morning - he went 3 hours 37 minutes at the Detroit Windsor Marathon.

* Melissa Ethridge, I Run for Life

All the answers that I started with turned out questions in the end*

2009-10-10T13:01:00.001-04:00

Lana has been asking the hard questions for about two weeks now.

THE QUESTIONS. The Big Questions.

The questions that have come from her these last two weeks...are the ones I have trouble answering. I'm not entirely sure what I'm "supposed" to say. It's one thing to read about these scenarios in a parenting book. It's another thing entirely to look into your child's face, to know they are looking for answers, and to know that sometimes the only answer is "I don't know."

The other day, she pointed at a photo of her foster mom and asked if she had grown in her belly. I told her no. She asked me "whose belly then?" and I told her what I knew about her birth mother.

************************

I know this is difficult for her to understand. She remembers her foster mother. I am pretty sure she believed her foster mother was her biological mother. To the best of my knowledge (and believe me, I understand that it is a blessing to have the limited information that I do have), Lana's birth mother never saw her again after Lana was about six months old.

We have had lots of questions about her foster mother, but the questions about her birth mother are, for the most part, recent.

******************************

"Did she give me a name?" she asks. (I am surprised by this - the question seems complex to me.)

"Yes, she gave you a name. She gave you a name that was very close to her name. Her name means Jade Lotus. She gave you a name that means Jade Orchid."

******************

Lana knows what a "Jade Orchid" is - I have an orchid made of white jade on a necklace, and she knows I wear that necklace for her**, she knows that an orchid is a flower, and that jade is the stone it is made of. She knows her name in Vietnamese and she knows it means this type of flower made of jade.***

**************************

"What is Lotus?" she asks me.

"It's a kind of flower, like an orchid is a kind of flower. A beautiful kind of flower."

We were lying in bed together (so often these hard conversations take place at the end of the day) - so she spooned her body closer into mine, but turned her face away from me. "Why did she even have me at all?" she whispered.

I said the thing that I thought she most needed to hear. "Because she loved you."

***************************

I expected her to question this. I just wasn't expecting it...yet.

The truth is, I don't know why she had Lana. I wasn't about to explain the concept of abortion or it's incidence in the place of her birth. Vietnam doesn't have a rigid "one-child policy" for me to point to. I have nothing, really, no knowledge, of why Jade Lotus chose to give birth to my daughter. Perhaps she was in love with Lana's biological father. Perhaps she was hopeful they would have a life together. Perhaps she couldn't afford to do otherwise. But, in my heart, it seemed the only answer that was appropriate to give a confused 6 year old girl who has concrete memories of two mothers and questions about a mother who gave her away when she was seven days old was, "Because she loved you."

************************************

Then she hit me with another big one. "Why did she leave me with her?" she asked, pointing to a photo of her foster mother, the other mother Lana remembers. The mother Lana lived with for three and a half years. The mother who still, on occasion, emails me to ask if Lana is okay, if she is eating, if she learning, if she is a good girl. The mother who, I don't doubt, loved Lana very, very much.

****************************

I think...I probably should have told her she left her with her foster mother because she knew her foster mother could take care of her when she (her birth mother) could not. But I don't know for sure. Jade Lotus either wasn't particularly forthcoming with information, or that information never made it into Lana (extensive) file.

********************************

What I did say was, "She wanted to make sure you were safe and loved and cared for."

*********************************

What do we tell our children, when they look at us for answers to questions that we have no answers for? There is a school of thought that we should tell them the truth - that we simply don't know.

The truth can be harsh and ugly. There may come a day when those answers can be discerned. I do not have it in me to tell my child, my beautiful, joyful child, MY child - how can I give her any answer that does not lead back to the only answer that she needs to hear - "She had you because she loved you. She gave you to me because she loved you."

Even if it's not true - even if there were extenuating circumstances - I have to believe that the woman who brought this joyful, amazing person into the world - love had to have been one of her motivations. And if it was not...if it was not...well, if it was not, I don't ever want my daughter to know. I want her to always believe that she was loved. And if that's not the truth - what good would it serve her to know that, at the age of six?

*Alison Kraus, Gravity - many thanks to MAM for this post title

**I also have a St. Gabriel's medallion on a necklace, for Gabriel, obviously. I cannot wear them at the same time - I try to remember to wear one or the other of them if something important is happening for either of them.

***Any native Vietnamese speakers care to tell me if "Bich Lan" (Jade Orchid) refers to a specific kind of orchid - an actual flower? Any searches I have done on the term Jade Orchid have results in orchids made out of jade, as opposed to living orchids in any shade of green. I am intensely curious about it, though.

