Anyone want to hear more about the vomiting? I thought not.
Anyway, I got an envelope in the mail today from our agency, and in it was a Visa application for China! What a surprise. The cover letter says, "Your referral is expected to arrive in the near future, and we approach this time with you in great anticipation." In the near future? I guess to them the 2.5 to 3.5 months we have left to wait could possibly qualify as the near future, although when you know your child is most likely In The Social Welfare Institute RIGHT NOW the 3 months to wait for the referral is an eternity.
Not that I'm not thankful, because I am. I HAVE A VISA APPLICATION FOR CHINA RIGHT NOW!!! Also we have travel information and more information from the agency on all sorts of stuff. Hey, guess what? It looks like we are going to China.
(I mean, I knew all along we were going to China. At least I assumed that we were. But when you get things like Visa Applications in the mail it has the effect of making all of these things More Real to you. A real trip to China for which we need to send off our passports so that we can get a real Visa. Oh what fun!)
(By the way, when I tried to tell K. what we had got in the mail I picked up the letter and tried to read the first sentence about the referral arriving in the near future and started bawling. He said, "That's good, isn't it?" and I could only shake my head yes, sappy loser that I am. It's ok, he knows that I am a sappy loser.)
Last night at approximately 9:07 the vomiting started. I know I won't get much sympathy since this is our very first experience with vomiting besides the bad parenting episode, but still it's tough at any age. In fact, I deserve even less sympathy because I was reading Short North Mama's blog the other day and when she talked about her latest episode with the lovely Miss M I thought to myself (thankfully, but perhaps a bit smugly) we haven't had to deal with the throw ups as of yet. Ha!
After the vomiting started, and after we realized that it was meant to be prolonged, I immediately began with the self examination.
What was it exactly that I was doing when E. became so ill and had to lurch into our home office to find us and puke all over our feet? I still can't remember. I believe that I was talking to our coworker that had come over to work on some stuff with K. It's all a little fuzzy right now. I know that I turned to say something to E. and saw the trail of pink vomit just as he puked on my shoe.
What exactly did I feed E. and did that food have anything to do with why he was vomiting so profusely? Well, we did have lunch at the snack bar at Target, a treat for E., not so much for me. We had hot dogs, which I did examine and at the time they seemed to be cooked good enough. Were they? Or did I inadvertently poison the family with the dinner I cooked last night? Because that's always a happy thought. Maybe someday we'll be fortunate enough to take a group trip to the ER to have our stomachs pumped simultaneously. A girl can dream, can't she?
Well, if it wasn't the food where did I take E. where he was placed in such danger that he caught such a virulent virus? I'm not going to point a finger at any of our lovely friends or relatives, especially since no one else has been puking that I know of. I'll just label this one "Very Mysterious" and move right along.
Finally, how could I have let this happen? I don't know. It seems like it just happened, really without any forethought or serious planning on my part. But I am the MOTHER and so this has to be on my head somehow, right?
The last episode of puking was 2 hours ago, and he has had juice since then. Could we be slowly walking out of the woods? That remains to be seen. He's been puking and pooping (if you want all of the details) pretty regularly since 9 last night, so I'm thinking it's got to be over soon. Really, it seems that most of the house is covered in puke and smells like something that died 3 days ago, and I'm on my 7th or 8th load of foul smelling laundry since last night (ironically I did laundry all day yesterday, perhaps in some sort of preparation for the festivities), and all of the beds have been christened, so we should be darn close to the end. Oh yeah, my cleaning person quit 3 weeks ago and so it's hard to know how long the house will actually stink like vomit. Sigh.
I know I haven't been blogging. I can't think of a single thing to say.
Last year on Easter Sunday was when my mom went to the Emergency Room with some very scary symptoms and was diagnosed with her brain tumor. A grueling 5 months followed during which my mom went downhill so quickly it took my breath away. I can still feel the trauma of last Easter so clearly. It is obvious to me that I am still in shock, and my mom died 6 months ago. Still. In. Shock.
Trip to Disney without Mom. Thanksgiving without Mom. Christmas without Mom. Birthday without Mom. It is still so strange to go through major life events without her there, so painful. My therapist Frank tells me that it can take 5-7 years to grieve the loss of someone significant. I don't disbelieve him. I've done very little with the grieving thus far. Can't read a book about it. Can't Google it. Don't talk about it (except in therapy, thankfully). Don't much want to think about it, or feel it. (Definitely don't want to feel it.)
I knew Easter was going to be hard. Thankfully, for me Easter is also the very best day of the year, a day filled with hope and promise and love and miracles. A joyful day. A day where God's love shines down so clearly that I can't help but feel the warmth. I'm grateful for that.
