Things Lana has said this week that made me laugh

Lana: I don't talk regular

Husband: It's okay, you're getting better every day

Lana: I knows

Lana: I only like really CRUNCHY salad, mommy, like REALLY REALLY CRUNCHY, like, you bite it and it says CRUNCH-CRUNCH. This salad [she picks up a leaf of spinach from a strawberry spinach salad] is not so CRUNCHY. Not so crunchy, I not eat it, okay?

Lana: We goin' on VAY!CATION! We goin' on VAY! CATION! All four of us go on vay! CATION! All four of us guys [she gestures to our immediate family unit] goin' on vay!cation! on a airplane! Last time, I go on airplane, I go [Lana makes a vomiting noise]. I did that [vomiting noise] last time on the airplane. But, not this time! I don't know how to say that [vomiting noise again] but, I no do it on VAY!CATION! (Let's hope she's right about that one!)

(Photo courtesy of my Girlfriend H~, who takes the best pictures of kids!)

LM

Is it really EIGHT years?

The calendar tells me that it really is February 21, 2008, and I'm having one of those "where has the time gone" cliche moments of motherhood.

It was eight years ago this morning that we first met our little man Gabriel, who came to us scrunch-faced at exactly 10:00 AM, weighing in at 7 lbs, 7 oz.

I had a moment of angst the other day, when, having purchased him some new long sleeve shirts (size 10! Good grief his arms are getting long), Husband came into our room and said, "his new shirts don't fit on his hangers."

This seems like such a little thing, but, it means THAT HE NEEDS GROWN UP SIZE HANGERS. No more baby hangers. BIG REGULAR SIZE HANGERS for my baby's clothes.

Is it pathetic that this bothers me?

Last night I was telling Gabe the story of his birth (the highly sanitized version which is minus the blood and the screaming and the swearing like a sailor at the unknown doctor who was grabbed out of the hallway to come in and deliver him), and I had gotten to a key point in the story, the point at which my then-five-year-old-niece laid her head against my ginormous belly and started whispering, her mouth flush against my sweater. And when I asked her what she was saying, she looked up at me and said, "Aunt G~, I am telling that baby it is time to come out now!"

(After which, she also looked from me to her own mother, my sister, who was pregnant as well and said, "is my mom's belly going to get as huge as yours?" (No, I am not making that up, not even a little.) And considering the fact that my sister is an adorably petite 5-ft-tall tiny person, and I am a 5'7" Viking-lady, I assured her that it was impossibly unlikely that her mother's belly would get as huge as mine. And it didn't. Not once. Even though she's had FIVE babies.)

Anyway, I had gotten to the part where I went into labor only 4 hours after my niece J~ had whispered into my stomach that it was time to come out, when Lana piped up,

"What about me, mommy? What about ME!!??!!"

Oh, the crushing and irrational guilt that consumed me! I have no story to tell her about the night she was born. I cannot even tell her if it was night or day or raining or windy or gloomy or sun-shiny. Nothing. Nada. I got zip. Zero. Zilch. No information.

I have told the story of Gabe so many times that it is like second nature to me - and the little details are important (Husband had a fever of 103, I went to the grocery in a snow storm, the bit about my niece, and how we were watching an episode of The X-Files when we left for the hospital and how it's the only episode of the X-Files we have never seen all the way through*), but, even though I have been telling all of YOU the story of Lana for the last two years, I have not been telling it to HER.

And, well, let's face it, the past year has been a lot about getting to know each other, and her learning English, we haven't exactly had a ton of time to build our shared history, the story of 'us'.

I have yet to tell Lana the story of how, on the day we learned she was our daughter, we were swimming in the backyard when the phone rang, and a woman named Abbie, on the other side of the country, told us "Congratulations!" I have not told her of how I took the tracings of her feet with me to Frankenmuth, Michigan at Thanksgiving in order to buy her the perfect pair of shoes, and how I got excited to buy lace trimmed anklet socks to go with them. I have not told her of how her grandmother and I packed and repacked her suitcase 3 times on the night before Husband and I left for Vietnam, or how the lady at the Northwest counter in Detroit wished us "good luck with your daughter" when we checked in for our flight. I have not told her that I was nervous to meet her, or what I was thinking when I first saw her.

I have a good story, a compelling story, (really, it is a good story) to tell Lana. I need to work out the details, to get them right, to perfect the story of 'us'.

It may not ultimately be the story she is craving, it may not be the story that she wants. The time may come when she decides she needs to know the rest of her story, and I worry that she may never be able to find it. I worry about this, that no matter how compelling and interesting and humourously told, the story I have to tell her...may not be the story that she NEEDS. But, I will do my best, to craft a story for her, as carefully as I have woven the story of her brother, and I will weave those stories together, and I will hope for the best...

LM


*It was episode 7.12, an episode entitled "X-Cops", and Mulder and Scully were followed around by the film crew of a "Cops" style show - I honestly think that episode only aired that one time, because I have NEVER seen it advertised, anywhere, as a re-run.

