You know how every person has that smell that is just theirs? The Bean has a smell. You can smell it when all of the lotion and shampoo smells fade a bit. I have tried and tried to figure out what she smells like and today it hit me.
Hot.
She smells hot. Like embers in a fire. Like ideas being formed.
That's perfect for her. That smell is what she is. She is there, hot as can be, burning with ideas and imaginings, her little mind is always at work. Creating heat and thoughts.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Pagan Rabbits
Is it just me or does this appear to be an interrupted pagan pumpkin ritual?
I may have to call in the area's Inquisitor to get to the bottom of this.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Bean, Butter Bean 007
The Bean is, all of the sudden, into spying.
She has taken scotch tape, a small Barbie mirror, a magnifying glass that came in a bug hunting kit and a card board roll from old Christmas paper and she has comstructed a "periscope". This periscope has some incredible properties!
1.) it renders her completely invisible
2.) watching us through the magnifying glass seems to quadruple the interestingness of what we are doing
3.) it muffles all sounds that she makes
These are all properties that are in her mind of course.
She loves watching what we are doing though. She will be right up on me, mouth breathing, and giglling while I am changing but I am to act as if she is nowhere around. She loves it.
I think it's weird but then again, she does sleep in her closet........
The Plasma Burnt Penguin
When we went to the Newport Aquarium, my mom bought Ev this pink, plastic glow in the dark penguin. This is a special penguin. Mainly because it's just one of her many possessions but. mostly because it came from Grandma.
Now, Ev has been sleeping on the floor in her closet. Okay , that's weird but there it is, kids do weird stuff. It's her "secret place" and she wants to be there. So we let her. She has lanterns and , glowing penguins, link posters and ameeuhls and many, many blankets, a thermos of water, a small chair, her pillow, and 2 baskets full of chopsticks, bits of paper and stickers in there. Yes, it's a moderately sized closet. hum hum okay. my point is....
The penguin lost his glow. He needed recharged. I was appointed this task. I had many instructions and we had to make definite plans about his return to the secret place. I promptly forgot most of my instructions. I was tired and edgy and well, really? I have to now pay attention to the needs of a plastic penguin from Kentucky?!?!?!
I went into the bathroom, realized I still had the penguin in my hands, looked around, (I really had to go) saw no shelf or anything near a light to charge him. So I did the next best thing. I turned him on his back and laid him directly on a light bulb over the vanity. Smart right?
Then I forgot that there was even a penguin in the house, let alone one in mortal danger. One that I had been entrusted to keep safe.
Nothing happened right away because I turned the light off and went down stairs to watch a movie.
1.5 hours later, I come back upstairs for my evening ablutions and then....I remember the penguin when I smell him melting.
I had to sort of ooze him off of the light bulb and run him under cold water.
Yes, I plasma burnt my daughters precious penguin.
I kept this dark secret for 3 days.
Tonight I confessed.
I am in the dog house.
Ev immediately got her Hello Kitty Emergency Kit and put a band aid on him. She then started to murmur things like "well, she never burned me", "you will be alright I am sorry that your back burns like hell fire". I have had several sidelong glances and I fear that I have lost the privilege of taking care of any of her animals again.
It's a mixed blessing to be sure.
(Does anyone else wonder why I am in such trouble if Penguin was able to be hid away on the top shelf in the hall closet for 72 hours without her remembering? If he was all THAT special shouldn't she have questioned me thouroughly that next morning? Why was a tired, strung out Mom put in charge in the first place? Who holds the real blame here people?)
Now, Ev has been sleeping on the floor in her closet. Okay , that's weird but there it is, kids do weird stuff. It's her "secret place" and she wants to be there. So we let her. She has lanterns and , glowing penguins, link posters and ameeuhls and many, many blankets, a thermos of water, a small chair, her pillow, and 2 baskets full of chopsticks, bits of paper and stickers in there. Yes, it's a moderately sized closet. hum hum okay. my point is....
