I'm sure you've heard the saying “It takes a village to raise a child.” It’s an old African proverb. Did you think Hillary Clinton was the first one to say it? If you did, you are wrong, but that makes me happy because now you think I am very smart.
As a parent, I am all about the "village" mentality. I'm always gathering parental information from others, and if I feel it will assist me in raising my girls, I use it.
I was at a cocktail party not long ago and I ran into my girlfriend, Jax. Jax has two daughters and unless they are a family of liars, the girls get along really well. I want my girls to be like that. Let me re-phrase. I want my older one (Sweet Pea) to love my younger one (Lovey) like that. Lovey already lives for Sweet Pea, but if Sweet Pea had her way, Lovey would be living with you.
Listen, I get it. It’s normal to pick on the younger sibling. I was mean to my brother when we were little (like really mean) and I see a lot of me in Sweet Pea. "But how can that be? She’s adopted!" Dude, trust me, spend five minutes with her and you will forget all about that adoption thing. She is ME. I'm not sure if you read “Bribery in Disguise,” an entry from back in February, but if you did, you know that I actually had to develop a game in order to bribe Sweet Pea to be nice to Lovey. The game helped, it actually helped a lot, but not enough. It seems there is a lot of meanness to go around, and Sweet Pea still manages to conjure up just enough to worry me.
Back to Jax. She gave me a little tip and I’ve been using it. She said that the first thing she does when her girls wake up is ask them, “Who’s your best friend?” and then both girls say that the other is their best friend. I wasted no time and tried it with my soon-to-be 4 year old, Sweet Pea, the next morning. When I asked her "Who's your best friend?" she replied that I was her best friend. I was so honored and so happy that I was kind of done. But then I remembered that not everything is about me, so I went back and explained that Lovey is really her best friend and we tried it again. Sweet Pea got it right the second time.
I then moved on to my 21 month old daughter, Lovey. I asked: "Who's your best friend?" Lovey got it right the first time--that is if turning around in circles while pulling your pants down and laughing maniacally means “Sweet Pea is my best friend.” Clearly she’s not quite ready for this type of discussion, but I’ll keep trying with her because I am convinced that reinforcing the sisterly bond and discussing its value will eventually make a difference. Thanks, Jax. Love the tip. Good to have you in the village.
My friend, Tess, has a daughter who is two years older than Sweet Pea. Tess is a few steps ahead of me and always dispensing invaluable parenting tips. She mentioned a good one once and I'm sure she doesn’t even remember. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t read this anyway. Some crap about how her eyes hurt when she reads a computer screen. Nice friend. Get glasses.
Tess told me that when I read to my kids I should point out what I’m reading. For example, “Blah blah blah, something that rhymes, and the bike is red…” While I read the words “the bike is red” I should be pointing to the red bike in order to authenticate and illustrate what I‘m saying. Who knew? Not me. Thanks, Tess. You can stay.
And now my friend, Ashby. Ashby shared a tip that I used when Sweet Pea was younger and I have recently started to use it with Lovey. You know those things that are on the backs of doors? I’m not sure what they’re called. Door backers? There’s a metal spring and then a white plastic piece that goes on the end. Sweet Pea used to love to take the white pieces off. It drove me nuts. We had to tape them all on. It wasn’t just that, she took everything off of everything. And she was fast about it. Ashby said that if we could catch her in the act, we should get on her level, take the plastic thing out of her hand and say: “Sweet Pea, THAT’S not for you!” Not in a mean way, but that sing-song pretty way that sugar coats what we really mean: “WHAT IS WITH YOU? STOP IT! YOU ARE DRIVING ME FREAKING NUTS. SERIOUSLY, THE WHITE THINGS AT THE END OF THE SPRINGY THINGS? WHY??”
Yelling just scares little kids and if we use up all of our yelling on stupid stuff like plastic door backer things, the yelling will lose its value and then we won't be able to use it to scare the hell out of them when we really need to. Ashby’s “No, No, honey…THAT’S not for you” line is a good alternative. It gets the point across without judgment and without volume. Good tip, Ashby. The village welcomes you. Don't speed. Garbage day is Tuesday.
It’s unrealistic to think that we are the only ones who influence our kids. We instill what we can, drawing from our own childhood experiences and the tips we take from others, but there comes a time in every child’s life when we have to let them wander the village, without us. We leave them in the care of someone else--a grandparent, a teacher, a babysitter, whoever. Basically someone that is not us. And when we leave them, we are left holding a big bag of hope that those we trust are making good decisions in the best interest of our child.
Plus, who’s to say that you won’t do a stellar job as a parent (so stellar that you can’t imagine anyone doing a better job) but despite your self-proclaimed parental awesomeness, your kid still turns out completely messed up? Someone in your village must have given you a crappy tip and now your kid is thirty years old with his Chevette parked in your driveway and his ass parked in your basement. If, as instructed in this entry, you utilized those in your village, and tried their tips--instead of having only yourself to blame, you now get to point fingers and blame someone else. Just not me.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
One Thing on the Menu
I once got a fortune that said “Eat to live, don’t live to eat.“ I for sure got that fortune by mistake so I made someone trade with me. I love to eat. I’m usually planning my next meal while I’m in the middle of eating one. I don’t know if I was always like this, but I am now. My friend, Busy, thinks we are like this because we are losers who have nothing else in our lives. She is mistaken. I have cake.
My kids don’t feel the same way as I do about food. They’re much more apathetic about mealtime. For awhile, my 20 month old, Lovey, ate just about everything we put in front of her. Those were good days. Those days are over. She now seems to be easing off the food. I think her belly and her palate have reached their respective breaking points. We had a good run, but she’s moving on. She’s now eating only bits and pieces of some food and rejecting others. The rejects end up on the floor and for this reason our dog, Floyd, loves Lovey more than anyone else in the family.
My other daughter is almost 4 years old. She’s very busy. Way too busy to eat. She’s two bites in and “I’m done!“ I don’t get that. WHO LEAVES MAC AND CHEESE ON THEIR PLATE? The veggies, sure, but Mac and Cheese? That is just wrong. She will be sorry one day. She doesn’t appreciate M&C for all its heaven on earth status now, but she will, and when she does, the calories will count. I can‘t wait for the day when she says: “I’m dying for some Mac and Cheese, but I really shouldn‘t because then I‘ll have to work out for 10 hours.” My eyes will then proceed to roll somewhere into the depths of the back of my head. You had your chance, sister.
We were recently commiserating with some friends over how often we have to make a different meal for every person in our family to ensure that everyone is happy. We do this because we are scared of what will happen if our kids don’t eat and also because we are dumb.
My girlfriend, Segal, said she read something about how if we serve everyone at the table the same thing for several days in a row, eventually everyone will start eating it. Wait. What? Feed everyone the same thing? Put the food out and that is that? The kids just have to deal? I was dubious, yet intrigued. She admitted that she has never tried it, but supposedly it works. If it works, I’ll do it. Sign me up. I did sleeping training with both of my kids, I can do anything. I’m a warrior.
Unfortunately, Segal didn’t have much more to say on the subject. I got the feeling that she wasn’t going to try it. I don’t need her. I’ll do it on my own. I was very excited about the prospect of no longer being the short order cook in my house, but when I pressed her for more info, she simply said: “They say it works.”
Time Out. Who are “They?” Do I know any of them? How did they become they? Did they take a class? What if they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about and although it sounds great in theory to serve only one meal and tell everyone to deal, I will feel kind of bad if my kids pull a Gandhi and end up curled up and convulsing in the corner of my kitchen weak with starvation. I wonder where they will be then?