A Cautionary Tale, aka Do Not Put All Your Eggs In One Basket

I have done a rather stupid thing.

And that stupid thing is this: I put almost every document relating to Lana's identity in ONE burgundy plastic expandable file folder.

The exception to this is her US passport, which, just by happenstance, is in an envelope with our plane tickets for our spring break trip. (And until the tickets came, her passport was in there, too.)

The burgundy plastic file folder is THE ONLY PLACE I had her social security number. (The file folder also contains 3 copies of her social security card, but, fat lot of good having a copy does if it is sitting with the original.)

This morning, for about 4 hours, I thought the burgundy file folder had been stolen from my car, and let me tell you, I honestly about lost my mind.

I KNOW better than this. I DO.

I give people LEGAL ADVICE for a LIVING, you can guarantee that I would never advise any client to keep all important documents in one place with no copies anywhere else.

SO WHY WOULD I DO THAT TO MYSELF??

So, for a few minutes I sat and thought about how I would reconstruct Lana's life - how I would put the pieces back together so that she would have an adoption decree, a birth certificate, a social security card, a certificate of citizenship.

I called the clerk at Probate court who handles all the adoptions, and she told me that they would be able to produce a certified copy of the final adoption decree (from my state, of course, but not from Vietnam), and my adoption agency said they could get me a copy (though not certified) of her Vietnamese adoption documents.

To reconstruct her life's documents would take time and money, and I am kind of desperate to get my taxes done. And to do that, I need her social security card.

When I called social security to see if they would tell me what the number is, they said, "we cannot give a parent the social security number for their child until they give it to us first."

Huh?? (She has got to be kidding me, right?)

So I said, "if I had the number, I wouldn't need YOU to give ME the number."

"Yes, I know, but, that's our policy ma'am."

I said, "What do I have to do to get the number?"

"Fill out form F-5 requesting a new card." she says.

"Form F-5 requires that I KNOW the number. I don't know the number."

We went round and round for 5 minutes. She tells me I should have written the number down in more than one place. (Thank you very f**king much. I needed that advice. Or rather assvice.)

She keeps saying that she cannot give me the number until I give her the number first. I want to strangle her.

Finally, I say, "would you PLEASE tell me what I have to do, if I have NO DOCUMENTS relating to my daughter's identity, how do I get her social security number?" (This was a stretch of the truth since I did have her passport.)

She hems and haws and says that I have to go in person to the social security office and take any documents that I can find, including any school records and medical records, and if I have "enough proof" they will help me out, in person.

I was thinking that I was going to have to leave work tomorrow afternoon and take her passport and the replacement adoption decree and beg the people at social security office to tell me what her social security number is. (Which, frankly, as her parent, I think I should be entitled to be told if I can show that she is my child, but, I don't really have high hopes about what might have happened.)

The good news is that, when Husband got home, he found the burgundy file folder in our computer room. Evidently, I must have brought it in from my car myself. (Smacks self in head).

So, I'm off to do my taxes. And put copies of all the important documents in about 3 separate places.

LM

Overheard

(I have to admit that I was reminded of this conversation while I was reading Snarky Bitch this morning. Give credit where credit is due and all that.)

Last week, there was a shortage of O+ blood in our area, and so the Red Cross called Husband and asked him to come in and give. (He gives pretty regularly, but, in this case they called him on exactly the next day he would be eligible to donate - I believe it's 57 days or something like that.)

So, Husband made an appointment for the next day, and he said to Gabe, "after school tomorrow you're going to have to come with me while I give blood, and then we'll pick up Lana."

Gabe: Oh yeah! I love it! (Gabe does a small happy dance around the kitchen)

Lana: What? What give blood? What that mean?

Gabe: Daddy gives the nurse his blood and the nurse gives us OREOS! And NUTTER BUTTERS! As many as I want! I'll get a pack for you, too, Lana.

So, there you go, my son loves it when Husband gives blood for the COOKIES.

Evidently, in Gabe's head, we happily exchange bodily fluids for baked goods.

LM

Freaking Out About Kindergarten

Well, it's January here in the frozen tundra we call home (and no, I don't even live in New Brunswick or anything- it's just very freaking cold here)...so, of course, what is on my mind but - AUTUMN and BACK TO SCHOOL.

Lana will be starting kindergarten in the fall, and I have it on good authority that if she doesn't have a private school placement by March 1, she will not get one.

No, I do not live in Manhattan. Or Chicago. Or some chi-chi suburb of either one. I'm just a mid-western girl in a city on Lake Erie, and I did not expect this kind of PRESSURE.

It's not that I have anything against public-school. In fact, I'm married to a public school teacher who does a darn fine job educating the public (if I do say so myself.) I have many friends and relatives who are fabulous public school teachers. I support public education. And I am generally happy with the public school district in which we live.

Gabriel attends 2ND grade at the public school.

Need I go on to convince you that I am not anti-public-school?

I think not.

BUT....

You knew this was coming, right? The big BUT...

BUT, the school district we live in is one of only two school districts in our county that has half-day kindergarten.

