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Monthly Archives: September 2010

Real Mother?

I have wanted to post something like this for some time now.

Everyone knows that I adopted my beautiful girls.  The thing IS …

I forget.

I forget that they didn’t come from my body.

I mean I have stretch marks – doesn’t that count?

I forget that I didn’t carry them in my womb for 9 months.

But I remember and I know that I have always carried them in my heart.  There was an immediate recognition upon seeing their pictures…

that they were mine…

And always have been.

So one of the things I have wanted to do to “give back”…

(because I do have SOOO much in my life for which to be thankful)…

is to educate people about adoption…

things to say and mostly what not to.

I really don’t think people are trying to be mean – or at least that is the place from which I choose to view this.

I think they are ignorant or uneducated about the process and the impact of their statements/questions.

So rather than smack them, I would like to share some guidance.

They are MY kids, plain and simple.  Their origin is of no matter and it’s really none of your business.

Now that said…

If you are interested in adoption and want help  – all day long you can count on me.

It’s just the reason behind your inquiries and the content of  them which I question.  And the following are not accepted in any way:

  1. What happened to her/him?  I will not justify this and you are close to ending up with coffee in you lap.
  2. What’s wrong with her/him?  Not a damn thing and see repercussions from #1.
  3. Don’t whisper about this in front of my kids…like there is something wrong or it’s bad.  My kids are not deaf.
  4. And please don’t ask me why their Real Mom didn’t “want” them.  Because seriously this one makes me the most angry.  How ballsy?  What the hell?  This one really makes me want to SLAP someone  – HARD.
    1. It’s their life and it’s the way it is. There is nothing wrong. This is the way (I believe) God intended it.  So their birth mother loved them.  She loved them so much she gave them a chance for a good and healthy life.  That is love; there is nothing wrong here.
    2. Don’t make derogatory comments about the birth mother.  I don’t know her whole story; only she does.   But… around here we celebrate her.  We don’t hate her.  And when my two are older they will not be allowed to bad mouth their birth mother either.  And today if I saw her, through my tears, I would invite her in for dinner and try to find the words to thank her.
  5. And REAL MOTHER?  Are you kidding me?
    1. See you are confused because I am her REAL mother.  I AM her mother.
      1. I changed her diapers, I rush her to the hospital when she falls, I cook food for her daily.
      2. I cry for her – for the things I don’t want her to see in this world.
      3. I read to her, I sing to her, I tell her stories of princesses and true love.
      4. I love her all day every day no matter what.
      5. I worry about her, I make sure she is respectful and kind.
      6. I AM her Real Mother – See why you should not ask this question…the answer takes 35 minutes to share.
  6. What happened to her real mother?  I am right here and am quite fine Thank you.
  7. Are they REAL sisters/brother/siblings?  Yes, they are real;  I find the ones made of clay a little boring you know.
  8. Does he/she know how much you went through?  It was a labor of love just like natural births.
  9. Does he/she know how much he/she cost?   That is SO none of your damn business and really quite rude.  Would you ask how much someone’s fertility treatments were?  IVF?
  10. Man they look so much like you I would never have guessed you are not their REAL mother.  I AM their REAL mother and I consider that a compliment (jerkface!)
  11. You are a hero.  You saved them for a horrible life.
    1. Okay this one may be my 2nd most irritating.  I do believe that the intent behind this one is “goodness” and that it is meant as a compliment.  But again these children are not deaf.  And I am not a hero.  They are the heroes. They saved ME! I desperately wanted a family and I have them now.    And really you can look at this as selfish.  I WANTED children and I made it happen.  Please…I am no hero.  I AM their mother.
  12. I don’t have a trans-racial adoptive family; but, my friends do.  And ya’ll should just get over it.  Moms are Moms and Dads are Dads – this is their family; they are happy.   If you don’t like it or question it, can you just hold on to it – they don’t need to hear that.