Last year on my birthday we got the packet from our adoption agency. This year I am not expecting anything, but we are much closer to our sweetie and being in a holding pattern waiting for the referral is a good thing too. Something to celebrate.
The Big Birthday Weekend will be taking place this year and will commence on Friday morning when we leave for New York. Just overnight, but leaving E. at home to have a few days to ourselves. Shopping without a toddler along--how great is that?? Great.
Last month E. turned 27 months. At 27 months the experts agree that potty training may begin. I have read that before 27 months mostly you are just wasting your time. We took that to heart, and didn't even begin to think about potty training until recently.
Which isn't to say that we have some kind of a plan, because we don't. It turns out that I am a slacker mom when it comes to potty training. I just can't get interested. Perhaps I am not interested because E. is not interested—I can't say for sure that I will suddenly become interested when he does. My disinterest means that we have no plan, and no plans to make a plan. And we don't really care either.
I always thought before I had kids that I would be anxiously awaiting the day when my child became potty trained and the diapers went away for good. Turns out I don't really mind changing them all that much. And at this point changing his diaper 4 times a day seems infinitely preferable to the angst that is potty training. It's mildly annoying when he poops as soon as we get settled by the Thomas trains at Barnes & Noble, but we can pretty much expect it now (some kind of laxative effect, as far as I can tell) and we are prepared with diapers and wipes, etc.
Signs your toddler is ready to begin potty training
Hmmm, I'd say that if this test were in Cosmo I'd realize right about now that he doesn't love me now and probably never will.
1 He would sit around all day in whatever his diaper contained without the slightest notice. And he is never dry when the experts say he will be if he is ready (in the morning, after his nap, or ever). He is Puffy Diaper Boy.
2 Plus: Does crawl into the corner when pooping. Minus: Frequently pees while standing in the tub and always looks shocked, and then fascinated.
3 Not able to dress himself, so how should I know?
4 If he likes them.
5 No interest, unless reading Once Upon a Potty 3 times In A Row each night before bed counts.
The Potty Training Management Thus Far
6 If batteries were installed in chair, a tune would play when anything hit the bowl. This would freak everyone out, including E., so no batteries.
7 Mini "M-Ms" seem to be the ticket.
8 We have two potty books, including the famous one. Both have the potty chair being wrapped up and given as a gift to the child. Does anyone else find this strange and unnerving? Also, in both cases there are a few pages of "What is it? Is it a vase? No. Is it a hat? No." Have these people seen potty chairs lately? They resemble nothing else besides plastic potty chairs. Also, apparently Joshua is capable of making "poo poo" which looks like chocolate softserve ice cream. Perhaps that is one more indicator that we aren't quite there yet. E.'s turds look like, well, turds. And why does Joshua's Mommy's dress look like wallpaper and match the endpapers?
E. likes Once Upon a Potty very, very, very, very much. He looks alternately happy, concerned, disgusted, interested, afraid, worried, and hopeful as we read it to him. What a rollercoaster ride!
9 Slackers, all of us.
I wasn't around when the Internet began. However, once I found it I wasn't letting go. At my first job out of library school I worked in the library of a smallish pharmacy school. It was a great job. One thing I got to do was teach people to use email and the Internet. At the time we were using lynx as our browser which meant green text on a black screen and no pictures. Boy, was it ugly. But you know what? It was great too.
As part of my email class I had a little sheet on Netiquette. I reviewed this carefully in each and every class, professors and students alike, because I knew that it was easy to make mistakes in this brave new world. "Don't type in all caps--it means you're shouting. Unless you're shouting, then go ahead by all means." "Don't use the BCC function of your email client--it's considered impolite." "Look very carefully at the names on the To: line when you hit reply because it's easy to reply to someone you didn't mean to reply to and get into big trouble."
At that same job I had a lovely boss who was a mentor to me. (Right up until I decided to skip the library part of my life and concentrate on the Internet part and no, thank you, I didn't want to be tenure track any more.) However, she had a bad habit that a lot of people seem to have which is replying to email messages in the heat of the moment without taking time to reflect and cool off. She was a lovely person, and you could talk through any issue with her, but the zingers she sent to me, and everyone who worked there, were scorching.
The Internet is a funny place. You can have as much or as little anonymity as you want. For most people, this anonymity is ok and we don't abuse it. I am shy and the Internet provides a "safe" medium with which I can connect with people without feeling too uncomfortable. I have nothing to hide, I just am introverted and insecure. For me, the anonymity is good.