Oh, They. How I loathe you. You had me so excited, why can’t you deliver any concrete evidence as to whether this works or not? Gotta go with the gut, I guess. As parents, that’s all we have. The idea of serving everyone the same thing makes sense, we are a family after all, but unless the outcome of an idea has actually been proven, we’re taking a chance and guinea pigging our kids. It does seem pretty innocuous though. I mean, what harm can come from giving everyone in the family one option for dinner and if not everyone is happy, TOO BAD? They’ll either cave and everyone will eat, or they’ll stand on principle and have to skip a meal or four.
I might actually give it a shot (right after I learn how to cook) because really, if it’s only three or four days, what’s the worst that can happen? Isn’t that what they say?
My kids don’t feel the same way as I do about food. They’re much more apathetic about mealtime. For awhile, my 20 month old, Lovey, ate just about everything we put in front of her. Those were good days. Those days are over. She now seems to be easing off the food. I think her belly and her palate have reached their respective breaking points. We had a good run, but she’s moving on. She’s now eating only bits and pieces of some food and rejecting others. The rejects end up on the floor and for this reason our dog, Floyd, loves Lovey more than anyone else in the family.
My other daughter is almost 4 years old. She’s very busy. Way too busy to eat. She’s two bites in and “I’m done!“ I don’t get that. WHO LEAVES MAC AND CHEESE ON THEIR PLATE? The veggies, sure, but Mac and Cheese? That is just wrong. She will be sorry one day. She doesn’t appreciate M&C for all its heaven on earth status now, but she will, and when she does, the calories will count. I can‘t wait for the day when she says: “I’m dying for some Mac and Cheese, but I really shouldn‘t because then I‘ll have to work out for 10 hours.” My eyes will then proceed to roll somewhere into the depths of the back of my head. You had your chance, sister.
We were recently commiserating with some friends over how often we have to make a different meal for every person in our family to ensure that everyone is happy. We do this because we are scared of what will happen if our kids don’t eat and also because we are dumb.
My girlfriend, Segal, said she read something about how if we serve everyone at the table the same thing for several days in a row, eventually everyone will start eating it. Wait. What? Feed everyone the same thing? Put the food out and that is that? The kids just have to deal? I was dubious, yet intrigued. She admitted that she has never tried it, but supposedly it works. If it works, I’ll do it. Sign me up. I did sleeping training with both of my kids, I can do anything. I’m a warrior.
Unfortunately, Segal didn’t have much more to say on the subject. I got the feeling that she wasn’t going to try it. I don’t need her. I’ll do it on my own. I was very excited about the prospect of no longer being the short order cook in my house, but when I pressed her for more info, she simply said: “They say it works.”
Time Out. Who are “They?” Do I know any of them? How did they become they? Did they take a class? What if they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about and although it sounds great in theory to serve only one meal and tell everyone to deal, I will feel kind of bad if my kids pull a Gandhi and end up curled up and convulsing in the corner of my kitchen weak with starvation. I wonder where they will be then?
Oh, They. How I loathe you. You had me so excited, why can’t you deliver any concrete evidence as to whether this works or not? Gotta go with the gut, I guess. As parents, that’s all we have. The idea of serving everyone the same thing makes sense, we are a family after all, but unless the outcome of an idea has actually been proven, we’re taking a chance and guinea pigging our kids. It does seem pretty innocuous though. I mean, what harm can come from giving everyone in the family one option for dinner and if not everyone is happy, TOO BAD? They’ll either cave and everyone will eat, or they’ll stand on principle and have to skip a meal or four.
I might actually give it a shot (right after I learn how to cook) because really, if it’s only three or four days, what’s the worst that can happen? Isn’t that what they say?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Fork in the Road
Last week someone asked me if I'm scared that I will run out of things to write about. I think you will find, after reading the following entry, that there is no chance of that happening. The questions below are just a sample of what goes through my head on a daily basis when I should be working or paying attention to my kids. What you are about to read is a necessary contribution to the world of logic and I believe philosophers everywhere will forever toss these questions around because of the startling import presented and posed.
*****
It was a fun night and you got home late. It's way past bedtime for your little one. Normally you brush her teeth after she has a bottle because you're supposed to. (Something about milk doing bad things to the teeth, I don't know). She's tired though and so are you. Do you skip the teeth for one night knowing they're the dress rehearsal teeth, or do you power through and brush them?
You’re at the grocery store and one of the items you buy all the time is on sale. 10 for $10.00. Wow. That‘s pretty good, but who needs 10? 10 is a lot. It’s not like you won't use them eventually, but 10? I don’t know…it’s a lot, but it is a good deal.
Emptying the dishwasher is such a pain. Is it better to clean the dishes and put them away as you go, or go the dishwasher route and put them all away at once? If you say “Oh, I would FOR SURE wait and do them all at once.” I’d like to know if you’re still saying that while you’re the one who's stuck unloading.
Your kids likes gum. Is sugarless gum the way to go or do you give him gum with sugar? If he eats gum with sugar, his teeth will rot. If he eats sugarless gum, there are a lot of ingredients that start with "X." His teeth will look really good but he might end up with a third eye.
You’re not in the mood to talk to the person who is calling you. In fact, you’re really not in the mood to talk to anyone. Do you let the messages pile up, or do you just answer so you don’t have to listen to all of your voice mails and then call everyone back later?
Halfway to the market you realize that you forgot your "Go Green" bags. Curses!! Do you risk the dirty looks and possible harm you're going to cause the planet by choosing paper or plastic, or do you turn around, go back home and emit more gas and carbon dioxide into the atmosphere? (I think it's carbon dioxide that comes out of cars. I'm not really sure. I just know it's bad).
Your kid wears pull-ups during nap time and when she goes to sleep. She just fell asleep on the couch, but you weren‘t expecting it so she‘s not wearing pull-ups. Do you chance it and hope for the best, or do you wake her ass up so you’re not stuck cleaning the pee pee?
Is it better to pick up after your kids as they make a mess or wait until the basement, playroom or whole house is completely trashed and then just do it all at once?
You’re in the bathroom and after you are done, you happen to notice that you’re getting dangerously low on toilet paper. Of course there is more, but it‘s not within reach. Do you go get it and restock the bathroom, or do you risk it and wait for someone else in your family to hopefully take care of it?
Forget it. I can answer that one myself.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Cutting Corners
There are some parents who are really on top of things. I am not.
I do what I can, but I admit, sometimes I don’t suit up. It’s not so much laziness as it is choice. My choice is to let some stuff go. I cut corners. Not on everything, but some things. Just thinking about adding more items to my “To Do List” or calling my kids out on every little thing makes me tired. Here and there, something has to give. Following is a list of some of the things that slide.
Item #1: Grammar
Last I heard, Harvard isn’t taking applications for 4 year olds, so I’m not all that concerned about correcting my daughter’s grammar. It will get acknowledged as she gets older because nothing says a future of minimum wage like bad grammar, but for now when my daughter boasts: “I taked it with me, mommy” or “Is this upside down or upside right?” I smile. I smile because I know it won’t always be like this. Soon enough, she’ll start picking up on the rules and usage of language, and she’ll figure out how everything fits. And even though I may be smiling now, knowing that she won’t always talk like this actually makes me very sad.
Item #2: Clothes
I don’t really know what’s going on in homes with boys because I have two girls, but I imagine the struggle with clothes is pretty much the same depending on mood. The mood of the parent and the mood of the child. I have one daughter who is 20 months old and she couldn’t care less what she wears. She doesn’t care because she is still clueless. That will change and I will cry, but for now I have full creative control and I love it. I LOVE CLOTHES. My other kid, the one who is almost 4 years old, cares. And she cares a lot. I didn’t relinquish control unto her, she took it. I knew the day would come but I’m still not completely over it. Because I love clothes and I still feel the need to be a part of each outfit, I have made Sweet Pea meet me halfway. When it’s time to get dressed, we go into the closet and we build an outfit together. Quality time. I always start the same way: “What are you in the mood for: Skirt, dress, jeans, stretchies…?” and we go from there. I can’t say that she didn’t go to school the other day with a long skirt and pink shoes--SHOES THAT YOU WEAR IN THE WATER--but I’m OK with that. I’m not going to make myself crazy because she leaves the house looking like Punky Brewster. She carries it well and I love that she has her own sense of style. I wish her well and hope that she finds some puddles to walk through.
