Just Call Me Dorothy

I am petrified of storms.  Its really sort of a love/hate relationship.  I love to hear the thunder and rain.  The lightening doesn't even bother me.  For me, its all in the wind.  I hate storms because they come with wind and, sometimes, tornadoes.  I've always been this way.  Its part of who I am.  When I was a little girl and the wind would pick up or it looked like a storm was coming, I would run all over our backyard pulling anything that wasn't tied down into the house.  Toys, decorations, lawn furniture.  It all had to come in.  And I didn't even live in tornado alley.  We're talking mid-atlantic states here.  Not exactly known for their tornadoes.  I mean, this is a place where what would normally be tornado sirens are used instead to call volunteer firefighters to the fire station.  We did have a tornado once.  It came through near to our house while we were away.  I remember being so scared that when we got home all my stuff would be gone.  (And to someone with OCD, even undiagnosed at the time, "stuff" is very, very important.)  Hubby and I survived some non-descending funnel clouds while living along the gulf coast.  I remember hearing the tornado sirens in the middle of the night thinking "wow, that must be one big fire".  Little did we know.  I think back to the two years that Hubby and I DID live in tornado alley and I don't know how I functioned like a human being.  I think I just chose to ignore the threat as a coping mechanism of some sort.  I remember the green skies, the wall clouds, the sideways rain and the tornado sirens but I never remember being scared.  Now, I live here in Suburbia, basically the midwest, where the threat is higher than you'd think it would be.  I live the months of March, April, May, June, July and August in fear of the wicked winds.  I force my family, birds and all, into the basement every now and then where we sit with our bike helmets on waiting for the warnings to be over.  I have, through much therapy, come to realization that I am as safe as I can be in my home, but my car is a completely different story.  The thing that fears me most about storms now is traveling in them.  One night, on the way home from a wedding, we were driving down the interstate when the radio went off with tornado warnings for all the local counties.  Having just passed the last exit before a vast stretch of farmland, I insisted that Hubby drive backwards down the interstate on ramp shoulder so that we could take refuge in a Hampton Inn lobby while the cyclonic cones of death made their way through the area.  Today, we laugh about that night, but I would do it again in a heartbeat if I had to.  The reason I'm writing all of this today is that tomorrow we are taking a trip to Hometown to see our new little niece.  We are making the trip in one day which means we will be coming back to Suburbia in the dark, driving straight into a cold front.  They are not calling for any severe weather but with their tendency to do nowcasting and not forecasting, I am nervous.  But I will go.  When the thunder rumbles, I will white knuckle my atlas.  When the lightening flashes, I will scan the horizon for potential funnels.  When we start the trip home, I will medicate . . . heavily.  Meteorlogical scars run deep in my mind but I will live through this.  If not, I'll see you in Oz.

Rock Sunday

While living in rural England about a decade ago, we decided one Sunday morning that we wanted to go see some of the typical tourist spots.  We decided to go to Avebury stone circle, Stonehenge, and Salisbury Cathedral.  We informed our daughter who was about four years old at the time, that we would be taking a long car trip to visit Stonehenge.  She asked what Stonehenge was and we explained that it was a bunch of large stones in a circle.  Well, like any normal four year old she began to whine and complain about driving over an hour just to see some rocks.  "Well, if you don't want to celebrate Rock Sunday," I said.  "What's Rock Sunday?" she inquired now curious.  I explained that it was a British holiday to celebrate rocks and on that day all of the British people visit stone circles and such.  And just like that, SHE BOUGHT IT.  Oh, we had a glorious Rock Sunday.  We climbed on the rocks at Avebury and bought souvenirs at the Stonehenge gift shop.  (Yes, Stonhenge has a gift shop.  Commercialism at its finest.)  We attempted to visit an old fort but decided against it when we saw the entrance fee.  The fort was carved into a hill so there were lots of rocks there to take our daughters picture with.  But when we got to the cathedral, our daughter questioned why we were there.  There weren't any rocks.  Luckily the cathedral was undergoing renovations.  As we left the beautiful structure, I quickly pointed out the "Falling Rocks" warning sign on the scaffolding near the church.  Oh, she said in a knowing, pre-school way.  Overall, the day was a wonderful experience.  It wasn't until she was much older that we told her it was a ploy and Rock Sunday didn't really exist.  I think there was a little part of her that was crushed when she learned that.  But Rock Sunday will forever live on in our hearts and memories.  So to all of my British friends - Happy Rock Sunday.  May you be blessed with sweetly naive children :)