The anonymity factor becomes an issue when people begin to act in ways that they wouldn't dare to act in the real world. There is so much rudeness, so much misplaced aggression and anger, so little consideration given to others, so many people brandishing their own opinions like The Truth to End All Truth, so few consequences for bad behavior.
I feel like there should be a course, and part one of the course should be a required viewing of Blue's Clues. There is an episode where Steve is discussing feelings in general, and frustration in particular. He gives the following advice, "Stop. Breathe. Think." I think it might be the magic potion. "Stop before you shoot off that flaming retort to the entire Yahoo group of 15,000 members." "Take a breath before you decide to leave that stinging comment, and try to figure out why you are suddenly feeling so attacked." "Think, don't react." In terms of the rules of etiquette and the Internet, we are all probably about toddler aged in the grand scheme of things. Maybe we need our lessons to be at our Internet age.
There have always been rude people around. But just because you are "anonymous" now doesn't mean you aren't rude. YOU ARE STILL RUDE. YOU JUST THINK YOU ARE GETTING AWAY WITH SOMETHING WHEN YOU REALLY AREN'T.
(stepping off the soapbox and wandering off to get some seltzer with lemon and watch some more Noggin. Out of the mouths of babes, that' all I'm saying.)
I am reading with some amusement the comments people are posting about the hotels in China with respect to traveling there to meet their children. I'm going to make a big generalization here and say that 5 Stars in the US doesn't necessarily equal 5 Stars in developing countries, including China. Nor should it.
I think it is wonderful that there are nice hotels near most of the Social Welfare Institutes where adoptive parents can stay. In fact, most of them have good Internet access and amenities you probably wouldn't find at your local Motel 6. I think this is nice, but for me unexpected. I do not mean to imply that China is a backward country and surprise(!) they have the Internet too. Rather, I find it fascinating that Americans seem to think that every other country should conform to their notion of comfortable and necessary. Is this trip about how comfortable we can make the adoptive parents? It shouldn't be.
When we went to Bangladesh in the mid 90s we traveled through the capital Dhaka. After arriving we spent a few days there with my cousins who had met us at the airport. One day we went to have lunch at the Sonargaon, one of the nicest hotels in the city. It was to be a treat for my cousins who had been living in Bangladesh for 8 months or so. At the dining room of the Sonargaon it was possible to get pizza with Real Western-style Mozzarella Cheese, a real treat for H. So off we went. We ordered lunch and the pizza came out and it had regular old Bangladeshi cheese on it. That was quite a blow—H. cried and couldn't eat her lunch. So much for expectations.
We had our wonderful trip and arrived back in Dhaka to fly home. We were slated to stay in the same guesthouse in Dhaka, a shabby place with scary bathrooms. Unbeknownst to my cousin we had planned a surprise and we had reservations at the Sonargaon instead, one night for K. and I and two nights for them. The Sonargaon was billed as a "5 star hotel" and one of the nicest in the city. And it was nice, with a beatiful lobby and a pool and some lovely shops. The rooms were...rooms. Nothing exciting, mostly just like the Sheraton or Hilton at home. I think they cost around $150 or $200 US per night, which was reasonable to us but ridiculously expensive in Bangladesh. We had a nice stay and swam in the pool and ordered pizza again (good cheese this time!).
The point is it's nice to have somewhere that feels comfortable and familiar when you are traveling and overwhelmed by the different-ness of the place. But to expect that, and even some times to seek that out, for me takes away from the overall experience. Don't get me wrong—I'm quite sure that I will use the Internet access in China to email and upload pictures. But I don't much care how hard the beds are or if there are hair driers or what is on the breakfast buffet or if I will see McDonalds or Starbucks. I do care that I am rested enough and comfortable enough to tend to my new daughter and meet her needs with out worrying too much about my own.
In the end I just don't think the world revolves around me and my need for comfort and familiarity, nor should it. If it did, it would be a very dull place indeed.
To the adolescent male cashier at CVS:
When someone is purchasing tampons at the mall on their lunch hour, saying "Thanks, have a great day!" is probably superfluous.
Just so you know.
I'm feeling like a social misfit today and so the only way around that is to prove that it's true.
K. says that the fact that I am a librarian (lapsed, but I do have my MLS) has to mean I'm nerdy on some level, but the "information professionals" of today would disagree.
There are days when I wish our adoption didn't feel so much like a boxing match. Sigh. I never thought that adoption was the "easy way out" but I also didn't understand the vast crush of feelings and opinions and issues surrounding it. For my friends and family who aren't aware, there are some very strong voices vehemently opposing adoption out there. There are issues of racism to deal with, grief to be processed, cultures to learn about. And there are babies and children to be loved.