Things I will answer nicely if asked with sincerity:

  1. What was the process like?
  2. How hard was it to do this?
  3. Do you have any advice for adoptive parents?
  4. Tell me how motherhood has changed your life?
  5. Will you help me?

And just so you know, I did consult a literary source:

What IS a mother?

From Merriam Webster:

Mother a female parent

This led me to What is a Parent:

Also from Merriam Webster:

Parent: a person who brings up and cares for another

Okay so I am their Mother…

their REAL mother.

I AM.

 
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Posted by on September 30, 2010 in Adoption, Birth Mother, Parenting

 

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Don’t Try This At Home

I’ve gotten a couple of notes from folks asking what happened with the dentist. 

Well this is just a tidbit but…

I would not recommend trying this at home.

 

It is Thanksgiving.   I have seen the Dentist a few times… Honey I call him.

 Honey invites me for THANKSGIVING…

At his MOM’s.

OMG. 

 

HUGE deal.  Of course we will get married…

as soon as you start talking turkey and dressing meals…

well it’s a done deal.

 

So I HAVE to have a new dress.  He says its casual but we know men have no clue on this topic.  I know his mom will not be thinking casual…

She will be thinking…

What next?

Let’s see what this little bimbo brings to the table.

I will be guilty until proven innocent.

 

So there is pressure…

And limited shopping time…

Its Tuesday….

Thanksgiving is 2, count em, 2 days away

 

It has to be a dress and It HAS to be perfect.

I find it…

Floral…

Empire waist…

Lace yolk         

Not too short…

Tasteful…

 

Okay it sounds dreadful I know – but seriously it was very attractive

In the South…

20 plus years ago

 Some guy is going what the hell is a yolk.

So I was nervous, like I have hives kind of nervous.

I iron the dress until I can see not one wrinkle…

took almost an entire Oprah show to finish.

Beautiful dress now on…

Time to do my hair and makeup…

As close to perfection as I am ever going to get.

 

Then…

I notice…

The dress is still wrinkly.

I need to iron it…

again.   

There is no way I am pulling this dress over my hair…

Forget it…

(This hair  took me an hour and I resemble Naomi Judd now)

 

So I ironed it on my body, you know, while I was still wearing it.

  Just a little tiny bit…

I try to sort of lay my torso on the ironing board to get this one remaining wrinkle…

On the yolk…

The yolk is always the issue…

My 5’4” frame will not support a full body straddle of the ironing board. 

I tried…

On my tippy toes…

Lay my body out on the ironing board…

Just not working. 

Plan B – I must hurry.

Okay   Okay…

 So I will just iron it on me – that will work. 

Tap Tap Tap, press Iron to the dress…

The dress that is on my body.

Looking good…

Little bit more..

Tap Tap  ZAP!

I slipped………..

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ACKKKKKKKKKKKKK

ACKKKKKKKKKKKK

My flesh is burning.

Off the mark…

just a hair…

and I now have a long scar in the middle of my chest. 

 

It looks like a 2 inch Hickey, like a Hoover vacuüm attacked me.

Right there in the middle of my chest.

How can I hide it?

How can I explain it?

Cover stick.  Yes.  Yes.  I will load it on…

more is always better here.

 

Now…

it looks like I have tried to cover a Hoover Hickey  – oh my God

I keep putting more on…

Getting a little better…

OUCH!

I have rubbed so much I have basically opened the wound so now it is sort of leaking.

Seriously…

A smart girl would have seen the sign in this. 

 

Now trying this green zit cream which is supposed to offset the red color of the open wound.  Mother of God…

How could I have done such a stupid thing?

I have to leave.  I will be late and that will make a very bad impression.  I am just going to pray that the ½ inch layer of combination creams will “hold” and not be too obvious.

Here I go.  Panting during the drive. 

Okay Kelly you got this…

Honey opens the door. 

