Respect

There's something so comforting about being understood. This is something I love most about Ted--I feel that he gets me, not judging me during my daily rant about something stupid like the misbehavior of our neighbor's cat or of members of the cast of Friends. And he'll stand there and laugh just as hard as I did when we notice that our leaf-blowing neighbor's yard is now even more full of leaves after last night's windstorm since he hadn't bagged the leaves he blew to the curb.

I was thinking today about how understanding between people is the highest goal, but that in the many cases where this can't be reached, respect should be given. While this feels basic, I was pretty disappointed this weekend by the conversations going on at one of the adoption message boards I'm a member of about the varying degrees to which adoptive parents engage emotionally in the process. Some of the posters on both sides showed a fair amount of close-mindedness and disrespect (I'm more of a lurker than anything, which you may understand if you could read how the occasional voice of dissent is treated).

Providing here the whole backstory that resulted in the message-board nastiness isn't necessary. I couldn't help feeling frustrated by posters who chose to use disrespectful and alienating wording, many times while prefacing their comments with a phrase supposedly giving credit to their openness like, "Everyone is entitled to their opinion" or "This may work for you, but for me..." or "We're all different, but..." and so on. What would sometimes come after one of these prefaces was an expression of an opinion that sounded judgmental and inflammatory.

As one great twentieth century philosopher said, "Can't we all just get along?" We're all people who are interested in adoption; shouldn't we of all people be models of inclusion to other ways of thinking and doing?

Her honesty is the thing I admire most about Melissa Faye Greene (author of There Is No Me Without You). There were so many moments during her reading Sunday that I laughed out loud, felt my heart break, and shoved down the compulsion to stand on my chair and shout hallelujah. She is a pioneer in this world of Ethiopian adoption and such a God-sent impassioned voice to the orphan crisis in Africa.

But what means the most to me as a future-mom is the way she lets us off the hook, so to speak, outright telling us that it's okay not to always believe what a lot of adoption literature says. She lets me know that it's normal if we all don't experience that "love at first sight" when we meet our children. In fact, she even said in her talk Sunday that, not only was she panicked and terrified when meeting all her adoptive children but that she even nearly threw up once or twice. That's not a picture you're likely to see on the front of an agency's brochure.

Since we haven't received our referral yet, I really have no idea how we will respond when seeing that face for the first time. It's a big unknown. As excited as I am as the weeks creep by on the Waitlist, I am growing more familiar with that sense of panic as I drift to sleep, thinking, "Oh my god, this is for real. Our lives are going to change forever. This is a small, fragile little person we're going to be responsible for..." It's always nice when friends of mine who are mothers already tell me that they had the exact same thoughts during their pregnancies or Waiting periods. Whew.

What really struck me Sunday is what a good mother Melissa Faye Greene is, how this is a role she embraces and is honest about. Someone in the audience asked her if any of her kids have had ongoing emotional or psychological issues (he kept using the word "damage") the way that some children whose mothers were drug-users during pregnancy sometimes do. I thought it was a terribly personal question and sort of cringed when he asked it, but she answered with such grace and honesty.

She answered by telling us about one of her sons that very morning refusing to go to Hebrew school, even running away to parts unknown as his siblings were getting in the car. Later that day, the family found him asleep in the treehouse with his bag of Halloween candy tucked under his arm. She said she didn't know where this behavior was coming from, whether it's "damage" or not. She just shrugged and said that sometimes a boy just needs to nap in his treehouse with his Halloween candy.

I loved her honesty and her understanding of her boy. I love that she takes these things in stride. As much of a role model as she is for a lot of us, her family is not perfect and she doesn't claim to be a perfect mother. She didn't feel the love at first sight. The bonding she experienced with her children was sometimes a slow process.

And this is okay because in the end, her kids know they belong and are loved. Shouldn't that be the goal, no matter how we get to that point? If we celebrate the milestones along this long path to adoption, have our showers before we've met our children, and introduce with joyous fanfare to the world the children referred to us, this should all be okay and good and I cheer loudly right alongside anyone who chooses to do this.

But the same should be true if we choose not to do these things. If we choose to be more guarded and private in our experience, that should be okay as well. Our children will not suffer for it. This I strongly believe, and I was saddened this weekend on the message board by being made to feel like a bad mother for not doing things the other way.

We have some close friends who adopted a daughter domestically and were involved pretty close with the birth mother throughout the whole pregnancy. They were there for the birth and got to hold her immediately. But because it was a few days before things were officially finalized, our friends stayed guarded with their emotions. Even while holding the baby, the mom told me that she felt very little. It was only after things were finalized that they truly celebrated and opened wide their hearts.

