The Road Runs Both Ways

I have admitted that in the past, shamefully, I do have trouble remembering that C is not adopted. Apparently, I also have trouble remembering that A & N are adopted.

Yesterday, I was in the midst of changing clothes when I heard some health reporter say that women who have had three or more children were at increased risk of prolapse (prolapse of what, I do not know, as I promptly blew a gasket in fear). So, naturally, I did what any health-conscious women who doesn’t have time for a quick Google search would do: I stewed and worried about my poor prolapsed whatsit all fucking night. After all, I have three kids! I’m right in the middle of the doomed population! Something inside could be thinking about falling out right now! Or now! Or even now! I even had a little trouble falling asleep, because I was thinking how mortifying it will be for me to go to Dr. W, crying to him because something or another is in imminent danger of falling out of my hoo-hah! I was doing kegals like crazy, because my luck my poor prolapsed part would fall completely out and I would trip over it on my way to the bathroom.

The next day at work, I resolved to Google the shit out of that health reporter’s statement at my earliest opportunity. I will take each and every preventative measure to insure that what’s meant to be inside will stay on the inside, goddamnit! Do you hear my pelvis? Keep your parts to yourself, yo!

But then . . .

Then I remembered: Those older two kids are adopted! They didn’t affect my hoo-hah in any way, shape, or form! Only one kid affected my girly parts! I’m in the clear!

What a relief.

Until next time.

Underappreciated

I know this scene just screams out SCARRED FOR LIFE BY INFERTILITY, but what the hell else can you expect from me.

Some co-workers and I are sitting at a popular restaurant enjoying still waiting for our lunch, when my co-worker Jane mentions that her niece will be getting married and she’s all planning one of those hip & trendy Destination Weddings in Mexico. And initially I'm all agreeing with everyone 'cause sure it sounds good on the surface, but then my mind hits a chug hole in my thought processes . . . and I say . . .

"But wait! Jane! I know ya’ll think that’s just a fabulous idea but hey! maybe not. Wait, see, your niece might not want to do that, because what if she and her husband can’t make babies so good and like then she might want to adopt internationally you know and then it’s going to be such a bitch getting a Mexican marriage license authenticated! You, like, never know! Better safe than sorry! Think about it! Think about it!"

That little speech causes the entire table to be all staring at me like I’ve gone all crazy-like for some reason. And all that staring-at-me-like-I'm-crazy makes me shut up. And that crazy part may be true, but it wouldn't be because of the aforementioned incident. 'Cause I’m telling you: it makes perfect sense to me. I can't help it if I'm giving out good advice for free and they won't take it.

I'm just sayin', is all.

Mommy Dearest

Sometimes, I wonder if having a third kid has damaged my brain. For real, ya'll.

Last weekend, I decided the kids and I would make some brownies. A and C loooove to bake and they love chocolate, so this seemed like a good plan. And it went well, I try to bake with them every other weekend or so, and they are really becoming quite accomplished. A can almost bake a cake by herself. Of course, it’s out of The Cake Mix Doctor cookbook, but she’s only 6, so I think that’s pretty good for a 6 year old. Hell, I think I’m doing pretty good for a 31 year old when I bake a cake out of The Cake Mix Doctor. Don’t I sound like a model parent? Not only am I keeping fresh baked goods in the home (thereby sounding very much like Suzy Homemaker), but I am also encouraging the children’s creative energies by allowing them freedom in baking.

Oh, but wait. Bad parenting did rear its ugly head. Witness:

I did let them lick the spoon.

And the beater.

Oh hell, I might as well admit that I let them lick the mixer bowl, which they thoroughly enjoyed, even at the risk of salmonella.

N got so into the bowl-licking that he had to take a shower. But, A and I cleaned up the kitchen and all was well.