Which is, frankly, kind of a pain-in-the-neck for a working mom. And not really what Lana, in my opinion, needs.

Since March of last year, Lana has been in a NAEYC-accredited all-day pre-school program located on the campus of a large university. They have done a phenomenal job with her - she has two awesome teachers in a positive, comfortable setting. Lana is happy there. She loves S~ and S~, her teachers, and she loves her school friends. Her ability to speak English as well as she does is really a testament, I think, to the school and her teachers. Bottom line, I love Lana's current school situation. Gabriel was in the same day-care/pre-school from the time he was a baby until he started first grade. Gabriel did his kindergarten year at the school and it was a great success.

The problem is, there may not be enough children this coming year for the school to have a kindergarten program. Which means I need a second choice.

I'm all freaked out about this. As near as I can tell, our options are as follows:

1. Hebrew School - although I'm left wondering if it's totally inappropriate for me to send my Vietnamese-American-previously-Buddhist-being-raised-Episcopalian daughter to Hebrew School, merely for the convenience of it having all day kindergarten.
2. Catholic School - there are two options for all day Catholic school kindergarten near our home. One of them has an extremely inconvenient start and end time, so, it's out. The other one would be okay, except that I have many deep, unresolved issues with the Catholic Church...like, just as an example, birth control. I'm all for it, they're not, and I cannot reconcile giving tuition money to them. Does that make me too rigid?
3. Montessori School - we have an excellent Montessori School option. It is quite expensive, but, I'm leaning in that direction.
4. Public School in the morning, some kind of after-school day-care program. Honestly, this would be the most convenient for me, but, I am not sure about the after-school program. She would be bussed to a different building from her kindergarten...I'm all in a tizzy about this. I'm not sure it's a good fit for Lana when she has been in one place getting consistent care and lessons from the same people all day, for her to have kindergarten with a brand-new teacher, followed by afternoon care with brand-new care givers...I think it is worth mentioning that this is the option that Lana would probably choose for herself, because she is desperate to go to the same school as her big brother...

Just not sure what to do,
LM

365 Days, or Now I Have You

Right now, as I type this, it is about 7:40 PM Eastern Time in the US on January 7th. But, in Vietnam, it's about 7:40 AM on January 8th.


Which is roughly the time that, one year ago, we left our hotel to travel to Lana's orphanage for the last time.


Lana left the orphanage with us, and two other families, in a taxi a few hours later. She had never been in a car before. At times it is hard for me to wrap my head around the enormous changes this little girl has been through in the last 365 days. She had never been in a car before.


She had never been outside the province of DaNang before. She had never seen snow. The list is endless...


If you've been reading our story for a while, you know this. If you haven't been reading...well, I blogged the whole thing here:


http://gretchenfaith.blogspot.com/2007/01/we-have-lan.html


and here


http://gretchenfaith.blogspot.com/2007/01/giving-and-receiving-ceremony-and.html


As I type this, Lana is sitting in the big bathtub in my bathroom, tormenting her brother with a fish-shaped water pistol.

A year ago, as I concentrated on getting through each second without flying apart into a gazillion pieces of emotional wreckage, I don't think I allowed myself to believe that such normalcy was attainable.

I'm not going to lie and say that every day of our lives is an exercise in normalcy. (And I'm not sure that I would want to be living that kind of life.)

I strive for honesty here in this bloggy place.

The truth is, this has not been an easy year.

The truth is, this year has been more difficult than I imagined it would be on the day that Lana became our daughter.

The truth is that Lana crawled into my lap two days ago, played with the buttons on my shirt, and matter of factly said, "I used to have a different mommy. You used to be not my mommy. I had another mommy. Now I have you. I love you, mommy. I love two mommies." (I am NOT paraphrasing. That is, word for word, what she said to me.)

The truth is that is I was so stunned by her statement that instead of forming a response, I blinked and I just said, "I love you, too, Lana."

The truth is that while watching her adoption video with me on New Year's Day, she pointed to the footage of the orphanage and said, "I was scared. I was scared in that place, Mommy. Scared." And my heart broke for her.

The truth is that she was up half the night after watching that video, screaming in her sleep, "I don't want to go, I don't want to go, I don't want to go."

I don't think you have to be Freud to draw some pretty hefty conclusions about that.

At the end of the day, at the end of a year, the truth is that I love this child. I didn't fall in love with her right away. I fell in love with her in bits and pieces. When I think about what our journey to this child means to me, and the family of four that we have become with her in it, there are two verses of a song that run through my head. And begging the pardon of the person or persons who wrote it, because I don't pretend to know what they were writing about, (and it is most certainly about a woman, because, come on, isn't that what all the best songs are about?) - the song is Pat Green's Wave On Wave - and to me the words sum up the way Lana brought us to find her, and then made us love her - wave on wave, piece by piece, over and over. The words go like this:

So caught up now in pretending
That what we're seeking is the truth
I'm just looking for a happy ending
All I'm looking for is you.

You came upon me, wave on wave.
You're the reason I'm still here.
Am I the one you were sent to save?
You came upon me, wave on wave.