Don't Wait Too Long To Come Home, My How the Years and Our Youth Passed On*

2009-09-29T11:19:00.003-04:00

The wind is whipping off the Lake today like it's November and not the end of September. We haven't even closed our pool yet, but today it feels Autumn, hardly here, is giving way to Winter. Across the street from my office, in the coffee shop, several Coast Guard guys** are still in their summer short-sleeved uniforms - shivering and hunched over coffee.

I am wrapped in melancholy and blanketed in nostalgia.

I spent Saturday with some of my favorite people from college.

It was Homecoming, and it seems, sometimes, you can go home again.

Saturday afternoon I sat on the front porch of my theater professor's house, with most of the people who made up my world in those days. (I did a lot of theater. We were always in rehearsal, always running lines, or constructing a set, or taking one down.) We ate chili and garlic bread and drank and laughed. We laughed that deep down belly laughter that shakes your whole body. It was wonderful to laugh like that.

Then we tail-gated outside the football stadium (something I didn't actually do when I was IN college) and went for Mexican food, and to our favorite bar...where they actually RAN OUT OF GLASSES because there were so many people had come in for Homecoming.

There was a perfection to the whole day, marred only by the absence of Husband, who stayed home with Gabe and Lana so that I could walk down memory lane with some of my favorite people.

Some of my friendships, born in college, have grown and changed and those people (you know who you are) are even more important to me today than fifteen years ago. But some of my other friends from college - some of the ones I had a chance to see on Saturday, are people I hadn't seen in years. And it's likely I will not see them again for a long time. But for a few hours, it felt like no time had passed at all. It was magical and it meant more to me than I can adequately express.

LM

* The Gaslight Anthem, Miles Davis and The Cool
** What is the proper term for a person in the Coast Guard? A Sailor? A Lakeman? I should know, I see them almost every day, but I don't know what they are called.

Dear Anonymous,

2009-09-27T15:32:00.003-04:00

Dear Anonymous Poster who left this gem on a post I wrote THREE YEARS AGO

WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!I don't believe it. I guess all of you anti-teacher / homework haters should just try walking in our shoes. No, we can not do it all by ourselves. Yes, the government has failed us all in how and what the students need to learn and why. Don't take it out on us. We know homework should only take 10 minutes. Is sounds more like LawMomy's son is just anal about his work. What LawMommy should have said was do your best and that is all you can do. Next time mommy will be home early enough to help you do it in 10 minutes!

I am impressed that you have managed to imply that my child is anal-retentive, that I am an absent parent, and that I am a "teacher hater" in just a few sentences.

I am shocked how much traffic this one post receives, I truly am. I had no idea that complaining about First Grade Homework was so controversial.

But if the anonymous poster had spent ANY TIME reading ANY OTHER POST on my blog, they would know that I am MARRIED to a TEACHER, for Pete's sake. I am not a teacher hater. I am not an absent mom (and in fact, I was not an absent mom on the night this event happened, three years ago. I was trying to let my son play outside in the fresh hour for 45 minutes. I GUESS THAT MAKES ME A HORRIBLE PERSON.)

So, thanks Anonymous, for judging my family on the basis of one short post that was born out of frustration.

At any rate, I am turning off Anonymous commenting. If I have any regular readers who are distressed about that, feel free to email me. My email is on the sidebar.

LM

Interlude

2009-09-17T11:24:00.003-04:00

If you need to laugh, and you love the muppets, you must go look at CELEBRITY MUPPET LOOKALIKES!

I promise, if nothing else, it will make you giggle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A conversation with my sister:

Me: I cannot believe this is happening.

Her: Every family has skeletons in its closet. This is just a pretty big skeleton.

Me: Oh sure, yes, every family has one cousin go missing under suspicious circumstances, followed by another cousin falling back into a heroin addiction and accidentally killing another person who may or may not also be a heroin addict. Happens all the time.

Her: When you say it like that, it sounds really bad.

Me: That's because it is REALLY BAD.

Her: It's just because we have a big family. And because we're close. I mean, I bet lots of people have cousins in prison. They just don't care about them.

Me: So this makes us humanitarians, then?

Her: Basically, yes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We have had a Fruit Loops Drama in my house that is so ridiculous I have to share it so that you can know the kind of surreality I am existing in.

Yesterday morning, before I was really awake, Gabriel came into my bedroom and said, "Mom, I ate all the Fruit Loops."

I said, "You ate ALL the Fruit Loops?" and inwardly, I felt annoyed by the fact that he had eaten them all because A. I wanted some and B. I was pretty sure that eating two big bowls of Fruit Loops would make him insane all day and I was secretly thankful that he had soccer practice so at least he would run all the Fruit Loop Insanity out of his body before the day was over.