And I can tell you: their daughter is nothing but well-adjusted, completely confident, and a true charmer who knows that she is loved with ever fiber of her parents' beings. She has suffered no damage because her parents tried to guard their emotions through the process. Her parents lavish attention and love on both her and her sister.

I just hope that we can be, if not understanding, at least respectful of each other. We all know our emotional limits. And we all love our children. I hope that is enough for us to cheer each other on, no matter what path we take.

The Prayer of St. Francis:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Leafblowers and a Certain Hero

The funniest thing I saw all day (and I saw a lot of funny things): our neighbor was "raking" his yard with the help of a leaf blower, and about a third of the way through his yard, he turned the leaf blower upwards and started blowing the still unfallen leaves out of the tree. Just speeding up the process, I guess.

Hey, and look who we met today!
I'll write more about it later, but it was an exciting moment for me, one that made me want to shout Amen! even though I was skipping church to meet her.

Toddler Diplomacy

When it came time to head down for a nap after lunch, T let me know that he really preferred not to. He had handfuls of dinosaurs and kept slowly walking away from me as I tried to get him to say "night-night" to his dinosaurs and go to bed. He'd just stare at me blankly slowly taking steps backward. I don't believe in chasing down 3-year-olds, so I just kept eye contact, letting him know I wasn't giving up.

So I thought, "How can I make this a more concrete idea for T?" So I said that the dinosaurs needed naps too, and here, why don't we put blankets out for them? So I grabbed a place-mat, folded it in half and asked T to put his dinosaurs to bed. The idea seemed to interest him, and he stopped creeping away backwards.

I also don't believe in begging 3-year-olds to do anything, so after asking him twice to come put his dinosaurs to bed, I then told him to put his dinosaurs to bed, which he then did:
All but one dinosaur, at least. He kept his favorite one in his hand, looking at me sideways to see what I was gonna do about it. I asked him, "What about the big one in your hand?" T asnwered, "He's my favorite. He doesn't need a nap."

At this point, all it took was my offering Big-Favorite Dinosaur his own bed to get the job done: T then happily walked downstairs to his bed and blanket. As I was walking out of the room, he said, "What about pillows? My dinosaurs don't have pillows." Some clean, unfolded laundry was there on the couch, so I grabbed my favorite socks and said, "I think these will do. Big Dinosaur will get his own." T nodded, turned on his side, and fell asleep.

Everyone wins, especially the dinosaurs who have probably never felt so snug.

Co-Exist, Schmo-Exist

Do you see anything off about this photograph? In a parking lot so full that, in order to find a spot, drivers (including me) have to circle and do the "hover beside other drivers loading up their car to leave so I can take their spot" thing, this guy (or girl) with the dandy "Co-exist" bumper sticker decides to park over the line, keeping anyone else from taking the spot next to him. If dude had simply double-parked, it might have been less infuriating. As is, he's just barely past the point of being able to squeeze in to the space next to him.

If you're gonna spout platitudes by slapping stupid bumper stickers on your car, at least do what your own bumper sticker says to do, Jerkface.

Oh, and as you can see, the nice fall weather has left the building. Portland now looks like the Portland most people imagine.

On to other things, this blog with the post about the 1977 JCPenny catalogue that's been making the rounds is truly very funny. I have laughed out loud reading it, especially the post titled "On Reflection" about the mirror. (The humor in this blog can be pretty dark/crude, so be forewarned. I was reading a couple of entries out loud to Ted today though and we were both in tears, not the sad or inspired kind but the "ohmygod that's hilarious" kind).

Finally, my friend Jill did a thing over at her blog to gain some cooking inspiration, so here's my late contribution. It's an egg-sausage casserole deal with lots of cheese and half-n-half:
Ta-da! We had this for breakfast one day this week, though I'd wanted to make it for dinner. Ted thinks eating breakfast for dinner is weird, though in my family it was a normal occurrence, especially if my mom couldn't think of anything else to cook. I got this recipe from Robert St. John's book Deep South Staples, which I mentioned here on this blog a couple of weeks ago. I can't recommend it highly enough. Not only are there awesome recipes in there, but he bans cream of mushroom soup from any of his recipes, and he's a pretty funny writer to boot. Even if you never make anything out of his book, it's entertaining to read anyway. I did from start to finish.