The Blame Game

According to Blogger, this is my 100th posting on my blog.  As yoda would say, "A momentous occasion this is".  And yet, I don't quite feel like there is anything momentous about this particular posting.  Its just the same as all the others.  I don't really have anything profound to say.  I'd rather just bitch about my daughter's extra-curricular activity.  It is a school affiliated activity and frankly, the program sucks.  They raised the price this year.  Last year it was $35.  This year it was $200.  Nice huh?  Now you'd think for that extra $165 we'd get more.  Wrong.  They have competed in half of their competitions and they still don't have their uniforms.  Wow.  So glad we paid for those.  They change the routine they perform on a weekly basis.  Nice, that won't confuse the girls.  And the best of all, the coaches tell the girls at every practice and performance that they suck.  Ok, they don't say suck, but they do tell them how horrible each practice and each performance is and that it is all their fault.  That's it.  Don't take any of the blame.  You're just the ones in charge of the program.  You're just the ones who thought up the whole routine.  You're just the ones who decided they should move up a division even though they weren't winning their lower division competitions last year.  This new higher division has requirements that our group doesn't even meet.  There are certain pieces of equipment that should be used that our girls have never laid their hands on but no, that's not the problem.  The problem is the girls.  Uh huh, whatever.  The program was fun last year.  Our daughter enjoyed it last year.  This year none of the girls want to be there at all.  They dread going to practice because they're just going to be told how bad they are at everything.  Yeah!  Way to motivate them coaches!  Send them to the school of hard knocks!  Use reverse psychology on them!  Yeah!  That'll work.  Nice to know we shelled out so much to have some "coach" take shots at our daughter's self-esteem.  I'm trying really hard to keep my big fat mouth shut on this one but my tongue is nearly bleeding from being bitten.  You don't mess with this mama lion's cub.  I feel a Polish hex coming on.  Look out!

Happy Birth Day!

I heard it once, I don't remember where but someone once said "Babies come with hats".  It is true.  If you've ever seen a picture of a new baby, he or she is most likely wearing a hat.  You have the baby, they take it to clean it up and check it out and "ta-da" when it returns, it is wearing a hat.  I'm sure there is a reason for it.  I'm just not sure what it is.  All I know is babies come with hats.  I was reminded of this today because in the wee hours of this morning, my brother and his wife had their first baby.  (Yes, I became an auntie once again.)  It is a baby girl.  After finding out all of the details (length, weight, time of birth, etc. ), my next response since I live at a distance was to ask for a picture.  Through the marvels of modern technology, five minutes later I had picture in hand of the little bundle of joy.  And lo and behold, she was wearing a little hat.  And it was not just the average baby cap.  She was sporting a multi-colored, striped, toboggan style hat with not one, but two pom-poms on top.  She was stylin'.  For a twelve hour old, that's pretty impressive.  Who knew newborns had such fashion sense?  When my daughter came into this world, all she got was a little pink cap.  Not that I'm complaining but oh how the times have changed.  Anyway, the purpose of this blog is to say "congratulations" to my brother and sister-in-law and "welcome to the world" to their sweet little muchkin.  We are happy to have you as a member of the family. 
Let the spoiling commence!

S.O.S.

So I have to clean my house.  Get rid of the clutter.  Well, at least most of the clutter.  See we have to make a video for front-runner to see when they tell her they have chosen us as a family for her.  (Please note the positive outlook.)  I have no idea what to put on this video.  Hubby and I went out and bought a new video camera.  Our old one still used tape.  So we went to Best Buy, which is an evil store, and an hour later we were the owners of a brand new digital video camera with optical zoom.  We left confused slightly as we usually do from Best Buy.  They are a good store but the sales people are amazing.  They can convince us to buy just about anything.  Not that its difficult.  I am a total shop-a-holic and Hubby is like a kid in a candy store when we go there.  But we always leave the store a couple hundred dollars poorer than when we entered and we're not sure how it happens.  But that's besides the point, the point here is we have the camera.  Now we just need to declutter the background and shoot the video.  I don't want to clean too much because I want to portray our home as it typically is.  Or more accurately as I would typically prefer it to be.  But even once we declutter, what are we supposed to put on this video.  I want to be truthful and informative but I don't want to scare her.  I want to make it funny but I don't want her to think we are total dorks.  I want her to like it and want to come and live with us except I have limited information about her and what she likes.  So I have nothing to relate things to.  Makes the process kind of difficult.  I try to come up with ideas of what to include and how to present it.  But I'm just not sure what to do.  So I am asking you.  Some of you know me.  Some of you even know hubby and our daughter.  If you know us well, what about us should we share and how should we share it?  If you don't know us well, what would you like to know about us?  What would you ask if you had the chance?  All I know is that I am at a loss and I need your help.  Pretty, pretty please.  If you comment, please do not use our real names.  I like our anonymity :) 
Thanks in advance my peeps!

