Another one bites the dust!

Five months ago I said I wanted to do a 25 mile bike ride.

Three weeks ago I got a bike.

Tonight I'm wondering what I was thinking. The tiger balm fumes are making my memory a little fuzzy. Tiger balm is Oriental Icy Hot with a punch and the only reason I can stand up.

34.96 miles, but we're calling it 35.

Low Down on the House

Did I just really use the phrase "low down"?

Technically we're still in escrow on the first house. We had some concerns about it (as in my husband was not thrilled with it). Our Realtor (bless her soul) has a good relationship with the listing agent and found out last Friday that this (the second house) had fallen out of escrow and was going to be put back on the market this week. Same owners, same listing agent, same everything- except the address. This made it easy to switch everything over. We put our offer in and the offer has been accepted. We are hoping to keep the original close date which will be the end of June.

And that is the short version.

Nothing is set in stone until we hold the keys. And even then, the only thing you can count on is death and taxes.

Thankfully we love, LOVE our Realtor. If this all works out like we hope it will, any daughter that should come our way will be named Jane.

What to do while waiting for the realtor to call.

Virtually decorate every space in what you hope will be your new house.

Come on people. Ge out the vote!

Red, white, and blue?



or orange and blue?

A post where I talk about which song I want played at my funeral and the house I'd like to buy.

I like routine. It gives me control. And there's no doubt I like to have control. Me. My routine. My kid. My life. Anything and everything that enters within a mile of my personal space.

In the morning we get up, I plop the kid in her highchair, turn on the music, and write blog posts in my head while I clean the kitchen and do the dishes.

Last week I purposely disrupted my routine and took a much needed trip South to get away for minute. Then we got back and I haven't done the dishes in a few days, hence no blog posts. No wonderful grandiose adventures here- just haven't done the dishes. Oy, that's sad. What's the point? If I wait long enough I'll just need to start packing anyway. How soon is too soon to move into the 'paper plate and Subway everyday of the week' phase of moving?

But back to my routine.

It usually includes music in the morning. I can usually tell my current mental health state by the Pandora station I'm listening to. I like a little Enya in the morning with my breakfast. A cup of tea and Enya EVERY morning would be perfect. I know. How about a little Enya, a cup of tea on MY BACK PORCH every morning? And maybe a hammock or a swing. I like a little Queen or Abba or while I clean. Frankie in the evenings while making dinner. And just about everything else in between.

For a week now I've noticed that my "Pink" station has been playing A LOT. My favorite song? "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks. I l. o. v. e. this song. If I had a theme song, this would be it. I would like it played at my funeral. Yes, for my funeral I would like you all to have a nice steak and listen to this song. Angry chick music I believe it's called. I'm not an angry chick, just a little on edge these days. Some chicks make a living being "edgy".

By this afternoon I hope to have moved on to my Bubblegum Oldies. It's for happy music. The kind of music you play when you're not in limbo anymore and you have written acceptance on the offer you've placed on a second house. The house that your husband says if you move in, you're never going to leave. No pressure. Just a ten year plan for a couple who has never had a two year plan, much less a "let's move here and never leave" plan.

I'm not the only one on edge around here. I'd like to take a look at his play list.

Blogging buds, meet house #2.

Pros:
On a cul de sac
The additional square footage as compared to the other home is in my closet and the laundry room.

Cons:
We can't move in tomorrow.

If you come back later and I've posted a little Elvis "happy music" then we're good. If not, you'll know we're singing the Blues.

We're home but not totally ready to get back to reality. Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe.

I'm on vacation.

You knew it was coming.

66 yo Female used IVF to get pregnant will be the oldest female to give birth in Great Britain.

Do I have thoughts on this? Um yes. Do I have an opinion on whether or not this is okay? Uh huh. But know what? There's not a damn thing I can do about it.

I HATE stories like this. They raise my blood pressure. And the people who comment on them in the forums and comments. Yikes! God love them, but they are stupid and many don't have a clue.

To me it cheapens fertility treatments and warps the public's perception about them. People think it's just so easy. There's not some freaken fertility drive-thru where you pull up and order IVF off the menu!!!! Can't tell you how many times I've gotten the "just do in vitro" phrase thrown my direction. Yeah, I'll get right on that. How about this afternoon? Stupid people.