Item #3: Walking and Talking
Walking Floyd, our Golden Retriever, is good for him and it's good for me. He gets a little exercise and some air, I get a little exercise and some air. I don't really have any desire to sniff other dogs' asses or pee on mailboxes so the rest of the walking experience is pretty much geared towards him. If we run into someone else with a dog, and I can tell Floyd wants in on some of that action, I'm OK with it--but only for a limited time. I have perfected the art of smiling at the other dog owner and saying "Hi, how are you?" very softly so I don't have to a) take my glove off, go into my pocket, dig out my I Touch from underneath several poop bags and then quickly hit the "pause button" or b) take my earphones out after finally finding the best and most comfortable place for them. The clock is ticking for ass sniffing. Floyd needs to finish up his bid-ness because I can't fake any more of the conversation. I will either come across like some crazy lady who yells really loudly while trading pleasantries or I’ll have to resort to one of the options stated above. No thanks. Time to boogie. Floyd gets “the yank” if I feel a conversation coming on. He’s a big dog, he can handle it--plus he knows I’ll make up for it. I know of a house that has three dogs. They have the best mailbox on the block.
Item #4: Food
The food thing is really the only one I have ever second guessed myself on, but that didn’t last long. I think it was a Tuesday. I have friends who are really good about what they feed their kids. They’re giving them all these crazy, exotic foods while I’m proud of myself for thawing a bag of broccoli and carrots and putting them out with some ranch dressing. I entertained the idea of pureeing food and being creative, but who am I kidding? It’s not happening. I’m pretty conscious about a plate stacked with something from all four food groups and I’m all about “No dessert until your veggies are gone,” (or mostly gone) but that’s all you‘re getting with this mommy. I’m doing what my mom did, and although my kids might not turn out any better than me, I figure they can’t turn out any worse.
Item #5: Swear Words
My daughter, Sweet Pea, the one who is almost 4 years old, sometimes throws down a swear word. It doesn’t bother me so I don‘t get in her face about it. She’s not one to walk into a room, pants down low, hand held high: “What up, Mother F%$#er?“ but every once in a while she might drop an: “Oh $%#@.“ For some, it's a huge deal. For me, it’s not. First of all, it's funny when little kids swear. You know it and so do I. Second of all, it just doesn't matter right now. They're little kids. It will matter one day and when that time comes, I’ll be on it, but for now--WHO CARES? The kid stuff goes by so fast. We have such a short window for the “bad” stuff to be funny. It just doesn’t seem worth it to be all up in their faces about every little thing. There will come a day when I will actually have to listen to my husband and stop playing Eminem or I’ll have to get the parental advisory edition (gag), but for not now I hit for the mute button during the bad words and most of the time I make it. Sometimes I don’t. It’s not my fault--I’m probably half way on a curb trying to cut a corner saying something like “Damn, who the hell put that there?”
Hey, I’m a parent. I never said I was a good one.
I do what I can, but I admit, sometimes I don’t suit up. It’s not so much laziness as it is choice. My choice is to let some stuff go. I cut corners. Not on everything, but some things. Just thinking about adding more items to my “To Do List” or calling my kids out on every little thing makes me tired. Here and there, something has to give. Following is a list of some of the things that slide.
Item #1: Grammar
Last I heard, Harvard isn’t taking applications for 4 year olds, so I’m not all that concerned about correcting my daughter’s grammar. It will get acknowledged as she gets older because nothing says a future of minimum wage like bad grammar, but for now when my daughter boasts: “I taked it with me, mommy” or “Is this upside down or upside right?” I smile. I smile because I know it won’t always be like this. Soon enough, she’ll start picking up on the rules and usage of language, and she’ll figure out how everything fits. And even though I may be smiling now, knowing that she won’t always talk like this actually makes me very sad.
Item #2: Clothes
I don’t really know what’s going on in homes with boys because I have two girls, but I imagine the struggle with clothes is pretty much the same depending on mood. The mood of the parent and the mood of the child. I have one daughter who is 20 months old and she couldn’t care less what she wears. She doesn’t care because she is still clueless. That will change and I will cry, but for now I have full creative control and I love it. I LOVE CLOTHES. My other kid, the one who is almost 4 years old, cares. And she cares a lot. I didn’t relinquish control unto her, she took it. I knew the day would come but I’m still not completely over it. Because I love clothes and I still feel the need to be a part of each outfit, I have made Sweet Pea meet me halfway. When it’s time to get dressed, we go into the closet and we build an outfit together. Quality time. I always start the same way: “What are you in the mood for: Skirt, dress, jeans, stretchies…?” and we go from there. I can’t say that she didn’t go to school the other day with a long skirt and pink shoes--SHOES THAT YOU WEAR IN THE WATER--but I’m OK with that. I’m not going to make myself crazy because she leaves the house looking like Punky Brewster. She carries it well and I love that she has her own sense of style. I wish her well and hope that she finds some puddles to walk through.
Item #3: Walking and Talking
Walking Floyd, our Golden Retriever, is good for him and it's good for me. He gets a little exercise and some air, I get a little exercise and some air. I don't really have any desire to sniff other dogs' asses or pee on mailboxes so the rest of the walking experience is pretty much geared towards him. If we run into someone else with a dog, and I can tell Floyd wants in on some of that action, I'm OK with it--but only for a limited time. I have perfected the art of smiling at the other dog owner and saying "Hi, how are you?" very softly so I don't have to a) take my glove off, go into my pocket, dig out my I Touch from underneath several poop bags and then quickly hit the "pause button" or b) take my earphones out after finally finding the best and most comfortable place for them. The clock is ticking for ass sniffing. Floyd needs to finish up his bid-ness because I can't fake any more of the conversation. I will either come across like some crazy lady who yells really loudly while trading pleasantries or I’ll have to resort to one of the options stated above. No thanks. Time to boogie. Floyd gets “the yank” if I feel a conversation coming on. He’s a big dog, he can handle it--plus he knows I’ll make up for it. I know of a house that has three dogs. They have the best mailbox on the block.
Item #4: Food
The food thing is really the only one I have ever second guessed myself on, but that didn’t last long. I think it was a Tuesday. I have friends who are really good about what they feed their kids. They’re giving them all these crazy, exotic foods while I’m proud of myself for thawing a bag of broccoli and carrots and putting them out with some ranch dressing. I entertained the idea of pureeing food and being creative, but who am I kidding? It’s not happening. I’m pretty conscious about a plate stacked with something from all four food groups and I’m all about “No dessert until your veggies are gone,” (or mostly gone) but that’s all you‘re getting with this mommy. I’m doing what my mom did, and although my kids might not turn out any better than me, I figure they can’t turn out any worse.
Item #5: Swear Words
My daughter, Sweet Pea, the one who is almost 4 years old, sometimes throws down a swear word. It doesn’t bother me so I don‘t get in her face about it. She’s not one to walk into a room, pants down low, hand held high: “What up, Mother F%$#er?“ but every once in a while she might drop an: “Oh $%#@.“ For some, it's a huge deal. For me, it’s not. First of all, it's funny when little kids swear. You know it and so do I. Second of all, it just doesn't matter right now. They're little kids. It will matter one day and when that time comes, I’ll be on it, but for now--WHO CARES? The kid stuff goes by so fast. We have such a short window for the “bad” stuff to be funny. It just doesn’t seem worth it to be all up in their faces about every little thing. There will come a day when I will actually have to listen to my husband and stop playing Eminem or I’ll have to get the parental advisory edition (gag), but for not now I hit for the mute button during the bad words and most of the time I make it. Sometimes I don’t. It’s not my fault--I’m probably half way on a curb trying to cut a corner saying something like “Damn, who the hell put that there?”