LM

12 Months Ago

At exactly this time (noon), at O'Hare Airport, Husband and I boarded a Korean Airlines jet bound for Seoul, South Korea.

It was just the beginning of our long journey to Lana.

I have a lot of thoughts bouncing around in my head today, on this topic and many others.

Right now, I just want to post a photo of Lana and I watching her adoption video. We watched it New Year's Day. Please excuse my appearance, as I am nursing a serious champagne head-ache in the photo.

Smells Like Christmas

When I was a very little girl, before my parent's divorce - or, at least before my mother's remarriage - we spent Christmas Eve at my mother's parent's home. I would sleep in a big bed with my mother's youngest sister, who was only 3 years older than I. We would lie awake and wonder if Santa Claus would really come, and, if so, how he would get into the house, since it was without a chimney.

My grandfather was an engineer - an engineer who designed engines for a large tractor company that I won't name here. He had convinced my youngest aunt and I that the mechanism that allowed Santa's sleigh to run was HIGHLY SIMILAR to the mechanisms that ran his beloved tractors. Because he appeared to be able to make ANYTHING run properly - from dishwashers to the ancient Model-T he kept in the garage - we believed that he must know of what he spoke. My grandfather had us convinced that Santa Claus would stop at his house for an engine tune-up, sometime in the middle of the night, and that Santa would drop off our gifts at that time. No chimney, no problem. Have a brilliant grandpa who can fix Santa's sleigh, THAT was the answer!

I'm not sure how I thought OTHER CHILDREN, children whose grandfathers weren't necessary to Santa's operation, got THEIR gifts, if THEY didn't have a chimney. Evidently such a question never occurred to me. (As it also did not occur to me that a sleigh pulled by magic reindeer should not actually NEED an engine tune-up from a tractor engineer...)

My grandparents were raised on rice farms in north central Arkansas, and they brought their Christmas traditions with them to Michigan. When my aunt and I would run downstairs on Christmas morning, we would find our stockings stuffed with whole pecans and oranges and tangerines. (And we always ate rice with butter and cinnamon for breakfast, and it wasn't Christmas with a pecan pie.)

As I grew older, I learned that Santa Claus did not bring oranges, tangerines or pecans to my friends, and yet it didn't occur to me to wonder why not. I still loved to crack the pecans open - there was something truly satisfying about cracking open the hard shell and digging out the meat of the pecan - something I only did at Christmastime.

Husband purchased a bag of oranges late last week, because Lana asked for them. We've never been big eaters of oranges around our house, they are a pain to peel and eat, and both Husband and I, usually, if we're going to make the effort to eat citrus, prefer grapefruit. But, Lana wanted oranges, so oranges were purchased.

On Christmas Eve morning, I sat at our kitchen table, peeling an orange with a Pampered Chef citrus peeler (which, I am telling you, for .75 is one of the best products I have purchased from any kitchen supply company.) Anyway, I was looking at the Christmas tree in our family room, and peeling the orange, and I realized that very little smells more like Christmas to me than the scent of a freshly peeled orange. I know that most people think of pine or cinnamon when they think about Christmas smells - but, to me, it smells like oranges, and brings me back to those magic Christmas mornings of my childhood. It could have only smelled MORE like Christmas if I had had some pecans to crack open at the same time.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas, filled with the smells that make you feel most at home!

LM

Gabriel loves Santa, Lana is not sure

Bad Blogger

Why is it that the holidays are supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, and yet I generally feel like I haven't got a second to just enjoy them?

Lana and Gabriel are practically apoplectic with excitement about Santa's upcoming visit. Lana is not keen on the whole, "we buy presents for eachother and then we have to keep it secret for a few weeks" thing. She wants to wrap the gifts and then have the intended recipient open them IMMEDIATELY. She is bursting with the desire to tell Husband what she and I and Gabriel purchased for him, and likewise to tell me what she and Husband and Gabriel have in store for yours truly.

(I have heard whispered rumors from the troops (aka Lana and Gabe) of "Hello Kitty" themed pajamas under the tree in my size. Is it sad and pathetic to be a 35-year-old woman who is happily looking forward to this rumored present?**)

We made cookies for Gabriel's class the other day, and I, through sheer random luck, found a recipe that makes AWESOME Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip cookies. And by awesome, I mean, REALLY REALLY REALLY freaking good. They were so good that I am going to link to the recipe, because, what I am saying is...they are GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD. So, the recipe is here. YUM. (You have the cream the sugars, butter and peanut butter together for a good amount of time.)

So, anyway, between all the Christmas shopping, baking, wrapping, and, oh, writing a fascinating (NOT!) 10-page brief on why the interest of a valid mortgage holder in good faith is superior to a leasehold interest in a piece of real property (anybody want a copy for some bedtime reading?) I haven't had a lot of time to blog. And I also had to evict a crack-whore and her pimp from a really disgusting apartment, so, hey, just call me "Santa Claus."