The penguin lost his glow. He needed recharged. I was appointed this task. I had many instructions and we had to make definite plans about his return to the secret place. I promptly forgot most of my instructions. I was tired and edgy and well, really? I have to now pay attention to the needs of a plastic penguin from Kentucky?!?!?!
I went into the bathroom, realized I still had the penguin in my hands, looked around, (I really had to go) saw no shelf or anything near a light to charge him. So I did the next best thing. I turned him on his back and laid him directly on a light bulb over the vanity. Smart right?
Then I forgot that there was even a penguin in the house, let alone one in mortal danger. One that I had been entrusted to keep safe.
Nothing happened right away because I turned the light off and went down stairs to watch a movie.
1.5 hours later, I come back upstairs for my evening ablutions and then....I remember the penguin when I smell him melting.
I had to sort of ooze him off of the light bulb and run him under cold water.
Yes, I plasma burnt my daughters precious penguin.
I kept this dark secret for 3 days.
Tonight I confessed.
I am in the dog house.
Ev immediately got her Hello Kitty Emergency Kit and put a band aid on him. She then started to murmur things like "well, she never burned me", "you will be alright I am sorry that your back burns like hell fire". I have had several sidelong glances and I fear that I have lost the privilege of taking care of any of her animals again.
It's a mixed blessing to be sure.
(Does anyone else wonder why I am in such trouble if Penguin was able to be hid away on the top shelf in the hall closet for 72 hours without her remembering? If he was all THAT special shouldn't she have questioned me thouroughly that next morning? Why was a tired, strung out Mom put in charge in the first place? Who holds the real blame here people?)
Friday, October 2, 2009
One Of A Kind
I was sitting here at the computer desk and Bean walks in. She says "hey mama can I go get one of my pumpkin candies to eat?" I say sure and keep working away here at the beast. A few minutes later she comes up, with s few sugar crystals around her lips and she says "here Mama", I look and she is holding up this tiny orange pumpkin for me. She just stood there, holding that pumkin aloft and smiling at me. The light from the window was bright and diffused and lighting her face up like an Angel's. I looked at her and then the entirety of my love for her sort of flooded through me. I saw her for what she is and I realized how very deeply she has wound her way into my heart. This is nothing new really , I did know these things in almost the first minute I held her, but sometimes you get a flash and you just KNOW more than other times. It's like we walk around with this buffering system on because otherwise our love for our children would blind us.
So. I accepted that pumpkin and I pulled her up onto my lap and I curled her up and I hugged her and smelled her hair. I told her that I loved her. LOVED HER. I think she felt that moment too because she said "whoo! Gosh Mama am I the only one that you love?" I told her that no, she was not the only one that I loved that I was lucky enough to have many people that I loved but that my love for her was different, that it was one of a kind. She asked me how. I told her that my love for her was fierce. She wanted to know what that meant. I said fierce love is bright and bold, strong and big and can't be lost or broken, that it was the closest thing to magic that I could do.
"Whooo!" she said.
*"whooo!" =the thing that Ev says when she is overwhelmed with emotions- good ones. It always has been, I will know that I am in trouble when as a teen, she looks at a boy and a small "whoo!" slips out.
So. I accepted that pumpkin and I pulled her up onto my lap and I curled her up and I hugged her and smelled her hair. I told her that I loved her. LOVED HER. I think she felt that moment too because she said "whoo! Gosh Mama am I the only one that you love?" I told her that no, she was not the only one that I loved that I was lucky enough to have many people that I loved but that my love for her was different, that it was one of a kind. She asked me how. I told her that my love for her was fierce. She wanted to know what that meant. I said fierce love is bright and bold, strong and big and can't be lost or broken, that it was the closest thing to magic that I could do.
"Whooo!" she said.
*"whooo!" =the thing that Ev says when she is overwhelmed with emotions- good ones. It always has been, I will know that I am in trouble when as a teen, she looks at a boy and a small "whoo!" slips out.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Meanwhile, back at the ranch
This may be a rambling post. I may not even publish it but I feel like there are some things that I want to talk about.