Some people I admire have had some good things to say on the subject:
I just don't have the energy to say any more today. Thanks to the women I admire above for saying it for me.
I have been a joisey girl all of my life. I do have aspirations of living somewhere other than New Jersey at some point, but for now here I be. K. says it's a good place to live because you can easily drive to New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington, DC, and I can't disagree, but still, it's Joisey.
Do you know what New Jersey is famous for? The turnpike, salt water taffy (thanks Figlet!), Bruce Springsteen, diners, Lyme disease, the Jersey Devil, crowds, cloverleaf intersections, and mosquitos. Most of those can be found at or near the Jersey shore, a vacation paradise.
My parents were not extremely adventurous when it came to vacations, and mostly it was the Jersey shore every summer for a couple of weeks, with a spate of trips to Maine in my teens. I've been to many other beaches now, including some of the top ten in the world, but the Jersey shore has a beauty all its own and remains at the top of my list. In fact, when K. and I got serious, the vacations at the Jersey shore were not negotiable. Everything was on the table, but when push came to shove we WERE going to the beach in the summer.
One year we were at the beach early in the season. We had taken a walk and ended up on a long finger of land jutting into the bay. The land was a thin strip, too thin for houses to be built and so some of the indigenous plants still remained growing wild. (If you haven't been to the Jersey shore lately you won't realize what a remarkable statement that is.) We walked down and back up the one side which had a little swathe of sand and then because I was feeling adventurous I wanted to see what the other side looked like. There was a path of sorts, really just a place where the weeds were matted down. K. was dubious, but never one to say no to "an adventure". Down the path we went.
We were ducking under the overgrowth and climbing over the undergrowth. A machete would have been handy, but I was undeterred--I wanted to see what was on the other side of those tall cat tails. As close as you can get to trailblazing in the most populated state in the country. (Note to self: The Bay. Just like the other side.)
As we were nearing a break in the greenery K. stopped rather abruptly, looking down at his legs. Then he said, "Amy. Turn around and go back RIGHT NOW," in a voice that I wasn't going to mess with. And after that, "Run!"
What would you have done? I ran. As I ran I shouted inane questions to him: "Are you ok? Is there anything wrong? Are you ok? Was it rats? Are you ok?" No answers.
My first thought was rats. I thought he had looked down and seen some rats, perhaps rabid, and decided to make a run for it. The thought of rats made me run faster. It wasn't all that far; it had taken a while but the weeds had slowed our progress and we weren't all that far from the end of the road, and civilization. Once I got out to the road, I stopped and turned to wait for K. who wasn't far behind.
As soon as he stopped I looked at him expectantly and started peppering him with questions. What was it? Why did we have to run? Was it rats? I was in love with my theory about the rats and basically was just waiting for confirmation at this point.
"Ticks."
And I looked down at his lower legs and sandals and they were covered with hundreds of tiny ticks. He actually looked like he had socks on, if socks can be iridescent and moving and HORRIBLY GROTESQUE. I freaked out.
I had a couple of childhood traumas involving summer camp, ticks, and tender parts of my body, and still maintained a strong tick phobia. (burrowunderskinandlayonethousandeggsaphobia) K. brushed the majority of the ticks off his legs and feet while I was standing in the street dancing around and screaming and basically having my own personal living nightmare. Finally K. came over to look for ticks on me and found one tiny one on my sock and I LOST IT. A TICK. ON MY SOCK. NEAR MY VERY OWN PERSON.
The rest of the story involves walking the 4 or 5 blocks home v e r y q u i c k l y, stripping naked on the back patio in full view of the one million neighbors and running into the outside shower, and intense whole body searches long into the night. Not the fun kind of body searches--the kind where you are looking for ticks.
Ah, late spring and early summer at the Jersey shore--between the giant bloodsucking mosquitos, the giant bloodsucking greenheads, and the giant bloodsucking ticks (and the tiny bloodsucking potentially deadly deer ticks), I can't imagine why you would stay away.
And yet I still inquire, Oh Spring, where art thou? Because a few hundred ticks is still better than being cooped up in the house for months on end with a rambunctious two-year-old. The end.
Made in China is similar in scope and feel to Chinese Daughters. Filmed in Canada, the documentary contains interviews with parents and their adopted Chinese children. The children range in age from 1 to early teens, and many are grappling with what it means to be adopted. Although I knew this previously, it really struck me how young the children are when they realize they are different. When they talk about their differences, you can sense that the words spoken by them are the exact words their parents have told them many times. Not that the words are bad, because it seemed to me that they were saying all of the right things. But their eyes did not convince me that they believed it yet.