And he clearly went to a lot of trouble to impress me…

What with snapping his jeans and all…

I mean come on dude…

A pair of khakis…

Would it have killed you?

 

I am sweating from all of the prep work …

The sweat has run down my neck to my chest…

Which is making my cosmetic concoction run on to the cream yolk.

It looks like my boobs are leaking…

 like I am lactating.

In the bathroom I go…

I am trying to dab it off but with no results. 

I go through their cabinets for something anything to cover it.  I didn’t bring my Shout Stick…

Take a few minutes to beat myself up for that too.

I rub…

Rub…

Rub…

Until I see the fabric starting to wear away a little. 

 

I have no choice…

I have to return to the dinner…

Honey asks

“happened to you?”

 “You know… it’s a long story… but I sort of had a little accident this mornig”

And he says:

“Well why did you so dressed up?”

 “I wanted to look pretty”

(asshole)

 
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Posted by on September 29, 2010 in Ironing, Naomi Judd, Thanksgiving

 

The Happy Meal

Mondays are usually very early and very busy for me.

So.. on occasion…

(like every Monday)

we stop at “McDonald’s”

And on those “Old MacDonald” days (what my oldest calls it), I am really baffled by what is inside those golden arches.

We HAVE to get happy meals…

because they are in colorful boxes which appeal to the under-developed eyes of toddler girls…

(those same eyes will later gravitate to varying shades of black to de-emphasize body parts of dissatisfaction).

But for now…

their eyes roll back in their heads anticipation.

The ride home is 20 minutes.  The bag nearly breaks as we get out of the car…

the oil slick that lines my passenger seat reveals the culprit.

I try not to think about it because I know that my kids eat well at school…

and the fact that I ate half the fries on the ride home…

(and nearly had an accident bending my head so they could not see)…

I feel that I am only abusing their intestinal lining half as much as I could have.

McDonald’s offers apples as a side which is a good thing right?

And you know why the apples are so good?

It’s the caramel sauce…

My Landon LOVES it…

I force her to eat other things before she can devour the caramel.

The fries…

The 6 that I did not eat…

Are now saturated in ketchup…

I should say the ketchup that escaped Tennyson’s grasp…

because 1/3 of the bottle now lines her face, my Ann Taylor sweater, and our pottery barn chair.

And the one thing the kids want most of all is enclosed in a scary little plastic bag…

which on more than one occasion…

my kids have tried to open with their teeth.

Yea…

that’s not dangerous at all.

And the toy will invariably make a noise or smell like something…

rotten blueberries or cheap chocolate.

Then there is the paint which chips off with little effort from a well-developed fingernail.

And its crap…

just crap…

Crap that you step on…

Crap that you don’t need…

Crap that the kids will cry over if it mysteriously goes missing.

All the while I examine this latest one trying to open its poisonous wrap…

and figure out what it “does’…

cuz you know it has to do something…

I mean it can’t just “BE” a toy.

Landon snuck the caramel from my peripheral vision and is licking it out with her tongue…

Straight out of the container…

TACKY!

The Apples…

Oh they are here…

All 15 of them…

On the table…

Not a healthy one in her mouth…

 
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Posted by on September 28, 2010 in Uncategorized

 

Yanni

Today kinda sucked…

I won’t lie.

This is why. 

4:30 a.m. Tennyson screaming her head off. 

4:30 a.m. is a ridiculous time to be up unless you are a cowpoke or the morning anchor.

I am exhausted…

Did not sleep well…

Her screaming has awakened the other cherub

(I am saying cherub but really thinking terrorist)

 Landon –  “I wan get up”

 “MOMMEEEE I need see a movie”

 Tenny screaming random sequences

 “arrr…uuuuhhh…..rahhhh…mama….laadooooon(her sister)”

 

I am dying…

I ignore it for about 26 minues…

4:56 a.m. I can take no more…

I succumb to the dueling screams.

“Mommy… wants eggs”

  I have three dozen eggs in the fridge in the garage…not even a yolk in the house.