Lastly (I know I already wrote "finally"), any 30 Rock fans out there get as mad as I did last night? As much of a fan as I am of Friends, I officially think that David Schwimmer is the biggest Fart-Face in Hollywood for taking that guest star role from a deserving "second tier" (or even third or fourth for that matter) actor who actually could have been funny. Okay, I just went on and on about all that but deleted it. Not the place, not the place. Come over to my house and you'll hear about it though.

Happy Friday everyone! If you see David Schwimmer, punch him in the face and tell him Lori sent you.

Babbling

Some blogs out there are very uplifting. They started out being adoption-blogs, and they've remained adoption blogs. Mine isn't this way, which I started feeling self-conscious about lately. I feel the need to apologize for doing so much babbling about things like the weather, cat videos and The Talking Heads.

I also feel the need to thank all the good people out there who faithfully check this blog during this weird waiting time that we're in. I know you're checking for that anxiously-awaited referral post, and I thank you for not asking us about it in person (like you won't be able to hear our shouts from the rooftops when it happens).

I wish this blog were more "inspirational." You know the ones: those awesome ones with Bible verses and no stupid cat videos. I always hope that people investigating adoption on Gladney's website don't find our blog first among the list of families since I can easily see them with furrowed eyebrows saying, "What the crap? What's all this nonsense about butterbeans and did you see that cracked-out spider video? This agency must be full of nut-cases."

I was inspired this evening by a blogger from Memphis who is now home with their over-the-top gorgeous daughter. Despite the Starbucks theme, I love what she wrote in this post. It really did feel like my "devotional" for today, such a great reminder of God's love for us.

So, no referral news. Nothing adoption related. We are narrowing down the list of names, which is good. I also started painting the dining room and living room today, a project I've been wanting to do for a while now. And I found this for the baby room:
I know it's not really what one might typically put in a baby's room, but I loved the bright, gender-neutral colors. More importantly, what it says has been a theme for Ted and me for the last year: "It'll cost nothing to dream and everything not to." We've realized how easy it is to make many small compromises in life that end up costing more than we may ever realize. Dreaming is a scary proposition because because of a fear of disappointment that can be so overwhelming. But what's the alternative?

"But let us stop all our activity for a moment and consider--comparing the demands of our reason and of our heart with the actual condition of our lives--in order to see how our whole life and our every action are in incessant and outrageous contradiction to the yearnings of our soul."--Leo Tolstoy

Shutting down those yearnings can be a slow process of deciding each moment to stop dreaming, to stop looking for the ideal, to be okay with things as they are despite the longing for more. We want our child(ren) to be dreamers. We want them to know that their presence in our lives is the fulfillment of a dream for us.

I'm not saying anything new here. I guess I'm just trying to open up a can on inspiration on all ya'lls' asses.

Which reminds me: I'll leave you with this clip of a song written and sung here by Tommy Walker, the worship leader at our church in Los Angeles. I'm not sure where this was recorded, but it wasn't at our church (Christian Assembly in Eagle Rock) though a lot of the musicians are from CA. It is impossible for me to sing this song without tears welling up. And one thing I love most about Ted is that whenever this song is sung at CA, I know I can look over at him and see him rocking out, tears streaming down his face too. We can't help it. We love Jesus, people.

PS: Dear tech support, anyone know why the heck the visitor map hasn't been working for the last week?

Hearing God through The Talking Heads

Late Saturday night as we were driving home, we saw a couple of teenage boys on the street in this photo gleefully filling up garbage cans with leaves and making a monster pile. It made me laugh and I wanted to go back to see what they had in store for their yellow mountain. It has been gorgeous in Portland lately. This weekend I got all sentimental about God, thinking about how He made so much beauty for us to find joy in. Fall is essentially the season where everything is dying, and it could be this ugly time of everything turning grey and blowing away like ashes and dust. Instead, it's colorful and windy and cool and fun.

Even I, someone who thrives in rainy weather, was pretty overcome by the blue sky behind orange trees today. It's impossible not to have a skip in your step in weather like this. While out running errands, this is what I heard when the radio came on, "If this is paradise, I wish I had a lawnmower." Turns out it is The Talking Heads Day on my favorite radio station, and I wondered how I made it through my entire life having never heard this song. My hippy-dippy Monday challenge: listen to this song (as loudly as you can stand it, preferably) and stay in a pissy funk. For me, it's impossible:

Musings while Waiting

I really admire all of you guys out there who have your kid's room ready. As has been mentioned before on this blog, it's something I haven't done yet. Though I went into our library yesterday to look for some Peanuts books (anyone see that heart-breaking American Masters documentary about Schultz last week?), I came out with several how-to books on decorating bedrooms for kids. It's a first step.