I want to slap people who say they'd love to have triplets or multiple births. You do realize you're saying that you hope your children are premature, right? Who wishes for that?

And all the comments about "she should adopt when there are so many deserving children out there in the world." Go to hell! You don't adopt as a service to humanity. You adopt to build a family. Contrary to popular belief, there's not an adoption drive thru either. You don't just say to yourself, "I think I will adopt today, get on a plane, and come home with a baby."

Since my blood pressure is up already, I might as well tell you, we have our home inspection today. And I can tell you from experience that buying a house and the hoops you jump through is NOTHING compared completing a home study, the bureaucratic bullshit involved in finalizing an adoption, or even ONE round, ONE of fertility drugs.

Oh, and yes I used the word bullshit this morning. Blame it on the fact that I'm probably going to be on the rag at the beach this week. And I wasn't even supposed to get my period this month. Cuz that's the other thing people don't realize...You can have eggs, you can have follicles, you can force ovulation, and have the little dudes sitting and waiting, and still not get pregnant.

Good. The sooner we buy a house, the sooner we can have our home study done and adopt again. Cuz adoption is sooo much easier than getting pregnant. If you didn't get the sarcasm there, you belong in a forum with all the rest of the stupid people. I'm getting the hell off this fertility drug roller coaster.

Just in case you were wondering, you will not see me in a news story pregnant at 66.

Brutal Honesty

I just got done talking to my family on the webcam. The instant the video pulled up I heard every variation of the oldest joke my beloveds know.

Did you get the license plate number?
I didn't hear about the crash.
You look like you've been hit by a truck.

Thank you. I feel like I've been hit by a truck.

But I'm not sure what you'd expect to see. Just so you're warned, if you sign up on Skype and call me without notice, this is what you're likely to see. Or worse, so bite me.

To blog or not to blog?

That is tonight's question.

The answer? Not to blog.

Hasta manana. But there's no squiggly on my keyboard to make the enye sound in manana. So it reads like manana. What's a manana?

Never mind.

From International to domestic. From closed to open. And everything in between.

You didn't ask, but I'm going to tell you. I get asked A LOT about open adoption and how much birth parent contact we have and what I think about it. There are so many misconceptions about adoption it's frustrating, overwhelming, and sometimes infuriating the attitudes and perceptions some people have

I started researching adoption after about five months of trying to conceive. No joke. And I still don't know why except that maybe I just knew. I had to know so that I could prepare myself. And because I had a lot to learn.

When first researching, I was set on international adoption. Dead set on it. I researched multiple countries, their laws, requirements, even had an agency picked out. I had read the statistics that in domestic adoption a birth parent changes their mind about 50% of the time. In our case, that actually turned out to be true, but that's not the point. I was not in a place where I could even fathom the idea of someone taking my baby away. I was ignorant enough about adoption culture to take 20/20 and the infamous Jessica story as the status quo. It scared the hell out of me. So, common sense ruled to stay away from things that scare you.

A couple of months of research later I realized that international adoption was not for us (at that point), so I turned to domestic adoption. I researched every kind of domestic adoption option. Private, agency, foster care- you name it. I've done research on Interstate compact, birth father rights, rights of termination, lots and lots of reading and hours spent on the Internet. I was set on a closed adoption. Dead set on it. The thought of "sharing" my Mommyhood with another woman scared the hell out of me, so again I avoided the thought.

The more research I did, and the closer we came to building our family, the more my attitudes and opinions started to shift. It wasn't so much about me and what I wanted, but what was best for the baby I was preparing for. I was becoming a mom. That's what moms do. They do what's best for their babies.

Today, we have a semi-open adoption. We met our birth mother, and we send letters and pictures. It was weekly for the first month, monthly for the first six months, and then once a year on Scrunch's birthday. The weird thing is, is what used to scare me most, the part about sharing "Mommyhood" with another woman, has become one of the best gifts I've ever been given.

I have a face to put with a name. I know very little when it comes to specifics, but there are lots of BIG things I know about her. I know she has a heart the size of the whole earth. Her favorite color is pink. She wears Crocs. And she thinks Scrunch is the cutest "booger butt" ever! I know she knows she made the right choice. I know she loves us. And I know she knows we love her. I know because she told me so.