I've also been watching a lot of Ask A Ninja. Which, if you haven't been watching Ask A Ninja, YOU MUST WATCH. Good grief it's funny stuff. (Funny enough, for example, to make you forget for a few minutes that you just evicted a prostitute from her humble abode.) You will laugh like the laughingest laugher. Here is my favorite one so far, it's the Ninja speaking on The Hollywood Writer's Strike. Funny stuff, my friends, funny stuff: Ask A Ninja On The Writer's Strike.

Other media stuff I'm kind of obsessed with these days:
1. The new Finger 11 song, Paralyzer. Why do I love this song so much?? I don't know, but, I cannot get enough of it. The video is here: Paralyzer
2. ABC.com has put some episodes of "My So-Called Life" on it's website for your viewing pleasure. It's not "Veronica Mars", but, hey, it was a good show the first time it aired, and, honestly, are you going to watch all the reality tv crap they are going to start airing on Primetime? (Please say no. PLEASE SAY NO.)
3. Christopher Moore's book The Stupidest Angel. My new favorite Christmas book. (Warning, it does contain many swear words, zombies, and a talking fruit bat.)

Hope everyone else is having a calmer Christmas season than I am!

LM

**In the same vein of being happy about the possibility of Hello Kitty pajamas, a few weeks ago I was attending a status pre-trial on a case I thought was fairly straightforward. We were sitting in the Judge's chambers, and opposing counsel dropped a bomb on me that I was TOTALLY not expecting. I didn't have a pen out, so, I grabbed by purse and yanked out the first pen I found and began writing furiously with it. The judge and opposing counsel were quiet for a moment while I wrote, and when I looked up at them, they were both smirking. "Nice pen" opposing counsel said, and the judge laughed, and I realized I was writing furiously with a fuzzy, pink Disney Princess Pen. (The pen was Lana's. Not mine. I swear.) I blushed and then said, "well, I guess you gentlemen don't have any princesses at home!" Such is my life....

In which I am forced to quote the lyrics of a cheesy Chicago song

For quite some time, I have been frustrated by Lana's steadfast refusal to walk upstairs by herself. (I mean, Lana is physically capable of walking up stairs - it's just that she refuses to go to the second floor of our home if no other family members are up there.)

I was not understanding this, since the upstairs is where all of our bedrooms are, and Lana seems to like her bedroom and the toys that are there. But, she will only play in her room if other people are also upstairs.

We have had angry scream-y mornings in which I have asked her to do something, which, in my mind, is TOTALLY REASONABLE while I am trying to get Gabriel out to the bus on time, and Lana and myself into the car immediately thereafter. Namely, I will say, "Lana, please go up and put on some socks" or "Please go up and get your hair brush and a pony tail holder."

And then Lana will say "No," and I will say, "yes" and Lana will say, "NO PEOPLE UP THERE!" and I will say, "SO WHAT?" and the conversation just goes downhill from there and ends with me stomping angrily upstairs or going upstairs WITH HER to get whatever item it is that is needed and feeling frustrated that she is being disobedient.

I was about at the end of my rope with this when, a few nights ago, we got a bit of insight into the situation.

As is our custom, all four of us were sitting at the kitchen table just before bed. Gabe and Lana were eating their snack, I was reading to them from Encyclopedia Brown, and Husband was grading papers.

Lana had finished her snack and I had finished The Case of the Purloined Watermelon or whatever whodunit the good Encyclopedia had been delving into that night, and Gabriel had one more peanut butter cracker to finish. Husband told Lana to go upstairs and start brushing her teeth. (It is easier to get teeth brushed when both children are not in the bathroom together. I don't know what it is about teeth-brushing-time that brings out the worst persnickityness in them.)

"Nobody up there," Lana said.

"Gabe will be up in a minute. You go on upstairs and start brushing your teeth." Husband said.

"But, no people upstairs. Nobody upstairs." Lana continued.

Husband looks frustrated and says, "Just go on up and brush your teeth. Mommy and Gabe will come up in a second."

Lana's face bunches up with near tears. "If I go upstairs, and everybody stay down here, you will leave me. You will go away. You will leave." She blurts.

Stunned silence.

"We will never leave you." Husband says categorically.

"Yes," Lana says, "you will leave."

"We will never leave you by yourself. Not ever." Husband says again.

"You will," she said, in a quiet, sad voice that made it clear she believed it was only a matter of time before we betrayed her in this way.

Suffice it to say that I worry that, as an adult, Lana may have abandonment issues that could rival those of Meredith Grey...

In a way, I am relieved that Lana feels that she can communicate her fears to us. On the other hand, I find it heartbreaking that she worries that we are not really her forever family and are engaged in some kind of elaborate hoax to leave her alone and helpless.

I must confess that, when I went into her bedroom that night to sing her a song before sleeping (normally I sing her "I'm In Love With A Big Blue Frog" and "The Other Day I Saw A Bear"), I found myself crooning the first verse of a song with which I was obsessed as a pre-teen girl enamoured of The Karate Kid movies.