 

It is 5:03 a.m.  I LOVE my life…right? 

To get the eggs I must first pass the sprinkler system…

Which of course is on zone 3… the backyard zone….

I am brave and figure that the “spritz” will help wake me up…

It’s like a minefield…

 

I…

Cannot..

Dodge…

The…

Spraying…

Bullets…

 

Safe within the garage, I grab the damn eggs and plan my return…

 

Again I am hit from every angle…

 

Knees, feet, thighs…

 

Soaked! 

 

I look like I have been fly fishing and caught only…

eggs.

 

Wading in the door, Landon says “Mommy what happened a you?”

 Life Honey.

 

Okay so eggs are made… its 5:49 a.m.

Dora is on AGAIN…

 I swear that chick must have one helluva contract…

she is on about 18 times a day.

What do I do for the next 3 ½ hours… when everyone else is up.

 I am walking around in a Laura Ingalls inspired nightgown with hiking socks…

because they are clean…

and I could find them.

 

It is a 9:15.  I suggest a team nap…in my bed… with the 3 of us…

Yes I know it was stupid…

NOW

 

We lie down…

with the Denver morning sun ripping through my curtains to burn a hole in my cornea. 

Not exactly creating a good “napping” environment.  

I just felt this would be a way to encourage the girls to sleep and be sort of family time too…

In the midst of the solar eclipse occurring right here in my bedroom.

 

We are all just about asleep…

I hear it…

The door…

Damn the cat…

Clooney is coming in for some mischief.

And the door …

Manufactured in 1928…

Alerts us with every centimeter of movement.

 

Up again…

Seriously…. I HAVE GOT TO GET AT LEAST 20 MINUTES HERE.

Not to mention that Clooney has now landed dead center of the bed which causes an all out petting frenzy with two toddlers.

ACCKKKKK!

At my wit’s end…

Through a calming voice, 38 rounds of Twinkle Twinkle and prayers, we are ALL asleep.

It is a MIRACLE (like PAM and Downy Wrinkle Releaser)

I last maybe 30 minutes.  Thinking about all the tasks at hand has me stressed so I get up….

I am in a state of euphoria as the girls are asleep. 

 I decide that I will listen to some nice music as I get myself together in the quiet. 

Think Yanni’esque music…

only not Yanni…

because that is really not cool.

And if it was Yanni, I would CERTAINLY not admit it. 

I mean really only Linda Evans actually listens to him now, right?

 

The fatal mistake…

            Turning on the stereo…

Normally it would be fine, but…

One of the little sprites has apparently been messing with the stereo…

Because get this!

When I turn it on the house vibrates…

The car across the street vibrates…

It is SOOOO loud… I think the police will arrive for disturbance of the peace. 

Covering my ears and sprinting to the stereo like a greyhound in his prime,

I see that SOMEONE had turned the stereo dial to 30,

its maximum possible volume. 

 

Off entirely with one press of a button. 

Ahh…

 

Quiet…

 

or is it…

 

The stereo silence has revealed…

 

The cries of two toddlers….

 

Really…

 

I think Yanni at a volume of 30 was a more pleasant sound.

 
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Posted by on September 25, 2010 in Twinkle Twinkle, Yanni

 

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Sweet Child O’Mine

I am not sure if  this is worthy of a blog entry but… it sure has given me a few chuckles of late.

So we know that I am just really not all that sure what to do with a 3 and ½ year old…

who may or may not see her 4th birthday.

Humorous Scenario #1

A quick stop at the Safeway for milk, scooting through the check out.

“MOMMY!”

“What. Good Lord honey we are both in the same state; I can hear you.”

“MOMMY I WANT SOME ENIMAS…”

“LOTS OF THEM…”

What the hell?

The older gentlemen behind me was not quite sure what to say, so sort of side-stepped to the next lane. I am sure he would say that it was because that line was shorter…but I am not certain.