Although our 'agreement' is for yearly pictures I think about her a lot, so for Mother's Day we made her a picture and sent her a note. Just something quick. Pictures. An update. Just a note so she knows we were thinking of her. Her response was the greatest Mother's Day gift I received.

"Oh my Gosh!!!! She is the cutest thing i've ever seen! Thank you so much for including me in her life it means the world to me... Your family is to cute. She looks as happy as can be and SPOILED :) i love you guys so much. Your the best Mom i could have ever hoped for Yannette."

A few nights ago I dreamt about her. It was a weird dream that did that really weird dream thing where you are in the past, present, and future all at the same time. We were sitting together at lunch, just like you would with your mom or your sister, and we were talking about Scrunch. But Scrunch wasn't little anymore, she was grown. But I couldn't see her I just knew that she was. And we were talking about what had worked, and what hadn't when it came to parenting her. And we were friends. More than that really. I can't even explain it.

All I know is that when you get your mind set on something, prepare for it to change. You can't even begin to know how grateful I am that a woman was brave enough to share what was rightfully hers- her Mommyhood, with me.

Miss-chevious.

The biggest complain I get (mostly from my mom), is that there are never enough pictures of Scrunch anymore. There's a reason for that. She doesn't hold still long enough. And if she is holding still, she's just trying to sneak up on the cat. Are we going to place bets on who will need to seek emergency medical care when that finally happens?

Gone are the days when my little baby doll would let me dress her up and slap big 'ole bows on her head. She's got her own ideas about things. If she had her way, most of the time she'd run around looking like a bag lady or without any clothes on at all.



Yesterday, I told her to sit her bottom down "Right now! We don't jump on the furniture." She turned around, looked at me and said, "Why?"

Oy!

I am totally up a creek with this kid.

Mental health update.

I am happy to report that I have not lost my mind. I knew I smelled something in the car. Today I found it.

Melted chicken nuggets in a baggie. Organic or not, I don't think chicken is supposed to melt.

It's a Slippery Slope

First, you start getting excited about the prospect of new appliances. You spend your Saturday nights at Lowe's scoping out the fridges, and the next thing you know...



Scary.

Scrunch-alicious!

Note: I don't actually say that word, but it worked, okay? What can I say?
When you're too lazy to blog, post pics of your cute kid. Or dog. Or cat. Or any cute critter you have handy. You can even borrow your neighbor's. No one will know.

Save it.

I talk to myself as I grocery shop. Come to think of it, I talk to myself while I do most things. Now that I have Scrunch to tag along, I don't look as crazy. That's nice.

So I'm standing in the isle of the grocery store and reach for some crackers. "Ooooh, there they are. These are the ones we've been looking for," I tell Scrunch.

"Oh, but those have sooooooo many calories." I hear from the lady standing next to me scouring the back of a different cracker package.

'Scuse me?

I pulled a case of selective hearing and walked away.

What is with people suddenly feeling the need to make commentary on every minor decision or status update a person makes? Even to the point of being rude to complete strangers. Does this have anything to do with blogging or Facebook? It wasn't an anonymous comment on a blog, it was in person. Or was she just crazier than I am and forgot the filter on her mouth this morning?

Comment away.

The most useful thing my mother ever taught me.

If you leave my house hungry it's your own damn fault. That may or may not be cross-stitched somewhere in my mother's home. It isn't, but I think I should do it.

At mom's house, there is never the concern about whether there will be enough food. Ask anyone who has had her salsa and guacamole. She only makes it in one size- enough to fill a bathtub. And I love it. L.O.V.E. I.T.

So, while reflecting on my mother and all that she has taught me today, I wanted something unique to share. She raised me, taught me just about everything I know, but most usefully she taught me how to feed a crowd.

Behold...
A Mother's Day Feast. Twice. Enough to fill a bathtub.


P.S. The tortillas were homemade, thank you very much.

Happy Mother's Day Mom!

A Great Day

It is well past noon and I am still in my pajamas. By ten thirty this morning I was taking a nap. Husband folded loads of laundry. Scrunch is taking an afternoon nap. Our Realtor called and it looks like my car can stay in that driveway.

The only thing I have left to do today is to go to the park and wish our Birthmom

HAPPY BIRTH-MOTHER'S DAY!