We are going through a second adoption. That means that I am "paper pregnant". It means that I have inside of me all of the hopes and dreams and anxieties that any expectant mother has. It's just that no one else can see it. I have no physical changes to go along with it. I have no daily reminders or monthly milestones to help me remeber that, indeed, a baby is coming. It means that those "resereved for expectant mother" parking spaces really chap my ass. It means that I hope and pray every single minute of my existance that I will be able to be enough for these children.
In some ways I am scared to death. I have no idea who this person is. I have no idea if it will be a boy (probably I am feeling) or a girl (no disappointment at all if it is). I have no idea how old he or she will be- I use the term baby to mean a child that is my youngest. That term,baby also helps me keep in mind how significant the child's needs will be. I have no idea of what physical condition my child will be in. I am so afraid that I will not be able to stand seeing a child of mine in pain with surgeries. I am so afraid that my family will be disrupted and never get back to "normal". I get so afraid that I will love unequally. I am afraid that I will loose my husband in all of the activity and noise and general adoption mayhem. Most of all though? The thing that scares me the most? Is that I WON'T get a baby out of this.
In some ways I have no doubts at all. Sometimes there is no fear. I just feel like we can do this. That we will do this and that we will have two beautiful and wonderful children from China that make us complete as a family.
Some days my longing for this baby is unbearable. I can not eat a bite or sit for a minute with out wondering and hoping and praying. The longing has a different flavor than that I had for Ev. It's like when I was waiting for her, that longing was all about ME and what I wanted and needed. This time it's less frantic for myself and much more frantic for my child. I want that baby home so we can take care of him/her, so we can start to make things better and right for that person.
On most days I live with a strange combination of all of those emotions: fear, hope, faith and longing.
Then there are the extra frustrations. The paperwork. The Social Worker that takes a longer time than you want getting your home study together. The fears of H1N1 taking over your trip and making it hell. The silly CDC and their TB crap. The notarization, the certifications and oh GOD! the money.
I never want to turn away though. Not one second form the time that Les and I began to realize that this could be. That we could go back to China and come home with the most wonderful gift of all.
At times I worry that these fears I have mean that I am not fit or worthy- those are the darkest times. Most of the time though I try to remind myself that these fears are normal and ok and even beneficial to have, they get me thinking and help me ready myself.
I would also like to talk a bit about my husband. How he has gone through the heartbeak of infertility WITH me. He has never been on the outside looking in. He has walked with me every single step of the way. He has never once doubted my feeling and intuitions about adoption. He tells me every day that he is so very happy that things worked out like they did. There is no hesitation in his heart, he loves our children from the depths of his soul, I know this. I see his love in every thing that he does. He has never made me feel like I was bad or broken in any way. He just sort of hitched up his pants and waded through the grief and the decisions and the paperwork with me. I simply could not ask for more.
I was looking at a blog last night and there was this picture of this tiny, beautiful 14 mos old girl, laying in a hospital bed recovering from heart surgery. I began to cry. I just wondered how on earth I could be strong enough to help a child through that. I then remembered that I could because it would mean life versus death. Love versus nothing. I know that God will send us the child we are supposed to have, the child that we can handle, the child that is ours. I know this because I have Evelyn and she is a miracle.
Yes she is a miracle but, it wasn't easy. She was sick, undernourished, weak and frightened when I took her into my arms. We then lived our final 2 mos in Alaska. Les was in and out with the CG, underway for days at a time. I was alone with this grieving, adjusting mess of a little girl that I loved so very profoundly. Then we moved. Just as she was starting to settle in and find a rhythm, just as she was getting secure, we had to put her into a car, sleep in a different place every night, spend 8 hours a day on the road, fix bottles over hotel sinks, find a way to start laying our foundation as a family in the middle of this horrendous cross country move. It nearly did us all in. So I say to myself, well, no matter how intense it gets this time, at least we won't be in the Neon, moving across country. Some days that is all the comfort and reassurance I need.