“MOMMY I WANT ENIMAS”

“Someone will hear you….shhhh”

I look down to try to silence her with my palm…

In her hand are some peanut M&M’s…

Or in toddler speak…

ENIMAS.

Humorous Scenario #2

Sunday our teenage sitter had both girls…

Just for a little while, so I could go through the hellish legging experience with Brittany…

I arrive and this poor child appears to be a bit shaken.

“what’s wrong?”

“Landon got a time out”

“Oh…why?”

“She locked me out of the house”

Okay that is not funny…

It really is not…

But it kinda is, right?

Apparently both girls were with the sitter outside…

Upon re-entering the premises, Landon came in first…

Looked at the sitter…

Laughed…

Shut the door.

Laughing some more.

And did a “sucker” dance to truly rub it in.

I look at this sweet child o’ mine.

The clever sprite says….

“Mommy it was acc’dent”

“really? How so?  Did the door spontaneously shut because of the hurricane force winds we are NOT having?”

Hmm….

Thinking….

“uh no Mommy…

Tennyson did it”

Way to through your baby sister under the bus…

Humorous Scenario #3

And then last night in an effort to stall and watch Hasselhoff get booted off DWTS…

Thank you God!  That was so very painful to watch….

but his mouth and all that leather….

It was like a bad advertisement for Brut for Men (as if they ever had good ads)

Landon was up and down about 10 times.

I can take no more…

I storm in behind her…

Losing complete control…

And deliver my Mommy Mantra…

“Landon …

You get your butt in this bed …

And stay in here”

She says with total sincerity…

“But Mommy…

See….

(pointing to her butt)…

it IS in here…

You see why I am crazy.  Every time I think I have it under control, this slippery little eel, comes up with something totally unexpected.

FINALLY, heading out the door to school this morning, she says:

“Mommy, can I look at your butt?”

“Wh?”

“Wha?”

What?”

“No, no you cannot look at my butt”

“Why would you ask me that?”

I am not sure why but this is just hysterical to her.

“butt…butt….butt…”

“Mommy butt butt butt”

Laughing, giggling, snorting

“my butt my butt butt butt butt”

she says, laughing, bending over…

“Landon stop saying that…its not nice…”

“Don’t say butt, say bottom or bum…

that’s gross honey”

(which of course makes her want to say it more)

I thought 8-year-old boys talked about butts and like pulled their finger to fart.

Where is the “butt” thing coming from…

and out of my Princess’s mouth?

Never mind…out the door we go.

“Mommy?”

“Yes Landon?”

“Can I see Tennyson’s butt?”

?????

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2010 in DWTS

 

Dental Hygiene

I am going to the dentist tomorrow so…

I was reflecting on my dental experiences over the years as I was flossing (for extra credit) last night.

I was reminded (with numerous chuckles) of a trip to the dentist in my mid 20’s.

It is my normal routine…

I am up and at the gym by 6:00.  Looking yummy too (not!)

I have finished my workout and am headed to the dentist.  I did not shower, as who cares what the dentist thinks.

I’m just getting my teeth cleaned anyway…

it will just be some young blonde chick.

I have on my sweat suit.  And back then (you know like 20 years ago — gag, hate to even say that)

these were not the LuLu Lemon (LOVE them) or Nike sleek workout suits.

No friends, this is a genuine Hanes thick terry sweat suit.

Canary yellow.

Elastic legs.

In a word… SEXY

Off we go.  I am starving post workout.

This was also prior to the time of health and nutrition for me.

I whip out my Little Debbie Nutty Buddy and am in heaven. Seriously…

You can laugh all you want, but…

If you have not had one, do yourself a favor right now and go get a nutty butty.

You can thank me later…

I like Yellow Roses.

I go in and wait for the dental assistant.

I am not at all worried about the lil’ Debbie debris in my mouth…

Because this is why we pay young blonde cuties to clean our teeth.