I See London, I See France

I worry about our budget.  I also worry about losing weight.  So eating out at a Mexican restaurant is not the best idea I've ever come up with.  Little did I know that these two things would be the least of my worries.  We all piled in the car on what was a tremendously gorgeous day and headed to the local Mexican restaurant.  The sun was shining and there was a warm breeze blowing.  You couldn't have asked for a nicer day.  We arrived at the restaurant and parked our car.  I opened the car door as the wind picked up and . . . well . . . my skirt blew up somewhere around shoulder height.  There was nowhere to hide.  Luckily the restaurant has few windows and nobody inside saw.  Luckily there was nobody in the parking lot to see.  Unluckily, the restaurant is on the busiest streets in the entire city.  I tried my best to get control of the . . . um . . . situation but was only successful in holding down the front of my skirt.  Meanwhile, Hubby, in an effort to help me, I think, was rapidly poking me in the ass with his car keys.  He later claimed that he was trying to get the skirt down but it really felt like I was being assaulted.  I sat down and waited for the wind to die down and when it appeared to, I stood up again.  The key words there being "appeared to".  In fact it had not died down at all and the traffic whizzing by got a nice shot of my purple undies.  As a reflex, I again held down the front of the skirt and pressed my backside against the car to block the view.  Yeah, cars have windows about butt height.  So now I was basically panty-mooning everyone through my car door.  I finally was able to get things under control and walked bent in half holding my skirt with both hands into the restaurant.  It's ok.  Go ahead.  Laugh. 
The moral of the story:  Don't go out for Mexican on a Thurday :)

My Ovaries, My Business

So it finally came up.  The dreaded question that I knew would be lurking in the back of everyone's mind when we decided to adopt: "Can they not have any more children?"  First of all, bad enough question.  Second of all, it came from my mother.  She was "only asking because someone else had asked her", but secondhand or not, its still an invasive question.  I guess I just see this as a personal area that nobody should have any right to ask.  I guess I figured my mother would understand that without me having to actually verbalize it.  I guessed wrong.  This is one stereotype that needs to be done away with.  Just because someone decides to adopt doesn't mean there must be something wrong.  For those who are infertile, adoption is a wonderful option, but just like not all infertile couples choose to adopt, not all adoptive couples are infertile.  Adoption is a choice.  Not a last resort.  I have been, as far as I know, perfectly able to have another baby.  I mean, heck, it only took like a month or two to conceive the first one after we got married.  (Yes, I do see most people do the math in their head when they hear how close to our wedding our daughter came into the picture.)  We could have had a whole brood had we chose to.  We could have been our very own family Von Trap.  But we chose not to.  We chose to focus our energy and attention on our one.  Once she was off bottles, we didn't want to go there again.  Once she was out of diapers, we didn't want to go there again.  Once she was out of daycare, we didn't want to go there again.  I could really go on and on.  The point here is we chose to have an only child and now we are choosing to add another child.  Now that our daughter is older and understands that parents can share their love and attention, we want to share that love and attention with someone who really needs it.  Do we want to start over again with an infant?  No.  Besides, there is part of me that would feel bringing another child into this world would be a selfish thing to do.  We have one that is a product of Hubby and me.  Why not use this opportunity to give to someone who doesn't have?  Why would I create another mini-me when there are children out there without parents?  Not saying that people with more than one boilogical child are making the wrong choice, I'm just saying it is a CHOICE.  A personal choice to say the least.  This is something you really have to feel called to do and we feel that calling.  We feel it is our responsibility to make the world a better place for someone who has known pain and anguish.  To bring love where there may have been none before.  It is not an easy thing to do - emotionally, spiritually, mentally and literally.  But it is a choice we have made.  A choice.  Not a last resort.  So if you know someone who is adopting, please, no matter how hard it is, no matter how curious you may be, don't ask if they can't have any children of their own.  Take care of your own business and not other people's.