We think of you today and every day!

It's been a great day.

Hope

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,"

-Emily Dickinson

As soon as we were approved to adopt and even before, I told everyone we knew. And in return they told me of every waiting child they knew about, had heard about, had heard their mother knew, etc. And with every child, I pictured myself as their mother. Mulling around each scenario as to what it would be like, what we would feel like, how much it would cost. I figured out their due dates, and even in cases their names. With each and every child I hoped. All six times.

A few months prior to even becoming aware of Scrunch, we had a failed adoption. One where the night before she was to be born C-section, the cars packed, car seat installed it looked like it wasn't going to work out. It rocked my world. And for weeks I grieved. We had put our entire hearts and souls into hoping for her. When she didn't come I was devastated. We had even named her and it took me time to stop calling her Colette. After the fact I can say that I have a complete understanding as to why it happened and how it blessed us, but to say that my hopes where dashed is an understatement.

Two months later we got The Call and a week later we met our birthmom. Friends and family, while supportive, were wary and counseled that I should not get my hopes up. And I cursed those that had the gall to mention, "Remember what happened last time." In my mind I told myself the same thing. Don't get your hopes up. But I didn't listen. I decided that that wasn't fair. I wasn't going to get to be pregnant. Why should I miss out on the excitement of buying a car seat and setting up a nursery? Why should I be ripped off of all the excitement and anticipation that comes with major life changes. We again put our entire hearts and souls into putting our hopes in this baby. I had my heart set on it.

She came, and she was everything and more that I had hoped for.

When people tell us not to get our hopes up, or to not get too set on something they mean it for our own protection. I don't offer the same advice. I don't know how not to get your hopes up. I have gotten my hopes up over and over and over again and been disappointed at least that many times. And you know what? I have survived it.

Hope is not fatal. Hope is sometimes the only thing we've got. Hope is the only thing I know how to do.

After two big, BIG appointments today, here is me not getting my hopes too high, but high enough.

That would be my vehicle in the driveway of a house.


And here's me hoping that should I ever find myself pregnant I will look like I stuffed a bicycle helmet under my shirt and that I won't get pregnant in my face or in my feet. Can I hope to get pregnant and still not want to get a fat face? Why does your face have to get all shmushed and flattened out with pregnancy?


Here's to hope.

And if these hopes come crashing down I will deal with it. I will cry. I will curse. But if they don't, I will have enjoyed every minute of it.

***Chillax! I am not pregnant. Only have the potential to become so, but that's better than I'd hoped.

It is my nature.

I have two speeds. On or off. There is little in between. And when I'm on, I hit it at sound barrier speed and don't usually stop until I either reach my intended destination or crash headlong into a brick wall. I then have to stop and regroup or hit it high speed in another and sometimes opposite direction. It's just how I roll. It's all or nothing. Black or white. And anything in between frustrates the hell out of me. I don't do waiting. I don't do patience. I can't help it, it's just my nature.

Endangered Species

One (haha. Like there's only one) of the downsides to apartment living is the parking situation, or lack thereof. In order to avoid the situation completely we park on the street. Most days it's fine and even more convenient, but some days it is great.

Yesterday morning I walked out to the car, loaded my bag, and headed off not noticing a thing. About halfway down the block I noticed a piece of garbage stuck to the top corner of the windshield and got out to investigate.

Oh, you've got to be kidding! Some pre-pubescent little puke (maybe even the one from last week) had the nerve to stick their garbage on my car. While I'm sure he got a good laugh with his buddies about the offense he was about to impose on the vehicle's owner, I hope he is disappointed to find out that he made my entire week.

It was like realizing the childhood dream of photographing snow leapards for National Geographic. Or the thrill of paleontology. If that can be considered a thrill. See, all this time I thought teenagers who even used, much less purchased condoms (or at least their empty boxes) were extinct. I guess they're only an endangered species.

Consider Myself Warned

I have been warned by more than a handful of people to prepare myself for the emotional roller coaster of house hunting. I'm not sure their concern stems from their knowledge of my already frazzled state, or their own personal experience with what a stressful experience it can become. And yes, I don't doubt it is stressful. I have to note though that none of these warnings came from my infertile friends, and inside I kind of have to chuckle at the notion.

