Giving notice

In early February my boss went to G.reece. The Friday before he left, he called me and our conversation started something like this:

"So, I hear you might be moving."

"Really. I wonder where you heard that?"

It boiled down to a friend of his in the same industry as MFH had heard through the grapevine, which is odd, because we have mostly kept this to ourselves and a few close family members. But that's okay, because now the cat is out of the bag. It was just kind of uncomfortable being caught off guard like that. I told him of all the things that had to fall into place in order for the move to happen, and also all the reasons behind wanting to move. I've been here 16 years and there is no reason to bullshit anyone. He is my friend, too, and he was very understanding.

This week he asked if it still looked as though we might move. Well, things still have to fall into place, but we are beginning to make it happen. The house is being painted as we speak, a lovely color called "Oats", which needed to be done whether or not we move. Next, MFH needs to secure a job.

Speaking of jobs, my boss dropped this bombshell on me:

"I will need to have three months notice after we hire someone in order for you to train them properly on the use of our software. Then, I would like you to monitor the books on a remote basis for an additional six months."

Say what?

F.etish

I used to work with a gal that was a real redneck. It still makes me chuckle when I recall the time she wore a dress to work and said, "Dang. I just got a run in my brand new socks!"

MFH has a f.oot f.etish.

As a result of this, I have a spectacular collection of hosiery.

Yesterday I wore a pair of patterned tights, kind of like fishnets, with alternating vertical rows of tight weave and open weave.

Mrs. Service Manager came to my office in the afternoon with some billing, and before she left, said, "I always admire the way you dress. I wish I could dress like that. I could never wear that on my legs, though. My husband wouldn't like it."

Really?

Yet he doesn't mind that you spend your evenings selling s.ex t.oys?

"Your kid sure is sick a lot, isn't he?"

This comment was just made to me by Copper, the employee whose wife is pregnant with their first child, due in June, and has been so sick during this pregnancy that she can't bring herself to do more than sit on the sofa all day. In fact, when Copper had to work late last Friday during a promotion, his wife called to say, "What am I supposed to do for dinner?"

When I was called to pick The Boy up on Monday, I was there in 20 minutes. His teacher said, "I can't believe how quickly you get here when I call you. The other parents take two hours when I call."

TWO HOURS. Leaving their kid with all the other children, sick and waiting for mommy or daddy to come. Ridiculous.

It's been a tough winter. Last Friday there were only three kids at preschool.

I spent the last two days with a puking kid, who managed to make it to the bathroom every time he got sick, bless his heart. I was especially thankful that he made it when the red juice didn't stay down. Yes, I had to clean the bathroom from top to bottom because mommy forgot to leave the lid up, but that's better than trying to get the red out of the very light carpet.

So, yes, my kid has been sick a lot this winter. He's four years old, and has the right to be helpless and lay on the sofa all day when he's sick.

Suck it, Copper.

Party animal

The Boy was invited to three birthday parties on Saturday. The times were such that there was no way we could attend all three. We opted out of the 2:00 party in our neighborhood and attended the 1:00 and 3:00 parties since they were preschool buddies of his.

H.annah had the party at 1:00. She is also adopted from Guatemala. A strange thing happened at her party. They were playing party games, which is something The Boy has not been exposed to yet. The game was pin the crown on the princess, with blindfolds, of course. The Boy did not offer to go first, which is out of character for him. When it was his turn, he ran down the hall. I called him back and he unwillingly participated. He was blindfolded and spun around only one time and we directed him toward the poster. He was confused and I could see the color drain from his face. I whispered to MFH to go get him before the meltdown. It was averted, but he tore the blindfold off and clung to dad's legs, peeking around at all the people in the room and crying. He was so embarrassed. I felt awful for him.

Later I told him that I had been planning to play pin the eye patch on the pirate at his birthday party. He said no. He did not want to play that game and he didn't want the game there at all. I asked what exactly freaked him out about that game.

He couldn't see.

Needless to say, we won't have any pin the eye patch game next month.

H.annah's grandparents were at her party. When The Boy was introduced to her grandpa, The Boy told him that, like H.annah, he was adopted from Guatemala.

Grandpa looked at The Boy, slowly shook his head from side to side, and said, "They certainly make beautiful babies down there."

I agree.

Registered

Well, we did it.

Without tears.

I took a picture of The Boy holding the mandatory birth certificate and immunization records, smiling bigger than life.

And we stood in line. And stood. And stood some more.

There is only one school in our small, bursting at the seams town, and apparently there was quite the baby boom in 2002.

One of his preschool teachers was just ahead of us with her son, a friend of The Boy's, so they palled around together while we filled out paperwork. One question asked his nationality, which I didn't answer for two reasons - 1) It makes no difference what his race is in order to attend school, and 2) There was not an appropriate box to check that would be true to him. Not even "other". When I asked about it I was told, "That's optional and doesn't matter." Then why is it there?

