Herding Cats: A Scene From Our Bedroom

When we first started dating, my husband possessed what you might call wiry in physique. Seriously, the man wore pants with like a 29 inch waist. It was pathetic, if you ask me because he eats like a hog and never had to worry about the existence of fat rolls or, say, the number of calories consumed vs. exercise output, etc. So naturally, I've always been the fatter one in our relationship and I'm completely comfortable in that role. After my surgery, one might say we are more comparable in size. And since T is approaching 40, his formerly super-speedy metabolism is slowing down, and since I can have a tendency towards spitefulness, I can't help but take some small amount of satisfaction in that. Anyway, there has been a slight shift of power in this area of our relationship. We are continuing to find equilibrium here, sometimes with humorous results, sometimes with hurt feelings, sometimes with both.

And so here is a sampling of dialogue that recently occurred in our bedroom:


T & I, in our bedroom, changing into our pajamas.

T: (showing me his stomach in profile) "I'm getting fat. Look at these pants. I'm as big around as I am tall. "

Me: "Let's go on a diet! No really, we need to eat more fruits and vegetables! More whole foods! Don't you think? Huh? Huh?"

T: "Mehhhhhhh . . . "

Me: "Well, I think we should. If you get any fatter, you might grow man bosoms. That wouldn't be good."

T: (defensive now) "So, what are you saying? You think I'm turning into a titty farm here?"

Me: "That's not what I said at all. We're being proactive to try to prevent the titty farm. You know, an ounce of prevention being better than a double-D cup of cure and all . . . "

N: (just now zooming in from downstairs to interrupt our conversation, at full speed and top volume) "WOOHOO! A Kitty Farm! A Kitty Farm! We're gonna have a Kitty Farm! Yay for Kitty Farm! WOOHOO!"

T: (increasingly defensive, as man bosoms is a deep-seated fear he has) "N, that's not appropriate, stop it. Stop it right now."

Me: (have now relocated bathroom, the better to choke back laughter) "Hhhwwwrrrrkkkkkk . . . "

N: (whispering under breath, to a congo rhythm in his head) "Daddy is a farMER, Daddy is a farMER, Daddy is a farMER, Daddy is a farMER."

Me: (now collapsed in bathroom, totally paralyzed by hysteria yet still managing some degree of fear WRT dust bunnies congregated on tile floor.)

These are the days, man, these are the days.

Mother-Out-Law

Some people have a mother-in-law, but I reject that term in favor of mother-out-law, which I feel is much more descriptive of the relationship that I have with said individual. Our relationship is made especially mucky since we disagree on most things. Now, I must note that I am quite capable of "agreeing to disagree". In fact, my mother and I have forged quite a close relationship based on that very concept. However, my MOL prides herself on "speaking her mind." It's obvious to the most casual observer that it's never occurred to my MOL that all of us would like to "speak" our minds. The downside to "speaking one's mind" ad nauseum is that it pisses other people off to no end. Since angst with her keeps cropping up in my life lately, I have to get at least some of this out of my system, yo. So, without further ado, I present to you:

Favorite Quotes from my Mother Out Law

"Laurie, you just are incapable of understanding some things since you'll never be a mother" ~ circa 1997, the height of my infertility treatments

"A came from China, N came from Korea, and C, well he came from God." ~ a line she frequently likes to trot out when introducing my kids, when she can remember what countries I adopted the first two from, anyway.

"Well, no one is going to listen to Laurie, since she's never satisfied with anything anyway."

"They couldn't get pregnant because Laurie was just so big so she finally lost her weight and they just got pregnant all of a sudden. But I always knew the infertility was her fault, yes I always knew it."

"You know, you should consider having the contractor install more lights in your bathroom, so, you know, your eye makeup won't be so heavy." ~ just to note, MOL is rather, ahem, uptight about makeup, but no one has ever accused me of slathering on the war paint, by any means. How heavy can one coat of mascara be? Trust me on this.

"N just looked deformed when he was a baby, what with all that hair and how hugely fat he was" Me: "I think N was a beautiful baby." MOL: "NO, he looked deformed. I was surprised there wasn't something wrong with him."

Now, what she says is not to be out done by the things that she forgot that she wasn't supposed to say. For example, although she knows that I'm "in the closet" about my gastric bypass, she (early on) "forgot" that fact. And, since she "forgot" once, she now feels that she should be able to talk about it all the time, to whomever she wants. Because, you know, she forgot so why the hell should she remember now. And let's not fail to mention about how she forgot that we weren't telling people about my pregnancy with C during the first trimester. In fact, she got so mad that we weren't telling people that she forgot and accidentally told the entire family. And when I say accidentally, I mean, out of spitefulness on fucking purpose.

Gah, just typing this list has caused me to consume nearly half of an entire box of Girl Scout Peanut Butter Patties (which were called Tagalongs when I was a wee Brownie, but that is a story for another time). My friend Kathy (who has a MIL who rocks) says that this is teaching me lots of good lessons, for when I myself will be a mother-in-law and so now I will be all the better for it.

Whatever.

Sometimes, I forget

As you might imagine, I (from time to time) make fun of people who say things that I think are whacked. But listen up all you hipper adoptive parents: feel free to make fun of me now.