Last night, things were kind of crazy in my kitchen because I decided that the inside of the dishwasher was disgusting and had to be cleaned before I could accomplish anything, and also that I needed to bake a batch of cookies for Husband's aunt who is stopping by today on her way from Philadelphia to Detroit, and also that I needed to prepare the things to make a casserole that would reheat easily in case Husband's Aunt was hungry for something more than cookies at whatever time she happens to stop by. PHEW. I am tired again just thinking about this.

So, after I scrubbed the dishwasher with a toothbrush, and after I cut up a bunch of cabbage and onions and cooked some long grain rice and defrosted some beef and baked a batch of banana chocolate chip cookies, I put Lana and Gabe to bed.

As I was singing to Lana she said, "Mommy, Gabe didn't really eat all the Fruit Loops." And I said, "What?" and she said, "He didn't eat all the Fruit Loops, he hid them and I want some for breakfast tomorrow."

I finished singing to Lana and I walked into Gabe's room where I found him stretched across his bed, petting the cat, wearing only pajama shorts and a Korean Air eye-mask, and I said, "Gabriel, did you hide the Fruit Loops?"

He had the courtesy to look ashamed and said, quietly, "yes."

And I said, "Why would you hide the Fruit Loops?"

And he said, "Because I didn't want to share them with Lana."

And I said, "We share food in this house and where are they???" He told me where they were. And then I sent Husband in to have a chat with him about why we share food and why we DON'T LIE TO OUR MOTHER.

So...I went downstairs and hid the Fruit Loops. Yes, because I am a grown up. Or not.

This morning, Gabe woke me up and said, "Mom, where's the Fruit Loops?" and I said, "I hid them." And Gabe got upset, and I suggested that it did NOT feel good when somebody hides the Fruit Loops, and I said that WHEN I GOT UP, I would pour three servings of Fruit Loops and that he and I and his sister would eat them AS A FAMILY, because FAMILIES SHARE FRUIT LOOPS. At which point I advised him to leave me alone OR ELSE I WOULD THROW THE FRUIT LOOPS AWAY.

And so he left and I made him and his sister eat bananas before they could have any Fruit Loops, and at this point I am considering never buying Fruit Loops ever again. They aren't something we usually buy. This was a diversion from our usual Cinnamon Life or Kix, and I can't say it went very well...

This is my life....I'm not sure what happened to it.

Circling the Drain, Throw It All Away, Just to Get High*

2009-09-10T12:03:00.002-04:00

I don't know much about heroin. I don't know how it's made, or how it's affects the brain, or why it's so very addictive.

I have trouble conceiving of the circumstances that would lead a rational person to inject it into their veins. (Possibly because I hate needles. I mean, I HATE needles. I haven't been to a vaccination appointment for my children since Gabriel was six weeks old. The nurses asked Husband to come alone after that. True story.)

What I do know about heroin is this:

Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was bright, he made me laugh, and he had a beautiful smile. He was charming and kind. On more than one occasion, as children, he stood between me and another member of my extended family who was, at that time, full of rage and anger.

Unfortunately, I have spent the last 15 years watching him try to kill himself with heroin.

What I know about heroin is that it can take a boy who is, by nature, kind and gentle, and turn him into a man who did horrible things when he was high. Horrible things.

I have spent the last 15 years worrying that he would kill himself and it did not occur to me that there are worse outcomes than that.

Because what is worse than watching someone you love kill themselves with heroin is watching them take someone else with them. And succeeding.

There are a lot of things I would like to say to him right now.

Among them:

I trusted you. I helped you. I CARED ABOUT YOU. You hurt me. And now you have hurt another family immeasurably and there is nothing that can be done to undo it. And my heart is broken.

LM

*Nickelback, Just to Get High - forgive me for two posts in one day referencing to same album. I have been listening to this album, and in particular, this song, for ten days now. The song is here - Nickelback - Just to Get High

'Cause Forever I Believe That There's Nothing I Could Need But You*

2009-09-10T11:16:00.004-04:00

There was a lot of brouhaha on another adoptive parent's blog recently...the discussion is here. It's too exhausting for me to recap.

So, instead, I would like to share with you one of the few instances in my job that was truly joyful.

It is rare that the practice of law rises to the level of joy. Very, very rare. Much of what I do is heartbreaking. Much of what I see are families at their very lowest points. People behaving badly. People behaving monstrously. People crying. I listen to people cry on the phone almost every day. It is not easy to be surrounded by such sorrow and hopelessness.

But last week, I had a truly joyful hearing. It was an adoption finalization hearing, and in attendance was an adult adoptee.