Hey, I’m a parent. I never said I was a good one.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
When They're Yours
When I was 12 or 13 years old, I used to babysit. It wasn‘t my thing. The kids smelled like playground, their hands were grubby, they wanted me to be nice...I wasn't into it. I used to change the clocks and announce "Time for bed!" an hour or so earlier than I was supposed to. Sorry, kids. Maybe your sitter next weekend won‘t suck as much as I do. I just wanted them to go to sleep so I could talk on the phone with my friends and go through their parents' stuff.
When I would get home, I would complain to my mom that babysitting blows and kids are gross but she would always say the same thing: "It's different when they're yours."
I believed my mom because she is my mom. I believed her until one of my friends tripped me up many, many years later.
My girlfriend, Segal, is the one who screwed me up. She told me that there is nothing better than picking a giant boogie out of her kid’s nose. I disagree. Lots of things are better. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that most everything is better. When I had to go into Sweet Pea's nose for the first time (she was around a year old) I did not have a good time. And if that wasn’t enough, I then got scared that maybe I was wrong about the stuff I‘d been telling everyone “...You can love an adopted kid as much as a bio kid...blah blah blah...adoption rules, it’s the best…blah blah…who cares if the kid doesn't look like you--go adopt a kid right now, blah blah."
As I stood amongst the mucus, I thought about what my mom had said so many years ago and I thought about what Segal had said about her kid’s boogers being so great, and I felt a little faint.
Is the love we feel for an adopted kid different than the love we feel for a bio kid?
Could I have been wrong? Maybe bio kids have better boogers? If Sweet Pea were my bio kid, maybe I wouldn't have been as grossed out by her boogers?
I was a little freaked. If Segal wasn’t grossed out by her kid’s boogers, why was I grossed out by mine? What did I get myself into? Sweet Pea didn’t come with a receipt, just boogers. Thanks a lot, Segal. Booger lover.
It is now three years later and I have another daughter, Lovey (a bio daughter), and I can confirm, without hesitation, that bio boogs and adopted boogs are equally disgusting. Boogers just aren't my thing.
All kids are pretty disgusting, but it’s always less disgusting when it’s your own kid. Your kid’s disgusting isn’t as bad as that kid‘s disgusting--your kid is yours. Raising kids (bio or adopted, I don’t care) can be yucky and it can be annoying. It’s not like the boogers and the whining and the yuckiness aren’t going to bug you just because it’s coming from your own kid--it will, it’s just not going to bug you as much. The kid who’s playing at your house, the one who is doing the same exact annoying stuff as your kid, that kid is the one who is bugging the crap out of you.
As INSANE as it makes me when Lovey is all whiney and yucky about something only she understands, or Sweet Pea is sitting at the table, impatiently demanding “Water, please!“ it still doesn’t stop me from chasing them around the house after dinner, kissing them and trying to grab their tushies. As grossed out as I am by their boogers or how I sometimes want to say: “OK, I heard you!“ when their coughing is relentless and incessant, I still find myself overwhelmed by how much I love them, and some nights I wish I could keep them up for one more hour.
But if they’re at your house, noses running a mucus marathon and whiney voices hitting the one working nerve you have left--you might not find them to be quite as endearing. And that’s totally understandable, because they're not yours.
When I would get home, I would complain to my mom that babysitting blows and kids are gross but she would always say the same thing: "It's different when they're yours."
I believed my mom because she is my mom. I believed her until one of my friends tripped me up many, many years later.
My girlfriend, Segal, is the one who screwed me up. She told me that there is nothing better than picking a giant boogie out of her kid’s nose. I disagree. Lots of things are better. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that most everything is better. When I had to go into Sweet Pea's nose for the first time (she was around a year old) I did not have a good time. And if that wasn’t enough, I then got scared that maybe I was wrong about the stuff I‘d been telling everyone “...You can love an adopted kid as much as a bio kid...blah blah blah...adoption rules, it’s the best…blah blah…who cares if the kid doesn't look like you--go adopt a kid right now, blah blah."
As I stood amongst the mucus, I thought about what my mom had said so many years ago and I thought about what Segal had said about her kid’s boogers being so great, and I felt a little faint.
Is the love we feel for an adopted kid different than the love we feel for a bio kid?
Could I have been wrong? Maybe bio kids have better boogers? If Sweet Pea were my bio kid, maybe I wouldn't have been as grossed out by her boogers?
I was a little freaked. If Segal wasn’t grossed out by her kid’s boogers, why was I grossed out by mine? What did I get myself into? Sweet Pea didn’t come with a receipt, just boogers. Thanks a lot, Segal. Booger lover.
It is now three years later and I have another daughter, Lovey (a bio daughter), and I can confirm, without hesitation, that bio boogs and adopted boogs are equally disgusting. Boogers just aren't my thing.
All kids are pretty disgusting, but it’s always less disgusting when it’s your own kid. Your kid’s disgusting isn’t as bad as that kid‘s disgusting--your kid is yours. Raising kids (bio or adopted, I don’t care) can be yucky and it can be annoying. It’s not like the boogers and the whining and the yuckiness aren’t going to bug you just because it’s coming from your own kid--it will, it’s just not going to bug you as much. The kid who’s playing at your house, the one who is doing the same exact annoying stuff as your kid, that kid is the one who is bugging the crap out of you.
As INSANE as it makes me when Lovey is all whiney and yucky about something only she understands, or Sweet Pea is sitting at the table, impatiently demanding “Water, please!“ it still doesn’t stop me from chasing them around the house after dinner, kissing them and trying to grab their tushies. As grossed out as I am by their boogers or how I sometimes want to say: “OK, I heard you!“ when their coughing is relentless and incessant, I still find myself overwhelmed by how much I love them, and some nights I wish I could keep them up for one more hour.
But if they’re at your house, noses running a mucus marathon and whiney voices hitting the one working nerve you have left--you might not find them to be quite as endearing. And that’s totally understandable, because they're not yours.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Stamp Of Approval IV
The following things are OK
(At least as far as I'm concerned)
It's OK if you didn't like "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" book. It's OK if you didn't read it. It's OK if you tried to read it and didn't like it, even though everyone else said it was so great. It's OK if you can't figure out why everyone said it was so great. It's OK if you read some of it, thought to yourself that there are just too many people--people with crazy ass names-- and saw the movie instead. It's OK if you have never even heard of these books. It's OK, but it is a little weird.
It's OK not to feel sexy after a day of work and/or carpools and cleaning up after your kids. Just give your spouse the heads up that you are exhausted so he's not disappointed when he gets to bed and you're drooling, but not over him.
It's OK if you have an excuse and a smile all ready in your head for a cop when you run that yellow (borderline red) light. You might not get pulled over, but it never hurts to be prepared.
It's OK if you buy a bag of jellybeans and pull out the red, purple and pink ones for yourself. The other colors suck, so everyone will just assume that other people picked out the good colors. No one will suspect you.
It's OK if your purse and shoes don't match. That's a dated fashion rule and it's stupid.
It's OK if you don't buy organic food. My friend from Elizabeth's Kind Cafe won't be happy with me, but it's expensive, I know. If you want to do something, pick a few things that you really believe in. I like to buy organic milk and chicken. I think my girls won't have Double D boobs when they're 8 years old if I only give them organic milk and chicken. Do what you can do, but don't beat yourself up. Especially over the bananas. Everyone knows those are a scam.
It's OK if you go to get a pedicure and you forgot and/or didn't have time to shave your legs. Just tell them that you have an upcoming leg wax appointment and you need to grow it out for that.