Further bad parenting abounds when:

Later, I went into my bathroom and was appalled to find out that someone had gotten poop all over my toilet! And my bathroom wall! And I remembered my tirade on Toilet Lady, and so I set out to locate the culprit, because I am not raising any Toilet Ladies, I’ll have you know. By the size of the handprints (yes, I’m referring to poop handprints, you read that right), I figure N is my prime suspect and I set out to interrogate him. He fervently denies any involvement in such deeds. In fact, he denies even pooping, let alone making a mess with the resulting poop. However, he is the only one with that size of hands in our household, and if the glove fits, I can’t acquit, people.

So he is sentenced to time in the corner and a stern lecture, to atone for his sins unrepentant rampant pooping and then lying about it. He is in tears, but I have a zero-tolerance policy where these things are concerned, and therefore I must be strong (as have long history of caving where N and punishment are concerned).

Then I start wondering why N is in his pajamas already.

And then I remember that he took a shower.

And then it dawns on me that the reason he took a shower was because he was covered in brownie batter.

And he took his shower in my bathroom.

Oh yeah . . . oh wait a minute . . . the light is dawning in my weak mind . . .

So, despite my brief bout dumbass-induced amnesia, I am finally capable of deducing that the handprints in question are not POOP they are BROWNIE BATTER! God, yet once again, I feel like such an idiot mother. I mean, what kind of mother would punish her kid due to her own forgetfulness? I’m sure this could be a felony in some states.

I wish I could wrap this up with "and then I rescued N from the corner and we shared a tearful hug, and all was well." But N holds a grudge (not unlike his mother) and his heart of stone could only be softened by allowing him to eat brownies that were shockingly hot from the oven (possibly another example of bad parenting).

So now you see why I have considered requesting some sort of brain scan from my doctor, don't you? Things are deteriorating at an alarming rate over here.

Gah, typing this all out has me fervently hoping for the millionth time that one of my former social workers doesn’t stumble across my blog.

Hookey

Alternately titled: Another Good Idea Shot to Hell

Today the weather is beautiful here, plus it is Friday. So, as a result of my self-diagnosed ADD and SAD, I have thusly diagnosed myself with spring fever. A brief phone consult with T reveals that he is suffering from the same malady. Being a clever and inventive girl, I set about devising a cure. I came up with this:

I would call his work, thereby employing my acting skills by pretending to be school nurse calling in regard to sick child needing to be picked up immediately. In kind, I expected him to do the same for me. I thought this to be a brilliant plan to jumpstart an early weekend. Alas, he did not feel the same. He is firmly rooted in the belief that we should just tough work out for the next three hours. Even adding the incentive of holing up in motel room, for the purpose of our engaging in three illicit hours of wild jungle sex did nothing to change his mind. God, that man is stubborn and I swear, this is just another example of his pentecostal upbringing constantly rearing its ugly head to bite me in the ass.

Yawn.

Bad Parenting Moment #432439

Sometimes, I amaze even myself at my ability to make myself look like a jackass, just so you know.

As a little helpful background info: T is coaching A's basketball team. Also, C has been sickish this week, and so he hasn't been sleeping well, therefore I haven't been sleeping well either. So, in the evenings, it is my custom to be grouchy and irritable, now more so than usual.

Last night after the whole supper/bath rigamarole, we are all in agreement that we are tired, so for lack of funds and energy, we make the executive decision to veg out in front of the healing powers of television. T, A, and C set up camp in the living room and were watching basketball on the TV. N doesn't care to watch basketball At All, so he and I relocated ourselves into my bedroom, so he could watch Shrek 2. Now, since I have seen Shrek 2 a few times, I fell asleep. The next thing I know, A is thisclose to my face, waving back and forth, yammering on about something I couldn't understand. As I'd just fallen asleep, this sudden commotion and in my face waving, made me disoriented, confused, as well as my usual grouchy and irritable. So, as any good mother would, I let loose a string of profanity so the household would know my displeasure at this situation. And, since I’m grouchier than normal (due to aforementioned lack of sleep), I further unleashed some more mad rantings about what was going on, etc. ONLY THEN I came to my senses and realized that A wasn't waving her HAND in my face, she was waving THE PHONE in my face

And it was Turned ON

And it had a basketball parent on the other end

And it had been right in my face during my whole tirade

Oh yeah. See, my jackass-ness knows no boundaries! It is Limitless!