An adult adoptee who expressed that she was thrilled beyond measure to welcome a new person into her family.

She stood with her family members, some of them white, some of them African-American, some of them Asian, some of them of mixed race - we stood in a courtroom together and we were filled with the joy of the moment. The judge banged his gavel, announcing that the adoption was final. The family was giddy, all of them, together. The judge was giddy. I was giddy.

The adult adoptee wanted to talk to me about my daughter. We talked for a while, and I told her that I was blessed to have Lana in my life. She told me that we were both blessed, and she hugged me as she left the courthouse.

I'm not going to tell you that she was without grief, or without anger, without questions. I am just going to share with you all, that in that moment, in that courtroom, there was only joy on her face.

I think that when people say that "all adoptees feel __________," it's almost as absurd as saying, "all parents who have lost a child feel__________" - because while they have had the collective experience of having been adopted or having lost a child - the human response to those tragic circumstances is vast and unpredictable.

Is it reasonable to say that all parents who have lost a child will feel grief? Yes, absolutely.

Is it reasonable to say they will experience that grief in the same way? No.

Is it reasonable to say that because they lost a child, they will never feel a moment of joy in their lives and spend the rest of their time on earth collapsed in soul-sucking despair? I hope not.

Our children have lost their birth mothers, and that is a tragedy. I am aware, on a regular basis, that my daughter needs reassurance that she is loved, and that she will not be left. What child who lost two mothers by the time she was four would not need that?

We can walk through this world together, and we can experience the joys and the sorrows together, and we can hold eachother when life wounds us so deeply that we think we cannot bear to go on. Or we can choose to throw hateful words at people who are just trying the damndest every day to do the right thing.

I'm probably rambling and babbling at this point. I'm exhausted. Some very bad things happened this week that I will write a post about shortly.

But right now, I just want to share with you that I shared in the joy of one adoptive family. And it was real, and it was profound, and it made me feel like, every now and then, as an attorney, I get to participate in something that makes life worth living.

LM

*Nickelback, Never Gonna Be Alone

Help

2009-08-24T14:05:00.002-04:00

I am concerned that what I am about to ask is going to make me sound like a racist a**hole.

That is entirely NOT my intention. I am seriously concerned about something and I need some assistance. Please help Internets!!

(But I apologize in advance if what I am about to ask makes me a douchewaffle. (And in fact, if you feel I am being a racist in the asking, please tell me, cause I really, really don't mean to be.))

So...

I need help with Lana's skin.

Her skin is so unlike my skin. I'm afraid I'm really screwing it up.

The skin on her arms and legs gets quite dry, but we are keeping it soft and smooth with Eucerin or St. Ives Intensive Healing lotion several times a week.

But her FACE! Her poor face...I know I'm doing something wrong and the situation seems to be getting worse.

She has two extremely dry spots on her cheeks, and it's getting to the point that the skin on her cheeks looks several shades lighter than the skin on the rest of her face.

For a while I was putting my moisturizing lotion on her face, but she complained that it stung and it wasn't helping. So, I've been alternating putting BioOil and Vitamin E Oil on her face every day, and while it looks slightly better with this treatment, it still looks dry and the texture of her cheeks is...I don't know how to describe it - it's not bumpy, but it doesn't feel like healthy skin, it doesn't feel like the skin on the rest of her face.

Is there something I can get that is specifically made for Asian skin?

Please help! She does swim nearly every day, often for hours at a time. We put sunscreen all over her, and I'm wondering if the sunscreen is making things worse. Or the chlorine. Or a combination. I don't know.

LM

In Which I Buy Some Bubble Tea and Realize That I Am Old

2009-08-23T17:21:00.004-04:00

Friday evening, after dropping Gabriel and Lana off with my aunt, Husband and I went to Ann Arbor for dinner. (Gabe and Lana were spending the weekend with my aunt so that Husband and I could spend most of Saturday sailing with some friends on Lake Erie.*)

We had some yummy Japanese food, and as we were leaving the restaurant, I noticed a shop called, "Bubble Island" across the street.

I have been without a local supplier of bubble tea since the lone Vietnamese restaurant in our city closed down a few months ago, so I was extremely pleased to see that bubble tea was in my very near future.

I dragged Husband over to the Bubble Island shop, and hurried inside, and spent some time considering the various Bubble Tea options available to me at Bubble Island.

I was still wearing my work clothes - a long black and white sleeveless dress that was cool enough for the hot day, but still dressy enough to wear to court.**

After I placed my order, it dawned on me that I was CLEARLY not the target demographic for Bubble Island.