It's OK if you hit your horn when some idiot pulls out in front of you and then proceeds to go 15 mph under the speed limit. That is BOGUE and it's OK to convey that message through your horn. If you are able, you should try and see what the other driver looks like. It's good to know if you can take them or not, just in case they get mad.
It's OK if are a day or so late on changing your kids' sheets or giving them a bath. Nothing bad will happen.
It's OK if you have no interest in meeting your favorite celebrity. Chances are good the reality won't the same as your reality, and then you're not only crushed for life--but you're also stuck with memoribilia up the waz from someone who was an a$$ to you. Live the dream. It's bound to be better.
It's OK if sometimes you don't shower after working out. You still have to throw on something: body spray, lip gloss, deo... I mean, come on--we're not neanderthals.
It's OK if you find yourself out of poop bags when your dog poops on someone's lawn but you have to promise yourself that when you get home, you'll get a bag and come back to clean it up. If the neighbor comes outside and busts you, tell him that you had every intention of coming back to get the poop. If, however, that's not enough for him and he starts yelling and going nuts, threatening to call the police and asking if you and your dog "do this all the time?"--it's OK for you to tell him to up his medication before you turn and walk away waving "Bye, Jack!" When he (within 3 seconds) yells to you that his name's not Jack, tell him it is WHEN IT'S SHORT FOR JACK ASS.
(At least as far as I'm concerned)
It's OK if you didn't like "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" book. It's OK if you didn't read it. It's OK if you tried to read it and didn't like it, even though everyone else said it was so great. It's OK if you can't figure out why everyone said it was so great. It's OK if you read some of it, thought to yourself that there are just too many people--people with crazy ass names-- and saw the movie instead. It's OK if you have never even heard of these books. It's OK, but it is a little weird.
It's OK not to feel sexy after a day of work and/or carpools and cleaning up after your kids. Just give your spouse the heads up that you are exhausted so he's not disappointed when he gets to bed and you're drooling, but not over him.
It's OK if you have an excuse and a smile all ready in your head for a cop when you run that yellow (borderline red) light. You might not get pulled over, but it never hurts to be prepared.
It's OK if you buy a bag of jellybeans and pull out the red, purple and pink ones for yourself. The other colors suck, so everyone will just assume that other people picked out the good colors. No one will suspect you.
It's OK if your purse and shoes don't match. That's a dated fashion rule and it's stupid.
It's OK if you don't buy organic food. My friend from Elizabeth's Kind Cafe won't be happy with me, but it's expensive, I know. If you want to do something, pick a few things that you really believe in. I like to buy organic milk and chicken. I think my girls won't have Double D boobs when they're 8 years old if I only give them organic milk and chicken. Do what you can do, but don't beat yourself up. Especially over the bananas. Everyone knows those are a scam.
It's OK if you go to get a pedicure and you forgot and/or didn't have time to shave your legs. Just tell them that you have an upcoming leg wax appointment and you need to grow it out for that.
It's OK if you hit your horn when some idiot pulls out in front of you and then proceeds to go 15 mph under the speed limit. That is BOGUE and it's OK to convey that message through your horn. If you are able, you should try and see what the other driver looks like. It's good to know if you can take them or not, just in case they get mad.
It's OK if are a day or so late on changing your kids' sheets or giving them a bath. Nothing bad will happen.
It's OK if you have no interest in meeting your favorite celebrity. Chances are good the reality won't the same as your reality, and then you're not only crushed for life--but you're also stuck with memoribilia up the waz from someone who was an a$$ to you. Live the dream. It's bound to be better.
It's OK if sometimes you don't shower after working out. You still have to throw on something: body spray, lip gloss, deo... I mean, come on--we're not neanderthals.
It's OK if you find yourself out of poop bags when your dog poops on someone's lawn but you have to promise yourself that when you get home, you'll get a bag and come back to clean it up. If the neighbor comes outside and busts you, tell him that you had every intention of coming back to get the poop. If, however, that's not enough for him and he starts yelling and going nuts, threatening to call the police and asking if you and your dog "do this all the time?"--it's OK for you to tell him to up his medication before you turn and walk away waving "Bye, Jack!" When he (within 3 seconds) yells to you that his name's not Jack, tell him it is WHEN IT'S SHORT FOR JACK ASS.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Monkey See
Every now and then, my soon-to-be 4 year old daughter, Sweet Pea, lets loose with an “Oy…Jesus.” She has never been to church and to my knowledge has no friends named Jesus so it’s pretty safe to assume she heard it from me. Not good.
I say it. I think I might even say it a lot. My mom said it when I was growing up and it's very possible that I picked it up from her. I certainly don’t say it with any trace of ill will or offense, I actually say it with loss. Jesus used to be on our team. I'm not entirely sure why he left. It seemed like he had a good thing going with us, but I wasn’t there so I can’t speak with any definitiveness. I guess eight days of Hanukkah and potato latkes weren’t enough to keep him. Good for him for starting his own thing. It’s proven to be a pretty successful endeavor so it seems he made a wise choice. Sometimes I feel the need to call out to him though. I guess I do it fairly often because Sweet Pea, my soon-to-be 4 year old, did it today.
Our kids are watching us. It’s like being in a reality show, but without the cameras and diet pill endorsements. If you weren’t one of the cool kids when you were growing up, now is your chance because you’ve got your very own built-in captive audience of followers. I don’t know how long it’s going to last, because I don’t know how cool you are, but you’ve got them for at least a little while so during that time, it’s a good idea to try and do the right thing.
It all starts with us. That is not to say that waving a cigarette while running around your house yelling and popping pills is not a good idea, it’s a great idea, just not in front of the kids. Watch and learn, practice what you preach, monkey see, monkey do… you‘ve heard them all before; they've been around forever--and they’ve been around forever for a reason--they're true. As parents we need to use some discretion because our kids pick up on everything. We are their leaders and while they’re young and impressionable, they’re going to follow our lead whether we’re channeling Rosa Parks or Genghis Khan.
It’s impossible as parents to always set good examples so there will, inevitably, be times when our kids see and hear us do questionable things. I like to try and keep everything balanced. For instance, I say “I love you” and “Please” and “Thank you” and “You’re so beautiful to look at, it almost hurts my eyes,“ to my girls as much as possible not only because I want them to say those things to me, but also because it helps to maintain the equilibrium in our house when they find themselves on the receiving end of “UGH. You’re killing me and I’m beyond done with you.” None of us are perfect parents so those things happen. (And if you say they don’t, you’re a liar and your pants are on fire).
We can only do the best we can, and though we may slip up at times, we need to be conscious of where our words are landing. In other words, the next time your neighbor, Trampy McTramp, pops in wearing ALDO shoes that are two inches too high and a bebe top that is too sizes too small, remember that although there may not be any cameras rolling--you are being watched, so before you shred her ensemble upon departure, remember that one never knows when the beholder may decide it‘s a good time to repeat your words. And when she does, you can blame it on TV or the kids at school, but we both know there is a good chance she heard it at home--and I will be right there with you as you close your eyes, let out a big sigh and quietly say: “Oy…Jesus.”
I say it. I think I might even say it a lot. My mom said it when I was growing up and it's very possible that I picked it up from her. I certainly don’t say it with any trace of ill will or offense, I actually say it with loss. Jesus used to be on our team. I'm not entirely sure why he left. It seemed like he had a good thing going with us, but I wasn’t there so I can’t speak with any definitiveness. I guess eight days of Hanukkah and potato latkes weren’t enough to keep him. Good for him for starting his own thing. It’s proven to be a pretty successful endeavor so it seems he made a wise choice. Sometimes I feel the need to call out to him though. I guess I do it fairly often because Sweet Pea, my soon-to-be 4 year old, did it today.