Two ladies in line behind me were conversing. One has a 21 year old daughter and then a son who will be in kindergarten this year. I guess that answers my question about what amount of years between siblings is too much time. Pick a number between one and twenty. The lady behind her was just bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of not paying daycare anymore.

Lady, I thought, I'd give just about anything to be paying daycare for a child next year.

When it was all said and done, I found my son in the cafeteria, holding hands with his second grade sweetie who comes to his preschool for after school care, while she ate breakfast.

I'm going to be okay.

Until the first day of school.

Monkey business

The Boy loves C.urious G.eorge. He always has. He will often choose one of his George books for his bedtime story.

About a year and a half ago, he went to the library with his daycare and there was a story hour that featured C.urious G.eorge. I remember picking him up that day and he so proudly proclaimed, "Momma, today I learned that G.eorge is a special monkey because he has no tail!"

Last night at the end of the story I reminded him of that day.

"Do you remember what makes G.eorge a special monkey?"

He just looked at me blankly.

"You don't remember? He has something missing from his butt."

"A crack!" he said.

Growing up

I found out yesterday that I have to sign The Boy up for kindergarten on Thursday morning.

Big boy school.

I cried.

When I called MFH he said, "Why are you crying? This is exciting. It's a good thing!"

"Not when it's your only baby," I replied.

I don't understand why I'm having such a hard time with this. The Boy is so excited about school. He's been in daycare or preschool since he was one year old.

Why is this so different?

Jinx

When we had our comparative market analysis done, they asked if we would be leaving the appliances behind. Most definitely, was my reply. Most new houses come with everything but the refrigerator, and ours is old so we'll just buy a new one.

Last week one day I said, "You know, I think we'll leave the washer and dryer behind, too. They must be 12 or 13 years old, and I would like to buy new ones."

Over the weekend my washing machine died. Water all around. Squeaking. Now sitting in the driveway waiting to be hauled off.

I should learn to keep my mouth shut.

ETA - Yes, we got the matching dryer. No, I didn't get the front loading style of washer that is all the rage because I don't fancy bending over that much and my MIL is not fond of her set. I took her word on it. I can't even hear this set running, it's that quiet.

It's kind of pitiful that I am excited to have new appliances.

Should I sleep with one eye open?

Last May I had a mole removed that turned out to be highly irregular, but benign. Now I go back for twice yearly checkups to make sure the other suspicious moles aren't changing.

The doctor gave me the normal blah blah about using sunscreen, which I promised to do, and then FORBADE me to use a tanning bed ever again.

Okay, forbade is a bit strong. But, at the time, she did put the fear of G-d in me.

Well, that was ten months ago. Spring is in the air. I'm whiter than white.

MFH gave me a gift certificate to a tanning salon in my Christmas sock.

Either he's poo-pooing the doctor, or he's put a death wish on me.

On the radio

When I listen to the radio, I don't really "listen" to the radio. It's mostly just mindless background noise for me.

BUT

I distinctly heard this on my drive to work-

the DJ was talking about inventions that people thought were useless or wished would just disappear. He mentioned things like leaf blowers and jet skis.

The number one item on the list?

High heels.

Clearly they didn't survey any men.

Or me.

We are family....

Four years ago today, we had the embassy appointment in Guatemala City that allowed us to bring you home.

Our Pink Slip said to be there at 8:30, so off we went with happy hearts. After all we had been through and after all the waiting, we would finally get your visa and become an official family. We sat in a big room with a bunch of other new families. When they called our name we approached a window where a lady looked at all of our papers. Then she asked if our attorney was present.

Attorney?

Well, of course not. Why would the attorney be here? You mean from our agency? Oh, yes. Well that really should come as no surprise to anyone. Certainly not us. They already have our money. Why would they be here?

We had no representation. They were not pleased.

Then, two very good things happened. A few days earlier we had gone on a tour of Antigua. One of the passengers on the tour worked at the embassy. She and mommy became friends. She was there. She knew our story, and she helped us. The other good thing that happened was a young man that happened to be in line behind daddy was someone mommy had heard about from her big list, and he helped daddy finish some paperwork.

It really is about who you know.

This morning when you woke up I was drying my hair. You were sitting in daddy's lap in the living room. I came in and said good morning, and then told you that this was our family anniversary. I told you what that meant and asked, "What do you think about that?"

You said, "Good."

Indeed.

Facelift

The house, not me.

Our comparative market analysis came in right about where we thought it would. Originally we were going to offer an allowance for paint, but we've decided the house would show better if we spiffed things up a bit.

Besides, my MIL is the queen of painting and has offered to do it for us. Bless her heart.