I was - **GASP** - old enough to be the mother of EVERY OTHER PERSON in the shop, including the guys working at the counter. (Well, old enough to be their mother if I had had a baby right out of high school, which of course, I didn't, but if I had, that child would be the age of all the other people in Bubble Island.)

I felt old. I felt...slightly silly. As if, perhaps, the joy of bubble tea was something I should have grown out of sometime circa 1994. (Of course, I didn't KNOW about bubble tea in 1994, and if I had known about bubble tea in 1994, I would have balked at paying $3.95 for a drink that didn't have any gin in it.) (Oh hell, let's be honest - circa 1994 I would have balked at paying $3.95 for a drink that HAD gin in it. I was a poor college student. $2 Well Drinks were a big thing for me.)

I took my honeydew flavored black milk tea with colored pearls "to go" and walked towards the car. It was delicious.

I'm just surprised, I think, at how far removed I felt from the other patrons. When I think about college, it doesn't seem that long ago. When I spend time with my college Girlfriends (which isn't as often as I'd like, but at least several times a year) - I almost feel like it was yesterday.

Bubble Island reminded me that it really was fifteen years ago. Fifteen years that has put more pounds on my frame and a few lines on my face, and a wardrobe that is clearly, clearly not that of a college student.

That bubble tea, though...that was still delicious. And I think I may have figured out how to make bubble tea at home, so at least I have a source that is closer away than Ann Arbor, and less likely to make me feel like I am trespassing on the domain of undergraduates.

LM

* Which is not to say that Gabe and Lana wouldn't have enjoyed sailing on Lake Erie - it just wasn't a kid friendly event

** Some female attorneys do not feel sleeveless dresses are appropriate for court. I respect that opinion. There are some judges' courtrooms into which I wouldn't wear a sleeveless dress. However, generally speaking, I do wear a lot of sleeveless blouses or dresses during the summer, and I think this is one of the few advantages female attorneys have over male attorneys. When it's 85 degrees in the hallway at municipal court, at least I don't have to wear a tie.

Sometimes I Worry About You Darlin', You Wear Too Much Mascara*

2009-08-18T15:48:00.002-04:00

Bunny's Mom reminded me that I wanted to talk about my new Va-Va-Va-Voom mascara. And I DO. (She reminded me of this because Bunny's Mom let Bunny wear clear mascara to school yesterday and I wanted to know what kind.)

Anyway, most of my adult I have worn only clear mascara.

My eyelashes are already very dark black, and most mascara seems to just flake into my eyes, run down my cheeks, and makes me end up looking like a raccoon. So it wasn't worth it to me to use anything but clear.

THEN, I read about "tubing" mascara, which I thought was probably a bunch of bubkis, until I read two articles (not in Cosmo) that it was a good choice for people with sensitive eyes and contacts. (I don't wear contacts, but I would classify my eyes as sensitive.)

SO. I went to RiteAid and I bought some "tubing" mascara. And let me tell you, it really does seem to work. It doesn't flake, and it doesn't bother my eyes. It doesn't come off if my eyes get a little watery, but it does come off in water (like, in the pool or shower.)

I have had several complements about my eyes since I started wearing it. So many that I have been really surprised. (They range from, "you look fabulous today" to (my favorite) in the elevator, leaving work last Thursday, I got a, "You are looking...incredibly well-rested," from a guy I went to law school with. (Of course, considering that while I was going to law school, I had, well, LAW SCHOOL, and a SLEEPLESS INFANT, the fact that I wasn't falling asleep on my feet, and lacked baby puke on any part of my ensemble was probably a dramatic improvement.)

At any rate, I just wanted to share my new found appreciation for tubing mascara. (I bought L'Oreal Double Extend Beauty Tubes but I think there are several varieties on the market.) (For the record, no cosmetic companies asked me to write about this. This is totally unsolicited praise on my part.)

*Rod Stewart, Camouflage

It's Been One Week Since You Looked At Me...*

2009-08-17T22:27:00.002-04:00

This week:

Lana was lost for about twenty minutes. Actually, Lana wasn't lost, per se. I thought she was lost. Gabe went next door to our neighbor's house to ask Lana to come home for dinner. He came back and reported that both Lana and her friend had "gone missing." I sent Gabe off to check three other friends' houses. When he came back to report that she wasn't at any of those houses, and to report that neither neither Haley nor Lily nor Lydia had seen Lana or her friend all afternoon (boy, there are a LOT of little girls with "L" names in our neighborhood) I was very close to FREAKING THE F**K OUT. It was fortunate that, at that time, our neighbor came over to say that Lana and her friend had been at our neighbor's the whole time, quietly drawing pictures in a closet. WHY WHERE THEY IN THE CLOSET? I don't know. But they were there and they were fine.