Our kids are watching us. It’s like being in a reality show, but without the cameras and diet pill endorsements. If you weren’t one of the cool kids when you were growing up, now is your chance because you’ve got your very own built-in captive audience of followers. I don’t know how long it’s going to last, because I don’t know how cool you are, but you’ve got them for at least a little while so during that time, it’s a good idea to try and do the right thing.
It all starts with us. That is not to say that waving a cigarette while running around your house yelling and popping pills is not a good idea, it’s a great idea, just not in front of the kids. Watch and learn, practice what you preach, monkey see, monkey do… you‘ve heard them all before; they've been around forever--and they’ve been around forever for a reason--they're true. As parents we need to use some discretion because our kids pick up on everything. We are their leaders and while they’re young and impressionable, they’re going to follow our lead whether we’re channeling Rosa Parks or Genghis Khan.
It’s impossible as parents to always set good examples so there will, inevitably, be times when our kids see and hear us do questionable things. I like to try and keep everything balanced. For instance, I say “I love you” and “Please” and “Thank you” and “You’re so beautiful to look at, it almost hurts my eyes,“ to my girls as much as possible not only because I want them to say those things to me, but also because it helps to maintain the equilibrium in our house when they find themselves on the receiving end of “UGH. You’re killing me and I’m beyond done with you.” None of us are perfect parents so those things happen. (And if you say they don’t, you’re a liar and your pants are on fire).
We can only do the best we can, and though we may slip up at times, we need to be conscious of where our words are landing. In other words, the next time your neighbor, Trampy McTramp, pops in wearing ALDO shoes that are two inches too high and a bebe top that is too sizes too small, remember that although there may not be any cameras rolling--you are being watched, so before you shred her ensemble upon departure, remember that one never knows when the beholder may decide it‘s a good time to repeat your words. And when she does, you can blame it on TV or the kids at school, but we both know there is a good chance she heard it at home--and I will be right there with you as you close your eyes, let out a big sigh and quietly say: “Oy…Jesus.”
Sunday, March 6, 2011
We Don't Care If You Stare
My free time is much more limited now than it used to be, but I still subscribe to quite a few magazines. People magazine is not one of them so if I see it lying around somewhere, I will pick it up. I'm far too shallow to care about the human interest stories, but I do like the paparazzi pictures that kick off each issue.
I have noticed that when celebrities are photographed with one or more of their kids, if the kid happens to be adopted the writers will qualify the decription. For example: "Sandra Bullock and her adopted child, Louis..." Have you ever noticed that, or is that something that struck me because I have a kid who is adopted?
Why the qualification? Is it to promote adoption? Is Sandra Bullock (staying with her as an example) a rep for adoption? Maybe the qualification is there to alert all other kids who are adopted in case they know Louis...? That happens to me. Sometimes when people find out that I'm Jewish, they will ask me if I know a Jewish person in another state. I think they think that we all belong to the "I'm-A-Jew Club" or something. Like we all know each other. Like we have sweet matching jew jackets.
I'm not a super sensitive person by nature, but I can be empathetic towards
others, so when I see the seemingly needless People magazine adoption
qualification under the picture of the kid and the parent, I can't help but wonder:
When the kid is old enough to understand, how is he going to feel about being
described like that?
There is nothing wrong with being curious about families that don't fit the
conventional norm. You might even sneak a peek if you see one such family
out and about. If, however, you're going for the gold and you want to attempt
a few personal questions--you might want to consider your words, your timing and your approach before opening the door of your piehole store.
I, personally, haven't had much experience with uncomfortable situations
regarding our interracial adoptive family, so when I decided to write this entry
I called in for backup and enlisted the help of some very special adoptive
moms and dads from around the world. Drawing from both their stories
and their comments, a Top 10 list of adoption anecdotes was born. Some
Side Notes: A) The list is in no particular order. B) Please refrain from holding
the italicized commentary following each article against the contributors, that's
all me. They're classy. I'm not.
1. To a mom about her 8-month-old baby recently adopted from China: "Does she speak Chinese?" No, lady, she does not speak Chinese. She doesn't speak anything. She is a freakin' baby.
2. "How much did you pay for her?" No one has ever asked me that question but it has been asked of other people. If someone were to ask me, it might take a minute to get over my shock, but I would come up with something, and it would be good.
3. This one actually was directed at me not long after we came home from China
and I was at a restaurant with my new daughter: "She is SO cute! Do you have
any of your own?" If she's not mine, someone at this restaurant is going to be
really pissed when they realize that I took her.
4. This is a favorite among those of us who have adopted from an international country like China: "Are you going to tell her that she's adopted?" There really is no response that the person posing this question will understand because clearly he was dropped on his head when he was little.
5. This is a favorite among those of us who have adopted internationally OR domestically: "Now that you have adopted, you will for sure get pregnant.
Oh my GAWD. That always happens! I know this one girl, well, I don't know
her but my friend kind of does, and her sister's friend's niece or something
was waiting to adopt from Cambodia or Russia or somewhere and she GOT PREGNANT!!" ...UGH. Stop talking. Adoption is not always a second choice.
Please don't assume it is. For many of us (let me introduce myself) the need
to adopt was much more overwhelming than the need to get preggo. In fact,
many of us have never had any desire to get pregnant, ever.
6. "Is her father Chinese?" Some people get offended by this one. I don't. I'm just not into Chinese guys.
7. "I didn't realize he was going to look so Chinese!!" What did you think he was going to look like...AFRICAN?? (Both quote and commentary are verbatim).
8. "Are you babysitting?" I found this one interesting because just recently someone asked me if I was the nanny for my kids. I was so excited I called my girlfriend, Busy, to tell her. We immediately assumed, of course, that the guy asked me that question because he thought I looked young. After hearing that other adoptive moms have been asked this same question, I regretfully realize that Busy and I may have been wrong. The man who asked was probably confused by me having one kid from China and from The Bagina. He didn't think I looked young at all. He just thought I was some old ass babysitter. I hate that guy.
9. "Why didn't you adopt from the U.S.?" Bold. You gotta have some moxie to ask this one. Everyone has their own reasons for adopting and for choosing their child's area of indigenous descent. I have a whole backstory that led me to China and I don't mind discussing it. Others do. Slippery slope on this one. Wear a helmut.
10. "I heard they only want boys in China. How did you get a boy?" Ok, kids... Get out your pencils! Take this down: There is a one child policy in China. A Chinese woman gets pregnant. Said Chinese woman already has a child. Sadly, Chinese woman will more than likely have to give her second child up and there is 50/50 chance that the baby she is pregnant with is A BOY. Pencils down.
Extra Credit: No, the Special Needs kids who are up for adoption in China are not "On Sale." No, we don't feel like we're missing out on birth because it is completely and totally surreal the first time we hold our new baby in our arms, especially after so many years of waiting. Yes, when our kid hurts, it rips our heart in two just like it does when it's our bio chio. And finally--we would collectively prefer if you refrained from referring to our child as a "foreign object."
I hope I don't come off sounding bitter about my family dynamics because
I'm truly not. I don't have a high tolerance for stupidos, but that has nothing
to do with our adoption. Over the years I have grown much less defensive and
much more amused. In fact, if I'm not in a huge rush or in the middle of stuffing
my face, I honestly don't mind answering questions, (no matter how crazy) but
please respect that not everyone is like me.
I can only speak for my family when I say "We don't care if you stare." Other families prefer that their differences are respected by not calling attention to them. Some families are very private about their story, some may not be in the mood to enlighten or educate, and some might feel that it's inappropriate to discuss details in front of their child. (The kids can hear and it would be very unfortunate if a child got hurt during a session of a Adoption Q and A. I may not be bitter, and I may be open to answering well-meaning questions about my family, but even I will bust someone into next week if they upset my kid).