The children all seemed fairly melacholy. Perhaps it was a function of being on camera, perhaps their age. One little girl described the note on red paper left with her when she was abandoned.
There was also a very uncomfortable scene filmed in China when one family takes a trip to meet all of the foster parents of the four children they have adopted from China. They are on the street standing by their hired van, waiting for something. Some Chinese nationals come up to them and begin speaking in Chinese. They become agitated when the children look confused and don't respond. After a brief conversation with the driver in which they are informed that the children live abroad, the woman says, "Chinese people speak Chinese. Why don't you?" The Chinese-Canadian son keeps smiling, but begins to look uncertain at the end of the scene. This reminds me of one of the more poignant scenes from the National Geographic special China's Lost Girls where one family is reunited with the nannie of their first daughter and she becomes angry and sad when she is unable to communicate directly with the child. Haunting.
One adoptive father describes his daughter in the following way:
Recommended for you and your adopted child(ren).
Made in China. Dir. Karin Lee. Videocassette. Moving Images, 2000.
More info on ChinaSprout
More books and videos on my Annotated Bibliography
A few months ago I read something in a magazine which said something like, "By the time most women reach their 30s they are good at giving gifts because they are more comfortable with themselves and know themselves better and that helps them with gift giving." Ummm, not me. I tend to be a fairly generous person, but the choosing of the actual gifts is still strenuous. I'm almost 40 and I haven't gotten there yet, but thank you nameless magazine for giving me one more reason to feel inadequate, because that's just what I needed.
So this idea of giving "token" gifts to the orphanage nannies and director, etc is stressing me out. If I can't choose gifts for people I know and love, how in the world am I supposed to choose a gift for someone I've never met who lives in another country with a completely different culture and different rules for giving and receiving gifts?
Problematic Areas
I'm not being critical of you if you went with any of the ideas above. See, this is an area of OCD for me, so I need to obsess over it until I find a solution I can live with. Serious consideration required.
I hear you, Brooklyn Mama. I'm right with you, Figlet. It's been all hand wringing and angst around here lately as I wade through the morass that is International Adoption. But if you stay in the swamp, you don't get to the good things like imagining your daughter picking a pumpkin this fall and pretending that she and your son are going to be buddies some day and retail therapy.
So, let's lighten up and talk about B Movies I Have Known and Loved. I am always the first to admit that I am extremely selective in my movie viewing and tv watching. I want to be entertained, period. On the vast majority of the days in my life, "entertained" does not equal "sad and weeping", "angry", "bored", or "annoyed", or even "thoughtful". It does equate with "happy", laughing", "giggling insanely", and "feeling all mushy inside". Sorry if that's not your style.
Also, I am a person who can watch a movie over and over. I do the same with books. I have books that I have read 5, 6, 10 times. Due to my rather poor memory, it's like reading a brand new book each time! Ok, not really, but if I love the book for a specific reason I can read it multiple times.
Here's a short list of embarrassingly B movies which I have seen at least 10 times.
So anyone else out there feel like fessing up?
I was reading travel packing lists today. They are my new compulsion. Not that they are interesting to anyone but someone comtemplating traveling half way around the world to meet a new person soon to become a member of the family. (And feeling perhaps a little insecure about it. I mean, we've never done formula, not in any meaningful way. Certainly not with thermoses.)
Anyway, on this list was some euphemism for feminine hygiene products (if you need them) [helpfully added].
Suddenly it hit me. It might be That Time of the Month while we are in China. I was floored by this realization. I'm not sure why. It's not like this should have come as a shock to me. But it did.
So of course I had to tell K.
Me: K., did you know that there's a possibility it might be That Time of the Month while we are in China?
K.: (looks at me as if I have just said something terribly stupid)
Me: Well, wouldn't that be awful?
K.: Are you kidding?
Me: What?
K.: You are kidding, right?
Me: No, I really think it would be awful. That on top of the traveling and everything else. I don't like to think about it.
K.: You may not have realized this, but you have a special gift. Your special gift is to get your period on every major and minor holiday and every single important day of the year. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day, President's Day, vacation, your birthday. You're blessed with the gift.
Me: Yeah, I guess you're right. Knowing me, I will definitely be surfing the crimson wave in China.
He is right, you know. Anniversary days, babysitter days, weekends, our wedding day, for goodness sake. But it's a gift, you know. A talent all my own.
I've got to go work on my packing list. I've got a few items to add.