We got a fish tank. We bought four fish (I wanted to name two of them Rosencrantz and Guildenstern but I was outvoted.) The four fish were thriving so we bought three more. The third new fish sent all the other fish into a tizzy. The guppies had baby guppies. The swordtail fish (the instigator of all the tank trouble) ATE THE BABY GUPPIES. The fish became even more distressed. The swordtail fish (his name was Arthur) was found the next morning outside the tank. Quite, quite deceased. I'm not sure if he committed suicide or if the other fish sentenced him to death for cannibalism. I still can't figure out how he got out of the tank since there is a serious lid on the top. I'm also shocked that the Big Orange Cat did not eat him once he jumped from (or was flung from) the tank. The Small Auxiliary Cat also did not eat the swordtail fish, but that's not surprising because he (the Small Auxiliary Cat) isn't very bright. With the swordtail gone, peace now reigns in the tank of Ares, Poseidon, Lizzie (a hatchet fish), Neko-chan (a cat fish), and two fished that Lana has proposed naming Hannah and Miley. (She was outvoted as well. The fish have no names right now, and it doesn't really work to call them "not-Rosencrantz, not-Guildenstern, not-Miley, not-Hannah".)

I bought a Cosmopolitan Magazine because Kristen Bell was on the cover. (Oh, what? Like you never bought a magazine because an actress you have a slightly unhealthy interest in was on the cover?) The interview with Kristen Bell was adorable and funny and it just made me like her even more. Much of the rest of the magazine ranged from laughable to disturbing. It claimed (I call b*llsh*t on this, but I'm curious what your take is) that EIGHTY PERCENT of men are "manscaping". (I didn't know what manscaping was until I read the article.) If you don't know, let me share: manscaping is grooming of the hair around one's um...junk. (Junk-grooming, if you will). The interview was with a woman who waxes men's...um...junk. For a living. I find it impossible to believe that 80% of men in America are participated in this painful process. I just don't think 80% of men are willing to allow someone to come at their junk with hot wax. Call me crazy. LASTLY, Cosmo told me I should wear socks with high heeled sandals. NO. REALLY. I'm not kidding. I think Cosmo might be messing with my head on purpose.

We had a great weekend that involved live music at the art museum, followed by great food with great friends, and a day lounging by the pool. It was peaceful and lovely and it felt like a really perfect summer weekend.

*BNL, One Week

Girls, Put Your Pants On for Lubna

2009-08-11T22:36:00.002-04:00

I haven't seen a lot of news in the past three weeks. First, I was preoccupied with the demands of entertaining our exchange student. And then, sadly, a recent divorce client (apparently) committed suicide, which - honestly - is breaking my heart.

I explain my lack of attention to the news simply because I want to talk about Lubna Hussein, and Lubna Hussein may be old news to those of you who have been paying more attention to the news than I have in the past few weeks.

Lubna Hussein is facing a public flogging in the Sudan for the crime of wearing trousers. Yes, you read that correctly. She put on some pants, and now the Sudanese government wants to beat her. Publicly.

There is an article about it from the New York Times here. (Sometimes the NYT asks you to log in, and I can't remember if I was logged in when I read this article or not.)

I don't know if I would have the courage to stand up to something in the way that Lubna Hussein is standing up. I'd like to think that if I were faced with something so clearly backwards and wrong I would choose the brave route that Lubna has chosen. But it is a terrifying thing to face that kind of challenge. It would be easier to back down. But she is not backing down.

She could have invoked dipolmatic immunity from the law because she is employed by the UN. But she is choosing to stand trial, risking being flogged publicly, in order to stand up for what she knows to be true - that the law she was charged with breaking is unconscionable. I applaud her courage. I applaud her ingenuity in drawing attention to her case.

I can only hope that her actions will cause bring a small change to her corner of the world.

LM

Yet I never wonder where you went, I only wonder why, I wonder why...*

2009-08-08T11:50:00.002-04:00

Three months have passed since Kelsey disappeared. Then has been no word, no sign, no hope.

It is as if she fell off the face of the earth.

Three people have been arrested and charged with crimes that are believed to be, in a roundabout way, related to her disappearance. They were supposed to go to trial next week in Federal Court in Oregon, but their trial date has been pushed into December.

I am glad I resisted the part of me that wanted to buy a plane ticket to Portland so I can sit in the courtroom next week. (And truly, MAM and Nicole should be grateful I resisted the urge to call you both and beg YOU to sit in the courtroom, to tell me if she was there...)