WHAT? Having all your hopes and dreams wrapped up in one thought, one dream, and then patiently counting the days of your life to see that dream realized and then having life snatch it away is stressful?

Hello!!! It's like we've been waiting to close escrow for four years. And now you think I might get stressed? I'm pretty sure I can handle this. If infertility does anything for you, it makes you a very tough chick. It's like we've been training for a triathlon of home purchasing. I think I can handle buying a house.

I think.

Please direct your concern towards my spouse. I'm more worried about him.

C's Get Degrees

Parenting 101 Syllabus
Take pictures. Lots of pictures. And document all firsts.

The first one we've done okay at. The second... not so great.The day she said her first word? The day she first crawled? Um....

But I wouldn't say we've failed completely. Not yet. I'd give us a B-. That's good because C's get degrees.

We have documented some other really great firsts.

The ride home from her first birthday party. And her first grass stain.


Her first cold.

First time wearing the first sweater I ever knit.


The first time she said "Cheese" to the camera.

Not bad. I passed Driver's Ed with a C-, so I'll take a B- in parenting any day. That's got to be harder than parallel parking. It rivals it at least.

Tell it to me plain.

"Great view" means it has a big window.
"Newer flooring" only means it isn't threadbare (barely).
Use 'Gorgeous' as a description and it will get you an additional ten thousand dollars.
'Fantastic' will get you fifteen.
"A real gem." That's like saying "a diamond in the rough" As in, you wouldn't know it if you saw it.
"Great First Time Buyer" Translation? It's the only crap-hole you can afford.
"Elegant" on the other hand is out of your league.
"Updated" Within the last century.
"Custom" Be wary of custom. It could go both ways. Mostly it means really weird floor plan.

And on and on- making house hunting a very tedious process. But an exciting process none the less. Finally, a place I can paint without asking permission. We are on the brink of home ownership. Which if someone tells it to you plain means your mortgage owns you and you're about to be in more debt than you've ever been in your life.

Saturday Means Sucker

"It's just like riding a bike," he says. That's not funny. It's exactly like riding a bike. For me that's a problem. I haven't really ridden a bike in at least ten years, and it is about time if I'm going to make my goal of a 25 mile bike ride this year. So as we headed out to the community yard sale at the local park this morning, we had one thing on the list- find a bike. And we did. And it is purple. Just like it was meant to be mine. See? Sucker.

And rain, or sleet, or shine, (but mostly rain) my husband was determined to make me ride it this afternoon. I must be the biggest sucker on the planet. I handed over a handful of cold cash to a toothless hobo looking man for a purple bicycle that is probably stolen. All so I could make an idiot of myself riding two miles in the rain. Just for the record, I do not make this look cool. But don't tell anyone...I kind of had fun.

There aren't pictures because I told my husband he'd be sorry if he took them. Like put one hand in cold water and the other in hot so he pees the bed and then I'll blog about it kind of sorry. But you can't (well you can, but I've been told you shouldn't) blog without pictures so this is a gratuitous picture for Grami.

Lest You Think I've Been Slacking

While I was working full time, I still kept Fridays off. They were fondly known as my "do nothing day." As in do nothing but knit, craft, sew, nothing...whatever. A couple of times we even went out for donuts for breakfast. Get it? Do-nutin'. Donut. Any excuse will do for donuts for breakfast, but a pun? Mmmmmhmmmm.

So Fridays were THE day. These days there isn't so much of a do nothing day, but do nothing moments. minutes. It's better that way. When I add up all these little do nothing moments sprinkled throughout my week, it looks like a lot more than I would have gotten done in a single day.


Made this for Scrunch's bathroom. But she doesn't have a bathroom. But someday she might have a bathroom and you have to be prepared for these kinds of things.

I have mixed emotions about this. I framed my great grandmother's doily, but I also sliced my foot open with the glass.


Totally terrific tutu for a two year old. That my friends is what we call alliteration. Nothing says alliterate like the word tutu. And matching ballet slippers.


Because clearly my daughter is lacking in head adornments, so we had to make more.

I cast on some socks and this sweater.

And look! I get to check something off my to-do list. Double check that alliteration means what you think it means. Check.

Plans for the rest of the day? Nothing. Just like I like it on a Friday.