Double Takes

I usually take turns with what child “gets” to come grocery shopping with me. I am fully capable of taking them all with me, but that calls out everyone’s survival instincts and isn’t much fun. I’ve found that by going when Andrew is available to stay with the other two I get to have some good 1:1 time with each kiddo. It’s also a good time to practice our Appearing In Public Skills individually so that when we are all out together it goes as smoothly as possible.

This week it was Pickle’s turn. He was a royal terror. We’re still in re-entry hell plus he’s sick and he’s two. It was ugly. I don’t think I’ve *ever* seen one of my child act so badly in public (minus my public humiliation at JFK, but I’m not counting that, mostly out of desire to not remember that). He was a beast. He at least did have the consideration to break it up with this rather hysterical dairy aisle exchange

I’m stopped waiting for my turn to look at cheese and complain about how a bag of shredded cheese can really cost that much. Pickle was sitting in the seat and staring at this woman who was trying way too hard to look way too young.

She was slim and I’d guess probably close to forty, but dressing out of a teenager’s closet. She had on her skinny jeans with artistic ripping on the thighs, and a gray fitted t-shirt, and then this black shirt-thing on top of it. She had a Mediterranean complexion and long (dyed or I’ll eat my boots) hair that was pulled back into a low-ponytail with strategic spiky wisps hanging down around her face. (She could have rocked a post-prom party, I’m sure.)

Pickle is just smitten. Staring. She glances over at him and then looks away. A minute or so later she looks back again and Pickle is still staring at her. She gives him a little smile and says hi to him.

His baby face lights up and he says, “Hi Pirate Princess!”

Man, so great. I just laughed and laughed.

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We were on our way home from that same shopping trip and we stopped at the mailbox. Once I was back in the car and driving down the street to our house I saw these kids running down the sidewalk.

Our community speed limit is 15 so I had time to have all these thoughts.

“Look at that. A little black girl and a little white boy. I wonder if that’s in-home daycare kids. Maybe it’s an adoptive family in the neighborhood. Those kids are about my kids’ ages! Maybe we can be friends. Oh, that’s a man with them. Not likely to approach him…maybe I can see what house they go into….HEY….those are MY kids…dummy.

The Letter C

Let’s talk about my friends.

I am home and settling into the first excruciating day post Empowered To Connect Conference weekend. My children are extracting their revenge with a vengeance that I’ve never seen the like of. I spent my day whining to Chrissy wishing that I had brought Karyn Purvis home with me to help and being grateful that she wasn’t here to see my train wreck parenting. (This must be how the families who apply to Supernanny feel.)

I met and met up with lots of ladies this weekend who are making their way through the sticky web of parenting adopted children. I have yet to find such a group of educated, dedicated, compassionate, aware, and motivated women in any other setting. These women rock. Today I’m going to go all internet-stalker-infatuated on two of them.

The first woman is used to it. She’s used to me despite having never met me before. Chrissy. It was so completely normal to meet her. I had this one brief moment of niggling doubt as I was walking out of the airport to get into her car. I thought my mother had warned me about this situation as a child…not climbing into stranger’s vans even if they lure you with promises of Starbucks…or something like that.

Chrissy and I have been what I dubbed “virtual friends, but strangers in/to reality” for a long time. She facebook chatted me (the first person ever and I thought that it was so weird) before we had our homestudy started in Metropolis, so early fall of 2009 would be my best guess. We chatted and emailed for a looooong time. A few months later we talked on the phone for the first time and I heard her cute little southern accent. Since then? We’ve laughed and cried together via phone or computer, we’ve yelled at our children while the other pretends not to listen, we’ve railed about husbands, agencies, children, ethics, hair, bills, and anything else that you can think about. She has listened to me rage, cry, and weep since our troubles with Boohoo began and I know that she’s filled the heavens with her prayers.

Meeting for the first time was almost anticlimactic. There was no weirdness, no axe-murdering, no awkwardness. It was just fun, and understanding, and my friend. It was good for my soul and I’m so thankful.

The next C is “Coffeemom”. I’ve been slightly more subtle about my stalking of her. At least, until the conference where I was sending her emails every six seconds saying things like, “I’m by the coffeepot!” “I have redhair!” “Can I go home with you?” I didn’t really say that last one. I just thought it.

If you’re not reading her blog you are really missing out. She is wonderful. Her blog is funny, uplifting, encouraging, honest, eloquent…sigh….. And she’s even better in person. I have about zero point zero ‘Make New Friends’ skills and when it comes to Small-Talk I dip into negatives, but I maintained enough consciousness and skill to not scare her off halfway through our conversation.

I want to be Coffeemom when I grow up. She was beautiful and classy…she even knows how to wear a scarf, which is something this mama can’t pull off. She was so easy to talk to even when I was bumbling through what I was trying to say. I just liked standing by her because she was one of those people (and there aren’t that many) that are so grounded in their faith, in their hope, in their peace that it just overflows from them. She was like that. (I know I sound like a crazy stalker, it’s just one of those things….)

Standing there listening to her talk, the things that she shared, the things that I shared, the encouragement that she gave me, it was priceless. She’s going down as one of my favorite parts of the conference. You should have heard the nice things that she said about me, the hope that she gave me. I’m not going to tell you because that would be vain, but I remember. It was awesome. I think that I only told the girls that I was with “I met Coffeemom! I loved her! She was nice to me! ” about 68 million times. Sorry, ladies!

I’ve made a lifelong friend in Chrissy and I want to be Coffeemom. So yeah, Tennessee was good to me this weekend. And now I know that my two Letter ‘C’ Friends: Chrissy and Coffeemom live pretty close to each other! So when can I come back, girls?

Take Good Care of Your Family

Many thanks to Jamey for opening up her blog to the masses.  I hope she doesn’t stop blogging after hearing all of our deep, dark secrets.  But what better place to start?  Thanks also, Jamey, for making it safe for us to speak.  You have no idea how important it is to speak.  Equally important is being heard… please know we have been listening.

I just have to tell you… the first post I EVER read of yours was entitled “Heavy”.  So know every time I link to your blog I think “Zehlahlum Family….Heavy”.  Just like that.  You rarely let me down.  But you always lift me up.

I am a mom of three also. I have two daughters and a son.  Like you, I had two biological children before adopting my third.  Unlike you, my girls were six and eight when my son came home at the age of seven months.  I am also twelve years older than you.

Why do I follow your blog?  Well, besides our age difference, your life is not so distant from mine.  What you are experiencing with your sweet BooHoo… well, I have been there too.  Only I am going through it with my biological daughter.

I remember lying in bed in the morning with my girl and having to tell myself, “I love this child. I love this child.”  As if my words would make up for my lack of feeling.  I told my husband this morning that I hate her name because I am so tired of saying it, of the work, of her.  She is eleven years old.

Am I saying this to bring you down or give you hope?  I am not really sure.  I just know that you are not alone.  None of us are alone.  Life is lonely, impersonal, sad.  But you are not alone.  And maybe we can help each other feel more connected, normal, hopeful.  I hope we can also remind each other to be gentle with ourselves, with our children, with our love. 

Written by H.