Most of my brain has given up hope. But there is a tiny sliver of hope that she was placed in protective custody, that despite the police and FBI and the prosecutor's denials, that she was taken somewhere to keep her safe so that she can testify against the people who are believed to have harmed her. But, as I've said, the police, the FBI, the prosecutor - they seem as anxious to find her as we are. I find myself hoping that they are class-A liars, and that they have her, someplace - warm and safe and dry and breathing.

But most of the time...forgive me for saying this...most of the time, I almost hope that she has left us. Because if she IS still alive, and she ISN'T with the good guys...the stark reality is that she is with people who have every reason to hurt her, that she is existing in a truth that is probably worse than not-existing at all.

In the darkest hours of nights when I cannot sleep, I am haunted by thoughts of where she might be now. These thoughts make my stomach churn.

I took this confession to my mother. "Is it wrong to hope that she's dead instead of hurting?" My mother tells me she doesn't know if it's wrong, but that she feels the same way. "If she's left us...she's with Grandpa and she's in a better place." My mother just squeezed my hand.

LM

* Concrete Blonde, Caroline

The Problem with Facebook

2009-08-07T22:41:00.002-04:00

The problem with Facebook (well, among the problems with Facebook) is that it can be a slap in the face when all the people who are your "Facebook Friends" but who weren't actually your real friends in high school, post pictures of themselves. Especially if the pictures they post are FROM high school, and feature them attending fabulous parties, having a great time.

Pictures which never feature you, because, of course, you weren't at those parties. Because those people weren't your friends in high school.

What's made this worse, for me, this week is this - I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THOSE PARTIES WERE HAPPENING. Admittedly, I was very busy building sets for the drama club and spending Friday nights listening to Depeche Mode and watching weird foreign films and painting my fingernails black with my small circle of friends...or alternately snogging a string of loser boyfriends. Maybe those experiences were superior to having been invited to a party...

I suppose it was better that I was blissfully unaware of the parties at the time they were happening, because certainly my feelings would have been infinitely more hurt at the time then they are now.

But I can't say the pictures don't make me more than a little curious about what else I missed in high school.

It shouldn't bother me to see those photos, should it? These slightly faded, scanned photos of fabulous parties I wasn't invited to?

I mean, I sure as hell attended more than my fair share of fabulous parties in college. I have been known to HOST a fabulous party or two, as an adult.

I know, logically, that it's better to have had nearly two adult decades of real friends and really great parties - then to have had a few years of high school happiness.

However, there is a part of Facebook that still brings that high school sullenness out in me.

Maybe I should "de-friend" all my fake high school non-friend Facebook friends?

What about you? Has Facebook ever hurt your feelings?

Whatcha do with all them donuts that you bake?

2009-08-01T21:25:00.002-04:00

At present there are two sixteen-year-old Japanese exchange students in my living room playing Wii Bowling with Lana. I have promised to take them shopping tomorrow. It is their deepest desire to go to Forever 21. Apparently Forever 21 is a big deal in Japan. I don't think I have ever made anyone this ecstatically happy with just the promise of a ride to the mall.

I'm thinking that they are going to have to buy a new suitcase while they are at the mall because there is no room in their bags for any new stuff.

I find it very interesting to watch the exchange students' reactions to all things American. (I can still remember the first few weeks I spent in Japan, and how fascinating I found EVERYTHING.) Currently, they are thrilled by Pop-Tarts, chewy chocolate chip cookies, Tim Horton's Donuts**, and Wii Bowling (I thought Wii was pretty common in Japan, but I don't know if Wii Bowling has taken off.)

Speaking of doughnuts, I have a funny story to share. My mother returned from an International conference of "Women in the Clergy" a few days ago. The conference was held in Atlanta, but their were women there from all over the world. Inadvertently, my mother introduced a group of Cameroonian*** nuns to the delicacy that is commonly known as the "glazed doughnut". My mother had to actually drag them out of the back of the Baptist church that was serving the doughnuts with a promise that they would find more doughnuts the next day. After that, it was a week long quest for glazed donuts on the part of those nuns. It was "Have you TASTED THIS?" and "Do you KNOW ABOUT THESE?" all week long as those nuns took it upon themselves to spread the gospel according to Krispy Kreme.

I think that's just absolutely hysterical.

LM

*The Spin Doctors, Hungry Hamed
** Technically Canadian and not American, but who's quibbling?
*** I'm not sure if Cameroonian is the right terminology. Women from Cameroon is what I'm getting at.

Random

2009-07-18T14:55:00.002-04:00

I am sitting here awaiting the arrival of our Japanese exchange student, Yoko, who will be spending the next three weeks with us.

Lana is at a birthday party. (She was so excited to be invited.) Gabe is watching television, and my husband is off fixing my uncle's mailbox, so I have a rare moment of just being able to do...nothing. It's kind of nice.