There's a great deal of indispensible wisdom within these lines, (I can say that since not all of it is from me) and if you know of anyone who might benefit from reading it, please send it on. Who among us couldn't use a refreshing spritz of common courtesy? If you don't like to share, (selfish) then can I at least ask you for one thing? When Brad and Angelina were preg with Shiloh, the press reported that they were expecting their first child...if Sandra Bullock ever gets knocked up and the press writes that that she is expecting her first child, can you at least join me in wondering what the hell happened to Louis?
I have noticed that when celebrities are photographed with one or more of their kids, if the kid happens to be adopted the writers will qualify the decription. For example: "Sandra Bullock and her adopted child, Louis..." Have you ever noticed that, or is that something that struck me because I have a kid who is adopted?
Why the qualification? Is it to promote adoption? Is Sandra Bullock (staying with her as an example) a rep for adoption? Maybe the qualification is there to alert all other kids who are adopted in case they know Louis...? That happens to me. Sometimes when people find out that I'm Jewish, they will ask me if I know a Jewish person in another state. I think they think that we all belong to the "I'm-A-Jew Club" or something. Like we all know each other. Like we have sweet matching jew jackets.
I'm not a super sensitive person by nature, but I can be empathetic towards
others, so when I see the seemingly needless People magazine adoption
qualification under the picture of the kid and the parent, I can't help but wonder:
When the kid is old enough to understand, how is he going to feel about being
described like that?
There is nothing wrong with being curious about families that don't fit the
conventional norm. You might even sneak a peek if you see one such family
out and about. If, however, you're going for the gold and you want to attempt
a few personal questions--you might want to consider your words, your timing and your approach before opening the door of your piehole store.
I, personally, haven't had much experience with uncomfortable situations
regarding our interracial adoptive family, so when I decided to write this entry
I called in for backup and enlisted the help of some very special adoptive
moms and dads from around the world. Drawing from both their stories
and their comments, a Top 10 list of adoption anecdotes was born. Some
Side Notes: A) The list is in no particular order. B) Please refrain from holding
the italicized commentary following each article against the contributors, that's
all me. They're classy. I'm not.
1. To a mom about her 8-month-old baby recently adopted from China: "Does she speak Chinese?" No, lady, she does not speak Chinese. She doesn't speak anything. She is a freakin' baby.
2. "How much did you pay for her?" No one has ever asked me that question but it has been asked of other people. If someone were to ask me, it might take a minute to get over my shock, but I would come up with something, and it would be good.
3. This one actually was directed at me not long after we came home from China
and I was at a restaurant with my new daughter: "She is SO cute! Do you have
any of your own?" If she's not mine, someone at this restaurant is going to be
really pissed when they realize that I took her.
4. This is a favorite among those of us who have adopted from an international country like China: "Are you going to tell her that she's adopted?" There really is no response that the person posing this question will understand because clearly he was dropped on his head when he was little.
5. This is a favorite among those of us who have adopted internationally OR domestically: "Now that you have adopted, you will for sure get pregnant.
Oh my GAWD. That always happens! I know this one girl, well, I don't know
her but my friend kind of does, and her sister's friend's niece or something
was waiting to adopt from Cambodia or Russia or somewhere and she GOT PREGNANT!!" ...UGH. Stop talking. Adoption is not always a second choice.
Please don't assume it is. For many of us (let me introduce myself) the need
to adopt was much more overwhelming than the need to get preggo. In fact,
many of us have never had any desire to get pregnant, ever.
6. "Is her father Chinese?" Some people get offended by this one. I don't. I'm just not into Chinese guys.
7. "I didn't realize he was going to look so Chinese!!" What did you think he was going to look like...AFRICAN?? (Both quote and commentary are verbatim).
8. "Are you babysitting?" I found this one interesting because just recently someone asked me if I was the nanny for my kids. I was so excited I called my girlfriend, Busy, to tell her. We immediately assumed, of course, that the guy asked me that question because he thought I looked young. After hearing that other adoptive moms have been asked this same question, I regretfully realize that Busy and I may have been wrong. The man who asked was probably confused by me having one kid from China and from The Bagina. He didn't think I looked young at all. He just thought I was some old ass babysitter. I hate that guy.
9. "Why didn't you adopt from the U.S.?" Bold. You gotta have some moxie to ask this one. Everyone has their own reasons for adopting and for choosing their child's area of indigenous descent. I have a whole backstory that led me to China and I don't mind discussing it. Others do. Slippery slope on this one. Wear a helmut.
10. "I heard they only want boys in China. How did you get a boy?" Ok, kids... Get out your pencils! Take this down: There is a one child policy in China. A Chinese woman gets pregnant. Said Chinese woman already has a child. Sadly, Chinese woman will more than likely have to give her second child up and there is 50/50 chance that the baby she is pregnant with is A BOY. Pencils down.
Extra Credit: No, the Special Needs kids who are up for adoption in China are not "On Sale." No, we don't feel like we're missing out on birth because it is completely and totally surreal the first time we hold our new baby in our arms, especially after so many years of waiting. Yes, when our kid hurts, it rips our heart in two just like it does when it's our bio chio. And finally--we would collectively prefer if you refrained from referring to our child as a "foreign object."
I hope I don't come off sounding bitter about my family dynamics because
I'm truly not. I don't have a high tolerance for stupidos, but that has nothing
to do with our adoption. Over the years I have grown much less defensive and
much more amused. In fact, if I'm not in a huge rush or in the middle of stuffing
my face, I honestly don't mind answering questions, (no matter how crazy) but
please respect that not everyone is like me.
I can only speak for my family when I say "We don't care if you stare." Other families prefer that their differences are respected by not calling attention to them. Some families are very private about their story, some may not be in the mood to enlighten or educate, and some might feel that it's inappropriate to discuss details in front of their child. (The kids can hear and it would be very unfortunate if a child got hurt during a session of a Adoption Q and A. I may not be bitter, and I may be open to answering well-meaning questions about my family, but even I will bust someone into next week if they upset my kid).
There's a great deal of indispensible wisdom within these lines, (I can say that since not all of it is from me) and if you know of anyone who might benefit from reading it, please send it on. Who among us couldn't use a refreshing spritz of common courtesy? If you don't like to share, (selfish) then can I at least ask you for one thing? When Brad and Angelina were preg with Shiloh, the press reported that they were expecting their first child...if Sandra Bullock ever gets knocked up and the press writes that that she is expecting her first child, can you at least join me in wondering what the hell happened to Louis?
Friday, March 4, 2011
Stamp of Approval III
The following things are OK
(At least as far as I'm concerned)
It's OK to get scissors and physically cut stuff out of your kid's hair if it's just too sticky and too much of a pain in the ass to brush it out. You can't get away with this forever, but if she's only 19-months-old, you still can.
It's OK if sometimes you have to confer with a calendar to remember the last time you showered.
It's OK if someone gets your kid a present, and then you put it away because your kid has enough crap, and then you bring it out one day when your kid is being really good, and then you take all the credit.
It's OK to secretly hope that you win at Candyland even though you're playing with kids.
It's OK when your kid says "Look! Look at me!" to sometimes reply "That's great!" but not really look because you are busy and it's probably not anything all that great.
It's OK if you see the people who work at the market more than you see your friends.
It's OK if you are between purchasing a fake PRADA purse or a real purse of a lesser name to go with the real purse that is not a PRADA because not only are fake purses lame, but YOU will know it's a fake and most everybody else will too.
It's OK to want to eat candy for breakfast, but you shouldn't because breakfast is very important and candy is not good for you. Eat cake instead, it has eggs in it.
It's OK to be jealous of your little one who has no issue walking around with her belly all hanging out.
It's OK to agree to accept the Facebook "friend requests" of your friends' kids because your friend wants you to spy on them; it's also OK not to tell her that you are a worthless spy since you hid those kids from your Facebook feed because their status updates are stupid and annoying.