As a brief way of explanation for my delay in getting the room ready, it's because we don't really know what's coming. We were nonspecific about gender and are open to twins, so it's hard to know how to prepare when you've got factors like that. The same is true for baby-showers. A couple of people have mentioned wanting to throw us a shower (yay! thanks, guys!), but I've asked them to put it off at least until we've gotten our referral and maybe even until we get back from Ethiopia with our babe(s). I figure I can have a few little outfits on hand so we won't have naked babies, and I've got Alice's blankets so we won't have cold babies, and we'll feed them of course so we won't have hungry babies. Then we can have a shower so we can have stylish babies.

And then there's the naming of the baby to think about. We've got a good list going of both boy and girl names, but it's hard to decide. I was thinking the other day about how weird it is that a parent gives a name to these little strangers who have entered their world that is going to stick with them for the rest of their lives. As Posh would say, "Honey, that's major," not something to take lightly. I totally understand those parents you hear about who still haven't named their kid by the time they leave the hospital.

As you see from the above picture, Ted spent some time yesterday getting reacquainted with the Sesame Street characters. Elmo is relatively new, right? I don't remember him when I watched it in the '70s, though I know he was around by the time my little brother watched it in the early '90s. And now you've got this variation, which I think my favorite.

We were also happy to spend some this time yesterday with our friend's two kids so we can get used to deciphering toddler-speak, as seen here:



Is she cute or what?

I had my first dream about being in Ethiopia last night. I guess it's slowly starting to sink into my subconscious that all this we've been preparing for just actually might happen. I won't go into the boring recount of the dream, but two images that stand out: young female lions wandering the streets and antique-buying tourists in rickshaws. I am very aware that I will (hopefully) encounter neither of those things while in Ethiopia--this just shows how little I know now of life-on-the-streets in Africa. Those images I guess came from vague, tucked away knowledge of safaris and movies like Out of Africa mixed with some New Delhi. I'm looking forward to experiencing up close and personal life in Ethiopia.

*

I am completely unashamed to admit that I adore the movie, Mr. Holland's Opus. From start to finish, I completely buy into what some people call the movie's 'sappiness'. I don't care--I love it. That ending makes me sob like few movie endings can (and it's nice to see Terrence Howard in a more innocent time, before we knew all about the freakish importance of baby-wipes to him).

So I was excited when I first found out that, not only did Ted go to the high school where Mr. Holland's Opus was filmed, but that the house he grew up in was right next door to the house Mr. Holland bought for his family in the movie. And now we live in this neighborhood, and I always get nostalgic when I drive by the school, and last night I got to wander the halls for the first time when we went to see a collection of one-acts that our neighbor's sophomore son is in.

It was fun to look around at the gorgeous architecture. The school still has most of its original details, like these stained-glass signs in the auditorium (which is the auditorium in that sob-inducing last scene of the movie):
Ted had fun looking at all the old framed photographs hanging on the walls and occasionally finding family members, like his sister who was a Rose Festival Princess:Or his dad, who taught math and coached basketball, even leading one team to the state championship:

I definitely felt my age last night during the plays when the subject matter included rape, promiscuity, wife-beating, and smoking (one kid actually smoked a cigarette on stage). If this hadn't been a high school production, it wouldn't have shocked me in the least (hello? Magnolia is one of my favorite movies). Our neighbor whose son played the wife-beater who gropes both the breasts and "nether regions" of the girl playing his wife told us that before the last production, the introduction to the audience was made by two topless girls, holding paper signs over their chests. What?

I'm really not a prude, really. But this is high school. When I was in high school, of course we all talked about these things when we were alone with our friends, but our teachers and administrators would never have allowed our drama department to veer even slightly away from yearly productions of musicals like Annie my senior year and would have sh*t a brick if any attempt was made to even vaguely reference any of the subject matter included last night.

To their credit though, the current drama teacher does a great job, as do the students. All the productions last night were produced, cast, and directed all by the seniors. And this summer, a group was accepted into the Edinburgh Theater Festival, making the trip to Scotland to participate, which is a pretty big deal. I just couldn't help having a jaw-dropped, gaping look of shock on my face watching these "edgy" productions by teenagers who are playing rapists and middle-aged, smoking wife-beaters. Weird.

On that lovely note, I'll wish you all a happy weekend. Hope it's as gorgeous where you are as it is here in Portland.