Yes, I had to sing part of [gasp] The Glory of Love, namely:

I will always love you
I will never leave you alone
Sometimes I just forget
Say things I might regret
It breaks my heart to see you crying
I don't want to lose you
I could never make it alone

Sometimes, only the cheesiest love song can say what really needs to be said.

LM

Incongruous

Some time ago, my Girlfriend A~ (aka Vanilla Caribou or Perpetual Student http://vanillacaribou.blogspot.com/) sent a gift to Lana and Gabriel that included a CD called "O Canada." It's a collection of Canadian songs sung by Canadian Children. The cover of the CD features a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman and a Maple Leaf.

The point I am trying to make is that it is an extremely CANADIAN album. (Which makes sense, since Canada is where A~ lives when she is not running around Northern Ireland writing her thesis and taking pictures for her blog.) The album is more Canadian than The Barenaked Ladies and Bryan Adams put together. It's like a little audio helping of maple syrup and poutaine (poutine?).

Recently, Lana has decided that she LOVES this album. She LOVES it.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I must also say that Lana LOVES the song "Cyclone" by Baby Bash and T-Pain, and also "Bubbly" by Colby Callait (sp?) - so, there really is no cataloguing her musical taste.)

But, at any rate, she is especially fond of two songs from the "O Canada" album, namely, a folk song entitled "Farewell to Nova Scotia" and the Canadian national anthem.

And I just have to say that I find it extremely incongruous, to be driving my newly emigrated Vietnamese-American daughter through a snowy mid-Western day while she happily sings, "Oh Canada, My Home and Native Land" in the backseat of the car...

LM

Soakin' Cold

As Lana becomes fluent in English, some of her phrases cause me endless amusement. She has recently begun to use the word "soaking" in the most interesting way. (I mean, I find it linguistically interesting, because I am a geek that way, but, also, I find it adorable.)

She learned the term "soaking wet" over the summer when we were swimming in the pool every day.

When it started to get cold, she looked at me and said, "Mommy, I'm soakin' cold." The first time she said it, I asked her to repeat it, as I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly. "Soakin' cold, mom." She said. "Not soakin' wet right now, but, soakin' cold."

At Halloween she happily announced to Gabriel, "We're SOAKIN' in candy, Gabe! Soakin' in candy!"

She has also, on other occasions, been "soaking hungry" and "soaking tired" and "soaking in birthday presents."

It's astonishingly cute, is what it is.

I don't have the heart to tell her these aren't common colloquialisms - besides, maybe it'll catch on. Maybe soon, all across the Midwest, we'll be soaking cold. While we're soaking in Christmas presents. While we cure our soaking hunger with some Christmas treats.

LM

One Crazy Weekend

We have had a crazy weekend. And I have proof that Dick Cheney must read my blog, because he smited us yesterday, obviously, for calling him The Anti-Christ.

So...let me start with the smiting. (Smoting? How DOES one conjugate "to smite"?) Anyhoo, yesterday afternoon, Husband, kids and I were driving to meet my friend J~, who was in town from Cleveland, and who I haven't seen in...I don't know, YEARS, when we turned a corner and saw some people holding up signs that said, "End this ENDLESS War" and "Bring Our Brave Troops Home from Iraq."

Since these are sentiments Husband and I both agree with, Husband honked his horn. And BANG. We were smited. Surely by some sort of Cheney-controlled-spy-satellite, seeking out peacenik's like ourselves who call him the Anti-Christ on the Internet.

Okay, I'm kidding about Cheney (I think, but, seriously, you never know about that man) - but, our car DIED. It went completely dead.

The protesters helped us push it off the very busy street and onto a side street. We had to call AAA to come tow it, and my dad to come get us (do you know how hard it is to squeeze five people (my dad plus the four of us, plus 2 car seats for the kiddos) into a Lexus sports car? Thank heaven Husband and my kids are THIN is all I'm saying...yikes that was a tight squeeze. (Before you ask, my mother and her sensible mini-van were not available.)

So, now we are down one car and waiting for the mechanic to call and tell us how painful this problem is going to be to our wallet.

And we didn't get to see my friend J~, which sucks.

*****

The weekend started off with such promise. Our friends H~ and L~, who have been waiting for their baby from China for almost two years now (the China wait is insane right now) - volunteered to come over and play with Lana and Gabe so that Husband and I could go out to eat, have some adult time, and satisfy my aforementioned lust for California rolls. (Shut up! Get your minds out of the gutter, people! I'm saying we had Japanese food!!)

Anyway, we had a lovely night out, and when we came home, the kids went right to sleep (THANK YOU H&L!!! You must have tired them right out!!) We watched some stand-up comedy on Comedy Central, and we saw a guy we had never heard of before, but, who CRACKED US RIGHT UP. He's a Vietnamese-American comedian named Dat Phan, and (this is SO not politically correct), but, when he did impressions of his parents, his fake accent was DEAD-ON LANA. I'm trying to find a clip of him on the Internet, talking about his mom eating spicy food, because Lana does the same thing with hot chicken wings, and folks, let me just say, that he made me laugh so hard I choked. Here is his website: http://www.datphan.com/ - he has some videos there. You will laugh. I promise. I wouldn't necessarily listen at work, though, if your company is strict about that kind of thing.