It's OK to throw down a little "BECAUSE I SAID SO!" every now and then, even though you always swore that you never would.
It's OK to leave your kids in the car, strapped in their car seats, while you run into a restaurant to pick up carry-out. OK, that is really not OK--but it used to be, a long time ago, and it's OK to sometimes wish that it still was.
(At least as far as I'm concerned)
It's OK to get scissors and physically cut stuff out of your kid's hair if it's just too sticky and too much of a pain in the ass to brush it out. You can't get away with this forever, but if she's only 19-months-old, you still can.
It's OK if sometimes you have to confer with a calendar to remember the last time you showered.
It's OK if someone gets your kid a present, and then you put it away because your kid has enough crap, and then you bring it out one day when your kid is being really good, and then you take all the credit.
It's OK to secretly hope that you win at Candyland even though you're playing with kids.
It's OK when your kid says "Look! Look at me!" to sometimes reply "That's great!" but not really look because you are busy and it's probably not anything all that great.
It's OK if you see the people who work at the market more than you see your friends.
It's OK if you are between purchasing a fake PRADA purse or a real purse of a lesser name to go with the real purse that is not a PRADA because not only are fake purses lame, but YOU will know it's a fake and most everybody else will too.
It's OK to want to eat candy for breakfast, but you shouldn't because breakfast is very important and candy is not good for you. Eat cake instead, it has eggs in it.
It's OK to be jealous of your little one who has no issue walking around with her belly all hanging out.
It's OK to agree to accept the Facebook "friend requests" of your friends' kids because your friend wants you to spy on them; it's also OK not to tell her that you are a worthless spy since you hid those kids from your Facebook feed because their status updates are stupid and annoying.
It's OK to throw down a little "BECAUSE I SAID SO!" every now and then, even though you always swore that you never would.
It's OK to leave your kids in the car, strapped in their car seats, while you run into a restaurant to pick up carry-out. OK, that is really not OK--but it used to be, a long time ago, and it's OK to sometimes wish that it still was.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Daddy's Girls
Just recently, my girlfriend, Busy, and I went on our annual girls getaway trip. After being gone all weekend, I was excited to see my daughters, Lovey and Sweet Pea. I missed them very much, and I was under the impression that they felt the same (well, maybe not Lovey, she is nineteen months old and doesn't know what the hell is going on, but Sweet Pea is almost four and she for sure knew I was gone). When I finally got home, weary from traveling and looking for love, Lovey was napping but Sweet Pea was up. I couldn't wait until we saw each other. My vision of our long-awaited reunion was about to be realized.
I walked in the door, put my bags down, and called for her. As she slowly came around the corner, her little fist holding something, (something that she made for me, I'm sure) I was all excited for my hug and my treat...but what I got was a loaded hand in my face accompanied by: "Mommy, can I have this gum?"
I'm sorry. WHAT? Gum? I didn't just walk out of my freakin' bedroom, dude. I HAVE BEEN GONE ALL WEEKEND. No. There will be no gum for you.
Cody, my husband, will run out for twenty mintues--but when he walks in, the girls go so crazy you would think they just jumped out from behind the lyrics of a Kenny Chesney song. "Dah-dee! Dah-dee! Da-dee!" OK, I get it. He is very cool and I'm excited to see him too, but what about me? Why are you guys never as excited to see me? I AM AWESOME.
It is true, I am with them more because I work from home, but that doesn't explain anything. I'm still awesome. I don't get down on the floor and turn myself into a human jungle gym like Captain Goodtimes over there, but I'm somewhere in the vicinity being awesome. I don't go out in twenty degree weather and build a snowman with them, but who was inside, being awesome, making hot chocolate WITH marshmallows? You got it: Mamacita Awesima.
It's a constant struggle because the practical, mature part of me really and truly wants my girls to be all about their daddy. He is an amazing daddy and he, for all intents and purposes, should be the one they look to for many things. He is supposed to be their hero. But, as someone who giggles uncontrollably because a poster board has been priced at .69 cents, I am admittedly often times very immature, so that part leads me to be a little envious of the fanfare he receives.
Kids go back and forth; parental partiality is part of a natural cycle. I know that. I'm not a total idiot. I know that it's normal to temporarily prefer one parent over the other. It could be because one parent is more of a disciplinarian, it could be because one parent just sucks. Who knows? That being said, I also think that it's normal to be hurt when you're not the parent they prefer (especially if you're awesome, like me).
I know, many years from now, there will come a day when one of my girls will get dumped by some loser. This guy will blindside her, in the middle of a seemingly pleasant dinner, by telling her that he is just "not having fun anymore." He will then go on to say that he "thinks they should no longer see each other" while she sits behind a half eaten deli sandwich, completely stunned and bewildered, because HE is the one breaking up with HER. Back that ass up. He can NOT break up with her. He was the one who pursued her--and she wasn't even that into him! He wore his jeans too high and he thought socks with sandals was cool and uh...that unibrow ain't gonna tweeze itself and he said words like "anywho" and whatever, it just SUCKS because even though she knew she didn't dig him, HE WAS THE ONE WHO GOT TO BREAK IT OFF.
That kind of thing might happen to one of my girls one day. And if it does, I hope that she calls her mommy.
I walked in the door, put my bags down, and called for her. As she slowly came around the corner, her little fist holding something, (something that she made for me, I'm sure) I was all excited for my hug and my treat...but what I got was a loaded hand in my face accompanied by: "Mommy, can I have this gum?"
I'm sorry. WHAT? Gum? I didn't just walk out of my freakin' bedroom, dude. I HAVE BEEN GONE ALL WEEKEND. No. There will be no gum for you.
Cody, my husband, will run out for twenty mintues--but when he walks in, the girls go so crazy you would think they just jumped out from behind the lyrics of a Kenny Chesney song. "Dah-dee! Dah-dee! Da-dee!" OK, I get it. He is very cool and I'm excited to see him too, but what about me? Why are you guys never as excited to see me? I AM AWESOME.
It is true, I am with them more because I work from home, but that doesn't explain anything. I'm still awesome. I don't get down on the floor and turn myself into a human jungle gym like Captain Goodtimes over there, but I'm somewhere in the vicinity being awesome. I don't go out in twenty degree weather and build a snowman with them, but who was inside, being awesome, making hot chocolate WITH marshmallows? You got it: Mamacita Awesima.
It's a constant struggle because the practical, mature part of me really and truly wants my girls to be all about their daddy. He is an amazing daddy and he, for all intents and purposes, should be the one they look to for many things. He is supposed to be their hero. But, as someone who giggles uncontrollably because a poster board has been priced at .69 cents, I am admittedly often times very immature, so that part leads me to be a little envious of the fanfare he receives.
Kids go back and forth; parental partiality is part of a natural cycle. I know that. I'm not a total idiot. I know that it's normal to temporarily prefer one parent over the other. It could be because one parent is more of a disciplinarian, it could be because one parent just sucks. Who knows? That being said, I also think that it's normal to be hurt when you're not the parent they prefer (especially if you're awesome, like me).
I know, many years from now, there will come a day when one of my girls will get dumped by some loser. This guy will blindside her, in the middle of a seemingly pleasant dinner, by telling her that he is just "not having fun anymore." He will then go on to say that he "thinks they should no longer see each other" while she sits behind a half eaten deli sandwich, completely stunned and bewildered, because HE is the one breaking up with HER. Back that ass up. He can NOT break up with her. He was the one who pursued her--and she wasn't even that into him! He wore his jeans too high and he thought socks with sandals was cool and uh...that unibrow ain't gonna tweeze itself and he said words like "anywho" and whatever, it just SUCKS because even though she knew she didn't dig him, HE WAS THE ONE WHO GOT TO BREAK IT OFF.
That kind of thing might happen to one of my girls one day. And if it does, I hope that she calls her mommy.
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