Husband and I had an actual date last night for the first time in several weeks. We went out to see the Harry Potter movie. I did not hate it...but it left so much out of the story. It was a bit disappointing and I think if I hadn't read the books I would have been confused. HOWEVER, it was nice to go the movies with my husband and to go out for drinks and dinner after.

Lana has been having some strange sleeping issues since the tooth fairy incident of a few weeks ago. I'm not sure what to make of it.

Normally, Lana is a good sleeper, but she has had her periods of sleep screaming, which, frankly, have really sucked. She also has sleep talking incidents (preferable to sleep screaming) and also teeth grinding. But this new sleep issue is that she claims she "can't" sleep. She seems to be having trouble falling asleep, which has not been a problem before, and then, if she wakes in the middle of the night, she wants to sleep with Husband and I. (This wouldn't be a problem if it happened once or twice a month - but, lately, it's been happening almost every night.)

I hate to complain about this, since, at this point, if we let her get in bed with us, she generally goes right back to sleep. The main problem is that she then wakes up when we wake up, and she misses out on the two more hours of sleep that she really needs. (And she is a bear to deal with if she doesn't get 10 hours of sleep at night. A BEAR.)

Not really sure what to do - just rambling.

Sorry this post is so random.

LM

It's a Nice Day for a White Wedding*

2009-07-16T19:40:00.004-04:00

Please don't shoot me for my less than creative title. (It's no joke coming up with these appropriate song lyric titles!)

Anyway, I'm not dead.

I have been to North Carolina and back, and I'm crazy busy at work, and I have a Japanese exchange student arriving in two days, but I'm here.

We went to North Carolina for my cousin's wedding. We flew into Raleigh, where we had some very nice Vietnamese food and then proceeded to have a very disappointing experience with a tuxedo rental store which shall remain nameless.

Apparently, the employee of the tuxedo rental store that measured Gabriel six weeks ago had no clue how to measure a child, because there is no way my son grew three inches around his neck and four inches in his arms in six weeks. (The fact that the employee was hanging out of BOTH ENDS of her DRESS leads me to believe that she had no ability to put the appropriate size clothing on herself, so I don't know why I had any faith that she would get Gabe's measurements right.)

At any rate, the shirt that was shipped to the store in Raleigh was way too small and they didn't have another shirt in the right size at any of their four Raleigh locations. They had screwed up one of the groomsmen's measurements as well (this after my aunt spent four hours on the phone with them - FOUR HOURS - discussing measurements.) The long and the short of this (har-har, I slay myself) - was that someone was going to have to drive back to Raleigh from the site of the wedding, an hour south of Raleigh, on the morning of the wedding, in order to obtain the appropriate sized clothing.

Happily for the groom and the groom's father (to whom the task of retrieving the tuxedos fell), there is a sno-cone shop halfway between Raleigh and the wedding site that has 99 flavors of sno-cones.

The groom later informed everyone that the lemonade flavor was quite nice with Jack Daniels.

So, if you're ever in Smithfield, North Carolina, you might want to see what flavor of sno-cone you like with Jack Daniels...or without Jack Daniels. (Definitely without the whiskey if you happen to be driving, or underage, etc.)

Ultimately, the tux place did find a tuxedo shirt in the appropriate size for Gabriel, and he looked quite dapper as the ring bearer.

Lana was gorgeous as the flower girl in a tea length off-white dress. She was so excited about everything and both she and Gabe danced all night on the dance floor. It was crazy hysterical to me to watch my 9 year old and my 6 year old doing the Macarena.

I think the highlight of the wedding, though, as far as Gabe and Lana were concerned, was our ride in the limo. The limo driver had been hired to ferry people back and forth from the bed and breakfast where the wedding was being held, to a hotel a few miles away. BUT, we were actually STAYING at the bed and breakfast, so we didn't need to be driven anywhere, but the driver was smitten with the excitement of my children about a limo ride, he took us on a 10 minute drive around a really small North Carolina town, and that back to the bed and breakfast.

For the record, it is kind of exhausting to spend two nights at a historical bed and breakfast with a 9 year old and 6 year old. There was no place for them to run and there were a million things that they couldn't touch for fear of them smashing into pieces.

On our last day in North Carolina, we drove back to Raleigh and we were able to meet another Vietnam-Adoptive family, J&C and their beautiful girls Cams and Mia.

Unfortunately, my kids were so wound up that they went a bit nuts when they found themselves in a house with actual toys and other children. (I hope Gabe and Lana didn't traumatize your girls too much, J!)

I'll leave you with some photos of my munchkins in their wedding finery!

*Billy Idol, White Wedding