Saturday was crazy party day - we went to a birthday party, an Ohio State-Michigan game party, and a 50th Wedding Anniversary Party. All in one day. We started partying at 10:00 AM and didn't get home until 11:30. It was CRAZY.

At the 50th Anniversary Party I had the opportunity to talk to an old friend of mine who writes for TV. He is on strike right now (obviously), and it was very interesting to get his perspective on what is going on. It sounds to me (and, obviously, I am biased since I am getting the info from someone who has a fundamental stake in the situation), that the writer's are just asking the studios to use the same calculation to compensate writers for revenues from streaming video and other new technologies that they use to compensate them for traditional media. It just makes sense to me, and I hope that when they go back to the table next week that they will work something out. (Cause otherwise we are going to be stuck with some serious crap-reality-tv for the rest of the season. Ugh. [Shudders violently]).

Anyway, it was just one long crazy weekend, and I still don't know what's going to happen with Husband's car. Do you think I could convince Dick Cheney to buy us a new one??

LM

Random Stream of Conciousness Post

So.....on the night before the one morning since, well, ever - that three local news crews are coming to Lana's school to film a politician reading a story to the children there - I PUT LANA TO BED WITH WET HAIR. She woke up today looking like Medusa. And I couldn't find the the anti-tangle spray. So, I am certain that my daughter is going to be on the local evening news looking like she stuck her hand in a socket.

I had a bad Weight Watchers week last week, but, I am sticking with it. (Three days at my in-laws can kind of derail any healthy eating plan.) I'm sticking with my healty 6-Point lunch, despite the fact that I can smell my secretary's Turkey Bacon Guacamole Quizno's sub from where I am sitting. That's some serious temptation to run down to Quizno's and get one for myself, but, I'M NOT GOING TO. I'm going to eat my kiwi and my satsuma orange and my yogurt and cheese and broccoli. (Incidentally, I have never eaten so many vegetables and fruits in my life!)

I need good advice for how to get all this water that I'm supposed to be drinking....

I was going to write a rant about the fact that it is only the 15th of November and that I am SO NOT READY to hear Christmas carols on the radio yet. But, then, I was in our firm's copy room and one of my favorite Christmas songs came on and I grooved around the copy room and felt happy, so, I'm not going to complain. You can share in my pre-Christmas joy with Boney M's 1978 Reggae Christmas "Classic" here.* (Laugh if you must, I still LOVE it.)

LM

*Incidentally, I had nothing to do with this video - I just wanted to find the song and this was the first thing to come up on youtube.

Have I Not Been Paying Enough Attention?

My best friend from high school (elementary school, actually - we met in the 5th grade) has been living in Kuala Lumpar (sp?), Malaysia since 1996. I've seen her three times in the past 11 years. Nonetheless, she is one of my oldest friends, so, we email or Skype about once a month, sometimes more, sometimes less. I'll admit that in the 10 months since I've been parenting two children, it's been "less often" than "more". I have, on more than one occasion, completely flipped my lid when something disastrous was going on in Southeast Asia and I wasn't able to reach her via email or Skype. (Typhoons, for example).

So, I was somewhat surprised, on Saturday, to find an email in my in-box from her with a subject line, "don't worry, we're fine" and a fairly lengthy email explaining why I should not worry about her and describing the circumstance that led to the Malaysian people rioting in the streets.

And I realized that I had no idea that I should be THINKING about being WORRIED about her. I had no clue.

It occurred to me that the only global information I've been paying any attention to for about two weeks is that which concerns the situation with adoptions in Vietnam.

It's possible that I need to be a bit more mindful of what is going on in the world. Despite the fact that it regularly scares the everliving crap out of me. (Cheney (aka The Anti-Christ) is trying to convince us we need to go to War with Iran? Really? Are we seriously contemplating this? See, I venture outside my bubble for two seconds and I am terrified already.)

In my own little corner of the world, the news goes something like this:

1. Lana loves her dollhouse. I have pictures of her playing with it I hope to post soon. The dollhouse was a kit from Imaginarium, as opposed to something more complicated. She also likes the dolls we got her to go in the dollhouse, who are roughly the same height as Barbies, but, look like regular girls. They are called the Only Hearts Club dolls. My only complaint is that they released an Asian doll named Hannah Faith earlier this year, and you cannot find her ANYWHERE. Yesterday I finally emailed the company and they wrote back to tell me "[d]ue to the overwhelming positive response to our two new dolls, Kayla Rae and Hannah Faith, we were sold out of them in late August 2007. We are currently producing more and these will be available for shipping around the 20th of December." I am hoping to get a hold of one for Lana for Christmas. As is, I imagine, every other household with a 4-to-7 year old Asian girl living in it...so, I'm not holding my breath. (As it is, Lana seems perfectly happily with the two blond dolls that she has. She doesn't play with her Sonya Lee doll or her Corolle doll Lili, both of whom are Asian, as often as she plays with her other dolls. I still think it's important that she have a variety dolls that look like her. Anybody have thoughts on this?)