And no, we are not yet set on going - but it needs the paint regardless.

We need to do the living room and the dining room. Does anyone have any idea on a good selling color? Should me remain warm and neutral, like beige? I don't want to go white, but I don't want to spend the time and money painting only to have the new owners hate it and paint over it right away. I know that's none of my business, but it would be so wasteful.

We spent the weekend in Big City at The Boy's last hockey tournament of the season - and he scored a goal! Yeah! Anyway we took the opportunity to go a day early and look at some houses. We found one we really like, brand new, in a development on the outskirts of town. Now we know where we want to live if we go.

I would really like to live in a brand new house.

Good grief

We did not visit our child prior to the adoption being finalized.

Remember, we had an earlier failed domestic adoption. I'm not sure we trusted that it wouldn't happen again. I'm sure we felt it would be 'easier' if something went wrong and we didn't know him.

Besides, silly me, I looked at the timeline for the process, added up all the weeks here and weeks there, and figured our child would be home in no time.

I did not account for all the things the agency did wrong at the forefront, let alone what can go wrong during the process.

Our agency did not allow us to foster our own child. Later on in our process when I decided to go down and find out what the delay was, after dealing with so many angry adoptive parents whose cases were dragging on and on, the agency facilitators in Guatemala were not even allowing visits from the a-parents.

That's not really the point of this post - to rant about the process. It's about having a child put into your arms that doesn't know you. More than that, it's about taking him away from all that he does know.

It was obvious that he had been well loved and cared for. He had no problem attaching to us. I was concerned about that, but he knew how to love. At the end of the first day, he was comfortable with us. By the end of the first week, it was as if he had been with us forever.

I saw one very positive change to affirm this fact - we have several pictures of The Boy sucking his two middle fingers. When we left Guatemala, he also left this self-comforting tool behind.

We came home.

There was nothing familiar about his surroundings. New smells. New toys. New everything.

To make matters worse, MFH had to leave on a business trip the next week. And, that's when it happened.

The grieving.

I had read all about it. In my mind, I knew he had to process it. By the time MFH returned home, it was over.

We haven't seen it since.

We gave him a whole new world, but forced him to leave his world behind.

It was heart wrenching.

One of "those" parents

MFH has a niece and nephew that are quite a bit younger than him because his aunt is quite a bit younger than his father. Several times a year they travel from big city to our space to participate in soccer games or, at one time, traveling basketball. If we know about it ahead of time we attend the games.

The first time - well, every time if the truth be told - I am appalled by the parents' behavior. "Why are all the refs against us" and "I just can't believe how they are picking on our kids" and, yes, "My son isn't getting enough game time".

I swore I would never be one of "those" parents.

On Saturday, The Boy's hockey team hosted a team from a neighboring city for a two game scrimmage. Now, we are a hockey town and have a lot more participants in our program than the neighboring cities. In the first game they rotated the kids around in shifts, and every child got equal opportunity to play. In the afternoon, however, they split out some of the kids and had them scrimmage three on three at the other end of the ice. The idea was to rotate the kids in and out of the game, and rather than sit on the bench, they could work on skills.

Only that's not quite how it happened. The coaches got all caught up in the game and forgot to rotate the kids. My kid was one of the ones that didn't get rotated. Yes, it bothered him. And it bothered me, too, mostly because even though my son is one of the youngest, he is also one of the better skaters and one of the more aggressive players.

The coach later apologized for his mistake.

It was SO hard not to be one of "those" parents.

Overheard

in the concessions room at the hockey rink.

I was with most of the other mothers paying the fees for The Boy to skate in a tournament in Big City with his team next weekend.

"Yeah, we were gonna stay two nights but I cancelled Saturday night. I can't stand to be around all these brats."

Nice.

Almost famous

This morning as I was driving to work the radio news announced that we are approaching the fourth anniversary of the invasion of I.raq.

I thought, "Four years? Surely it can't be four years!"

But then I realized that it's true.

Because at that same time, we were in Guatemala finalizing the adoption of our son. We are also approaching the fourth anniversary of him joining our family.

The invasion had a monumental impact on our trip.

Because not much that had to do with our adoption happened in a timely fashion, we were not at all surprised that our embassy appointment, too, had been delayed by two days. One day AFTER we were to return home to the United States.

We flew down on D.elta. We had return tickets with D.elta. No matter what they did, D.elta could not get us home until March 18. MFH freaked out. He was bound and determined NOT to be in another country on the day that our president invaded I.raq.

A.merican A.irlines could get us home on March 14. For $1500.00. Each.

We were on that plane.

We secured our seats on Tuesday to fly out on Friday. Later that week we were sitting out by the pool and visiting with other adoptive parents. We told them of our plight.

"You're the ones!" they exclaimed. "We've heard about you!"