Because T & C had fallen asleep, A had answered the phone (something she doesn’t normally do), because she knows that C has been sick, so we've been trying to let him rest.

The poor basketball parent apologized profusely for "disturbing" me, undoubtedly thinking that I was disturbed enough already. This incident makes me laugh maniacally just typing it out. I mean, Shit! sometimes, I even surprise myself.

I'm quite sure the Chinese government had absolutely no idea this kind of thing would happen when they gave me a baby.

Mi hermana is muy loca in la cabeza

My sister is crazy in the head.

This particular post really has no discernible entertainment value, to the best of my knowledge. Feel free to skip the whole damn thing, especially if you're already feeling depressed. It’s mostly just me sifting through my inner turmoil, and rather than screaming at the top of my lungs, I decided to just blog instead. My neighbors don’t even realize that they should be filled with gratitude. Alas. If anyone does manage to slog thru this mess and has constructive advice, it's much appreciated.

We come from a fairly normal fam, my three sisters and I. My middle sister, CJ and I have always been very close. CJ has also always been very close to my kids. Up until the past year, I would have called CJ one of my best friends. Now, I feel like I don’t even know her. Here is why:

I Do Not Understand Why My Sister Would Live With A Man Who:

Sleeps with other women
Does not have a job
Does not look for a job
Has 4 children that he neither a) sees or b) pays child support for
Has stolen the following items from her: new leather club chairs, two new TVs, one new computer with flat screen, stereo equipment, laptop computer, Christmas presents for her entire family. All of this loot was sold for money to feed his addiction
Has (on several occasions) taken her car, not returned for days, knowing that she uses that car to commute to work
Sits around her house drunk/high all day
Has stolen enormous sums of money from her, including but not limited to stealing rent checks out of the mailbox, altering & cashing them.
Has caused my sister to nearly be arrested for something that he did
Has ran up huge phone bills, on both her cell and land lines. She’s making payments on those, but as of right now, they’re both out of service.

Especially since my sister:
Comes from a good family, who has offered to support her in whatever way possible to help her out of this abusive relationship
Has so many good friends who have even offered to let her live with them, until the bum leaves
Has a college education
Has worked so hard for everything she has
Has a fabulous job that pays twice what I make, yet now she is always penniless

Where We Were a Close Knit Family, Now My Sister:
Did not even come to the hospital when I had C, whereas she threw coming home parties for A and N
Has visited our family 3 times in the past 9 months, sum total of time spent with family does not exceed 12 hours, whereas she used to spend entire weekends with my kids
Refuses to let us come visit her. At. All.
Does not call us. At. All.
Feels that we "lecture" her too much and when we're not "lecturing" her, we are unconsciously making her "feel guilty", hence the no calling/no visitation policy.

You see how this boggles the mind, eh? I have (mostly) said nothing, with the notable exception of Christmas, in which my sister came home bawling because Jock (let's just call him this bastardized form of his real name) had sold her television. Later we find out from CJ's best friend that Jock also sold All The Christmas Presents that she had purchased for her friends and family. Recently, she found pictures of him with another woman and an infant, looking quite cozy. These were dated within the last few months. Yet, she's hesitant to ask him who the hell these people are. Because that's "his private business". My ass, it is.

What's a girl to do? It pisses me off that, for now, I essentially have no sister. But, as a mother, it totally chaps my ass even more that she's completely cut my kids out of her life. On the other hand, I'm not sure that I want them around her at all when she's acting so fucked up. I have so many emotions--confusion, shock, grief, pissed-offedness, disbelief.

Sometimes, I don't like people so good.

Open Commentary to the Woman In the Stall Next Door

So, this past weekend, T and I went out to the Olive Garden (when we're there, we're family). I know some people who think they're too classy for TOG, but the Cystah Family most definitely is not that kind. We love it there: the kids like it, it's not too spendy, and it's Not McDonalds, thereby satisfying three of our most important requirements. TOG offers one of my most favorite entrees in the whole world, possibly, and that is Chicken Alfredo Pizza, which is beloved by me for the abundance of cheese and also for the abundance of garlic, Amen. We were having a fabulous time together, gorging ourselves and the baby had his first tiramisu and he saw that it was good.