I participate in several online adoption forums and I lurk on gabillions more. And I frequently hear parents (those of blended with adoptive kids and bio kids families) profess, "Oh, yeah, five of my twenty kids are adopted, but I keep forgetting which ones . . . " Sure, the sentiment is right enough (love all your kids equally, you're blessed to have 'em, however ya got 'em), but the saying is just so damn cheesy. Like anyone would really forget that. So I've always thought people who spouted off that particular saying were a little whacked in the head. But I won't be making fun of this particular subset of adoptive parents anytime soon, for reasons which will soon be made clear.

On a somewhat-related-yet-more-somber note, I often (during my bad parenting moments) have a fleeting "bad thought" of "Oh A's (or N's, depending on the situation) birthparents would be disappointed in me". This "bad thought" makes me feel not so good about myself, for just a bit, anyway. For example, when I let A and N watch two Spongebobs in a row (under the guise of quiet time) or when I try to pass off frozen pizza and applesauce as a well-balanced lunch for more than two consecutive days? Then the "bad thought" makes me feel oh-so sickish with guilt. Because I am quite sure that if I were a birth parent, I would totally expect that my children would be happily ensconced in a serene home with no television whatsoever, a wide variety of age-appropriate, intellectually stimulating craft activities, and a hot home-cooked meal always at the ready.

So anywho, back to my point.

Last night, as I was letting the baby gorge himself on a fudge-stripe cookie (because baby loves fudge-stripe cookies, it is sooooo cute, really it is) instead of the organic "chicken, brown rice, and carrots" dinner that I had prepared bought & nuked for him, the "bad thought" flashed through my head: "C's birthmother would be soooooo disappointed in me."

But HA! I am such a dumbass for thinking that bad thought just at that time! Because, um, I am C's only mother (unless he was switched at birth, which I am reasonably certain he was not)! This kid has no birthmother mentally looming over my shoulder, wagging her imaginary head in disappointment! Let the good times roll!

And there you have it: the reason why I can no longer make fun of those people who say "but I can't remember which kids are adopted". Hell, I may even go around saying it myself now. You just never can tell about me.

Reason #43438 why adopting a Korean boy was a good thing for me

When wrapping Christmas presents with his dad, N notices that my gifts (which included this thing of beauty which I love) are vastly outnumbered by his own gifts, not to mention the gifts for A and C. Upon this realization, I overhear N solemnly say to dh, "Daddy, this is really not good. Momma don't have so many presents, and my momma? she likes lots of presents."

Awwwww . . . That little boy knows me so well, doesn't he? What a little goofball he is. God, but I love this kid.

Yeah, I know that I got soooooo lucky in the kids department.

Laurie Held Hostage

Gah.

Weather? Shitty. Roads? Icy. Electrical poles/wires (and their ensuing comforts of heat & hot water)? Down. Schools? Closed. Back? Out. Children? Bored, cranky, and cold. My mind? Shot to hell.

Jesus gay, being trapped in the house with the children for two long days with no electricity to a) heat us up and b) numb our brains with the healing powers of television has got to be some strange form of torture. I've tried to blog coherently, but my brain circuits keep misfiring or short-circuiting or some shit like that. I'd love to sarcastically tear into that bitch from the electric company or moan about our neighbors who wouldn't stop calling us to see if our power had been restored (fuck, no, how many times do I have to tell you?), but I ain't can't string no sentences together good.

Plus, my back is out. Way way way out. And there's a lump back there, where there was no lump before. My husband (who has no medical degree, google or otherwise) suggests that it is an ectopic alien baby. So then I was compelled asked if he could accept the alien baby once it's born and raise it as his own. He was non-commital, probably planning to sell our story to the Weekly World News and mentally spending money from that. Which kind of pisses me off, because he would totally expect me to raise his alien baby, if our situations were reversed, you know he would.

And also, I am feeling guilt for forgetting to pay the phone bill. I mean, I have reallyreallyreally forgotten it good this time. Please don't shut off our service, Ma Bell, we really do love you, it's just that I forgot. I promise to make good.

And finally an observation: If a baby claps and squeals with unabashed glee for a whole goddamned hour because the television is finally BACK ON, then that baby is probably watching too much tv.

Wish list

I wish that, upon my return from winter vacation, I could tell you the following things:

• My visit with my ILs was a joyous occasion that did not result in my left eyeball threatening to explode out of my head from the insanity and a splendid time was had by all
• The Christmas decorations are all removed from our living quarters and safely packed away in acid-free paper
• The baby is no longer wearing his Santa Baby bib on a regular basis
• The baby has socks that a) fit around his massive calves and b) stay on his chunky monkey feet
• The house received a thorough top-to-bottom cleaning, in view of all this time off from work, and each room is now in a state of completely sanitized serenity
• The children did not leave the Jeep dvd player on and run the motherfucking battery completely and thoroughly out of go-juice
• I consumed absolutely no Cheetos during the holiday season

But to blatantly, outrageously lie like that to you, my dear readers?

That would just be plain wrong. And I have resolved not to lie in the new year. Oh wait, no I didn't. I just carefully considered that option. I really just resolved to lie less. I mean, really. You can't just not lie at all. That would just be asking for trouble. And I never ask for trouble. Mostly.

Happy New Year everyone, even if it is a smidgen late. I wish you all the best in 2005!