We are going through a second adoption. That means that I am "paper pregnant". It means that I have inside of me all of the hopes and dreams and anxieties that any expectant mother has. It's just that no one else can see it. I have no physical changes to go along with it. I have no daily reminders or monthly milestones to help me remeber that, indeed, a baby is coming. It means that those "resereved for expectant mother" parking spaces really chap my ass. It means that I hope and pray every single minute of my existance that I will be able to be enough for these children.
In some ways I am scared to death. I have no idea who this person is. I have no idea if it will be a boy (probably I am feeling) or a girl (no disappointment at all if it is). I have no idea how old he or she will be- I use the term baby to mean a child that is my youngest. That term,baby also helps me keep in mind how significant the child's needs will be. I have no idea of what physical condition my child will be in. I am so afraid that I will not be able to stand seeing a child of mine in pain with surgeries. I am so afraid that my family will be disrupted and never get back to "normal". I get so afraid that I will love unequally. I am afraid that I will loose my husband in all of the activity and noise and general adoption mayhem. Most of all though? The thing that scares me the most? Is that I WON'T get a baby out of this.
In some ways I have no doubts at all. Sometimes there is no fear. I just feel like we can do this. That we will do this and that we will have two beautiful and wonderful children from China that make us complete as a family.
Some days my longing for this baby is unbearable. I can not eat a bite or sit for a minute with out wondering and hoping and praying. The longing has a different flavor than that I had for Ev. It's like when I was waiting for her, that longing was all about ME and what I wanted and needed. This time it's less frantic for myself and much more frantic for my child. I want that baby home so we can take care of him/her, so we can start to make things better and right for that person.
On most days I live with a strange combination of all of those emotions: fear, hope, faith and longing.
Then there are the extra frustrations. The paperwork. The Social Worker that takes a longer time than you want getting your home study together. The fears of H1N1 taking over your trip and making it hell. The silly CDC and their TB crap. The notarization, the certifications and oh GOD! the money.
I never want to turn away though. Not one second form the time that Les and I began to realize that this could be. That we could go back to China and come home with the most wonderful gift of all.
At times I worry that these fears I have mean that I am not fit or worthy- those are the darkest times. Most of the time though I try to remind myself that these fears are normal and ok and even beneficial to have, they get me thinking and help me ready myself.
I would also like to talk a bit about my husband. How he has gone through the heartbeak of infertility WITH me. He has never been on the outside looking in. He has walked with me every single step of the way. He has never once doubted my feeling and intuitions about adoption. He tells me every day that he is so very happy that things worked out like they did. There is no hesitation in his heart, he loves our children from the depths of his soul, I know this. I see his love in every thing that he does. He has never made me feel like I was bad or broken in any way. He just sort of hitched up his pants and waded through the grief and the decisions and the paperwork with me. I simply could not ask for more.
I was looking at a blog last night and there was this picture of this tiny, beautiful 14 mos old girl, laying in a hospital bed recovering from heart surgery. I began to cry. I just wondered how on earth I could be strong enough to help a child through that. I then remembered that I could because it would mean life versus death. Love versus nothing. I know that God will send us the child we are supposed to have, the child that we can handle, the child that is ours. I know this because I have Evelyn and she is a miracle.
Yes she is a miracle but, it wasn't easy. She was sick, undernourished, weak and frightened when I took her into my arms. We then lived our final 2 mos in Alaska. Les was in and out with the CG, underway for days at a time. I was alone with this grieving, adjusting mess of a little girl that I loved so very profoundly. Then we moved. Just as she was starting to settle in and find a rhythm, just as she was getting secure, we had to put her into a car, sleep in a different place every night, spend 8 hours a day on the road, fix bottles over hotel sinks, find a way to start laying our foundation as a family in the middle of this horrendous cross country move. It nearly did us all in. So I say to myself, well, no matter how intense it gets this time, at least we won't be in the Neon, moving across country. Some days that is all the comfort and reassurance I need.
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