On our way out, I stopped by the ladies room.

I had consumed so much water (as a courtesy to try to dilute garlic breath) and I had to pee terribly. The ladies room was eerily quiet, and I went into the first available stall and I had to pee soooooo bad, I already had the button to my jeans undone.

When I looked down.

And.

I.

Saw.

The toilet was covered in shit. Not just a errant streak, mind you, I'm talking 'bout: actual shit. Splatters, turds, spray, the works. Someone had really went all out.

Now, it might surprise you to find out that I have my own Code of Toilet Ethics and one of the hallmarks involves Flushing One's Own Product. Needless to say, this stall was obviously in violation so I moved my delicate sensibilities and unbuttoned jeans on down to the next stall. Shortly thereafter, a woman (this is a presumption on my part, as was still in the stall, so could not ascertain gender at this time) came in and went into That Shitty Stall. I was busy peeing, but the thought crossed my mind that she wouldn't stay in there long. But she did. She not only stayed in there, but she went pee in there! With the shit! In that shitty stall! Now, I do not have x-ray vision, but I didn't not hear the rattle of any paper potty covers (believe you me, I made a mental note of that). During the hand washing, Toilet Lady exited (and not with haste! no!) that stall and I managed, with effort, to refrain from any commentary on her activities, which may or may not have involved someone else's shit.

I can only conclude that she squatted above the toilet. But even so! Squatting above that? Why, Toilet Lady? When so many (at least three) stalls are vacant? How could you do that, Toilet Lady? Were you not grossed out? I am rather gagging, just typing this part. Toilet lady! Stop such behavior immediately, as it is not sanitary. The Board of Health has got my back on this, I feel certain.

From An Unexpected Source: Assvice revisited

I have written this post at least three times now and blogger has eaten each and every one. So you'll just have to take my word for it: the first time was best. Now it's lost something.

I have various and sundry acquaintances that I don’t see for months at a time. The relationships are still there, but time/distance/whathaveyou is such that we just aren’t that close. I think this is normal, but my sister assures me that it's not. So maybe I'm just an asshole where friendship is concerned. I don't know. Anyway. Another thing about me, though, is that I’m fairly open about my experiences with infertility and adoption. As such, some of my casual acquaintances know that I’m happy to discuss most issues related to such things. And, I always like to live vicariously through others adoption experiences. That is just how I am.

Anyway, a week or so ago, I happened upon Jen, an acquaintance that I hadn’t seen for two-ish years. Jen and I have never been especially close, but for some reason she chose to confide in me a bit during her first adoption (she’s now mom to a beautiful toddler girl). We chatted a bit, she shared the news of preparations for their second adoption; I realized that she hadn’t heard about my pregnancy/subsequent third kid. I was as delicate as I could be about the matter—I am still “aware” of sensitivity, to the best of my ability.

Jen somewhat shocked the shit right out of me, though, when she offhandedly mentioned, “Well, naturally, I’d much rather what happened to you, happen to me.” I was confused (it doesn’t take much, as you well know). She elaborated: “well, now we’ve adopted once, and I keep thinking that now we’ll finally, finally get pregnant.” And she was quite serious when she said this. Naturally, I handled the situation without an iota of grace (think mostly smiling and nodding). I’m a complete idiot when it comes to unexpected awkwardness in my everyday life. Really, I think I was a total dumbass. Shouldn’t I have said something meaningful in this situation? I mean, should I have? For some reason that I still can’t explain, I just felt sad for her. Maybe it’s just that infertility just sucks so thoroughly and can never really go totally away. Maybe because it seemed like she still dwelled under the "adoption is second best" mind set. Whatever. We don't see each other much, I felt it best to let it go. But I still felt lacking like a big jackass loser.

I guess I’m just surprised that the assvice of “Adopt! You get pregnant!” has been passed around so much that even some infertile women believe it.