2. Over the weekend we had a huge birthday bash in Husband's hometown (suburban Detroit) for Lana, and her cousins J~, M~ and B~. Every cousin on Husband's side of the family has a birthday in November except for Gabe. So, we had a big party at a place with Laser Tag, a giant inflatable slide, a rock climbing wall, a giant trampoline, skeeball, Dance-Dance-Revolution, etc. It was fun. I've got pictures of Gabe and Lana on the giant trampoline that I will post along with photos of the dollhouse. Lana was in 7th Heaven with all the attention.

3. Lana had her well-check visit with our family doctor yesterday. She has gained 8/10's of a pound and grown an inch and a half since she's been with us. The doctor didn't seem concerned about this, so, I'm trying not to be. She's only 36.8 pounds. She's wearing size 5 or 5T pants, though, and when she first came home, her 4T pants were a little long. (So, I wonder if she hasn't actually grown more like 2.5 inches instead of 1.5), but, we can only put her in the pants with adjustable waists on the inside. Anything else falls right off of her. She's just such a tiny little thing and it's hard sometimes to get food into her.) She also got 3 more immunizations. OUCH. (I will admit that I have never been present for the shots. I haven't attended an immunization visit for either of my kids since Gabriel's first one. After which the nurses asked Husband to not to let me come again for a visit involving shots if it could be helped...yes, I am pathetic.)

4. We had parent-teacher conferences for Gabriel on Friday morning. He's doing find academically, but, his teacher tells us he seems 'sad'. I know Gabe is really missing his best friend, who moved to Kansas City in August. It's been really hard for him to not have his best friend, and his teacher encouraged us to try to set up some more playdates with some other children in his class. I should have been doing this since Doug moved away, and I'm feeling hugely guilty about the fact that I haven't done this for him.

5. I cannot get this song out of my head. It's a One Republic song called "Apologize" remixed with Timbaland in the background. I don't actually like Timbaland, but, this song is sticking with me. You can watch a video of it here.

6. Husband bought me a device that plugs into my Zune, and then into my cigarette lighter, and then broadcasts my music through my car radio. The other day it was running while I was driving Lana to school, and we had listened to Depeche Mode's "Master and Servant", followed by a Alison Kraus's "Take Me For Longing", followed by The Killers "Somebody Told Me". And I actually had the following thought go through my head. "I really love this station. They are playing the best music this morning." Yeah. Because it's MY MP3 PLAYER (Idiot! Slaps forehead). Evidently I'm kind of a ditz in the morning. And also musically schizophrenic.

LM

Happy Birthday Lana!

Today is Lana's 5th Birthday. Over the weekend, we had two parties for her (one with my mom's side of the family, the other with my dad's side of the family. Not because of any real animosity between the two, but because my mom's side of the family is HUGE, and my dad's family kind of gets lost in the mix. Hence, we had two parties.)

Lana was over the moon with excitement. She was almost manic in her joy at finally having "Lana's Happy Birthday Party".

Tonight we are taking her out to dinner. She requested Applebee's of all places. So, Applebee's it is.

She's also going to come home to find the dollhouse her father spent last night constructing in our bedroom closet. She might faint from excitement.

LM

She was suprised to see me

When I arrived at the center at 5:20 this afternoon, she was sitting on Shelly's lap (Shelly being one of her two teachers.) She had a sad look on her face as she watched the other children being picked up by parents. I'm not sure if the look was sad or resigned.

Then she saw me and the look on her face was SUPRISE. The child was surprised I came for her. I think this breaks me heart more than if she had been angry with me. I think, because if she had been angry with me, she would have arrived at the place in our relationship where she feels entitled to be mad at me. And I'm not sure she's quite there.

She cautiously got off Shelly's lap and came over to me. I looked down at her, and she raised her arms up to me. She said, "Bahm!" which, as near as I can tell, means, "pick me up." (At least, this is what this means in our house, where it is said about a gazillion times a day to Husband.)

I picked her up (she only weighs 34 pounds after all) and she wrapped her small hands into my coat. "Do you want to go home?" I asked her. She nodded vigorously. "Gabriel mo?" she asked. (Where's Gabriel?) I said, 'Let's go find him" and she nodded again, vigorously.

I put her down and she ran to get her coat. With her coat on, she showed some excitement in showing me some things in her classroom, like her mailbox.

Husband wasn't home when we got there, as he was at a board meeting.

There was REJOICING when he came home. There were squeals of delight. There was dancing in a little circle and hopping around and cries of "Ba! Ba!" (He was already gone when she when she woke up this morning.)

I am glad she was happy to see him, and I am glad her first day at school was less traumatic than anticipated. I'm a little bit sad that she doesn't believe we will come for her, that we will always return for her. (Considering the loss of her foster mom, can I blame her? Not a chance in hell.)

Heading to bed for the night,
LM