“Hi”

Not looking up.    Hang on… that was a boy’s voice.

“I’m Dr. Washburn…  I’ll be cleaning your teeth today.  My assistant is sick.”

Uh Oh.

Please be an unattractive OLD man.

DAMN… he is cute.

  • He is cute.
  • He is handsome.
  • He is a DOCTOR.
  • Oh, yea, and he is single.

Good move Kel.

And I…

I…

Am sweaty…

Have little Debbie Crumbs all over my teeth.

Smell like a Reese’s peanut butter cup.

And I look…

Like Big Bird’s baby.

“Um…can you excuse me…I need to use the …facilities.”

Facilities?

I must be nervous.   I usually just say  “I have to pee”

In the potty I am.

CRAP   CRAP   CRAP

I am scrambling to correct my appearance in some way.

There is only so much you can do with a canary yellow terry cloth sweat suit.

You can’t belt it or throw on a scarf…

I don’t have a coat to cover it…

and its 89 degrees anyway.

This SUCKS.

Thankfully, I have on mascara and lipstick.

I am Southern…

So it is the 11th commandment.

Thou shalt wear mascara and lipstick at all times…

even when sleeping.

I find a moist wipe from a recent airplane trip – thank God.
I wipe my face and underarms (perhaps too much information here)

My teeth as best I can (not in that order).

Pinch cheeks for natural and painful glow.

Hair spray – poof.

This is the best I can do.

Plus I figure they are wondering what I am doing as I have flushed the toilet three times to disguise all my personal commotion.

I strut out in my yellow bird suit…which let me tell you is hard to do

in a yellow HANES sweat suit.

Trying to look cool…

but more looking like a giant crayon.

Dr. Washburn

(can I call you honey)

He proceeds to clean my teeth.

He is wearing his protective eyewear… Good thing as Lil’ Debbie crumbs are flying about.

Honey has to wipe my mouth about 8 times.  He thinks it is because of his tools and dental rinse.

He is unaware that I am slobbering over him and secretly naming our children.

And you are not going to believe this….

It worked….

He ended up asking me out ….

I mean not that very day…

but like a few weeks later…

when I had brushed my teeth…

and showered…

and ditched my yellow costume.

Ahem…good times.

 
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Posted by on September 21, 2010 in Dentist, Little Debbie's

 

The Rear View Mirror

My friend told me that I “have to get some leggings”

Why?

Because they are SOOOO in.

I don’t know….

Just not sure…

But…

After some prodding I was convinced to try.

It is a quiet Sunday in Macys.

Long tops are everywhere.

Matching leggings on the adjacent racks.

I try a random sampling.

Now… my friend had told me that since I work out they would look GREAT.

I am feeling pretty good.

I have worked out for over 20 years now on a regular basis.

So I am really thinking how bad can this be.

Okay so these leggings are super duper tight…

If I can get them over my meaty calves we should be okay…

I will look like a sexy mama…

Which you all know is really my only goal in life.

Okay first pair up and over…

Have to get tissue to dab the sweat off my forehead.

Its beading up and falling in to my eyes…

Making it really hard to see how fabulous I look.

They are brown, as is everything else in my wardrobe.

Brown is the new black…

Did you know?

Okay this is not that bad… I could probably do these…

With the right shoes I will be breathtaking…

Let’s just check out the rest of them…

ACKKKKK

ACKKKKK

ACKKKKKKK

OMG

OMG OMG OMG

OMG OMG OMG OMG

Almost done..

OMG

What is THAT?

OMG OMG OMG

My eyes!!!        I can’t look!!!               But I can’t not look…

Seriously it cannot be…

That…. is my ass…

My ass…

in a 3 way mirror

In tight leggings.

Who in their right mind invented these?

Lets think about …

The people wearing these are probably 30-60.

And most people over 30…

Well… is this the best look for you…

Even IF you are in good shape…

OMG

And then slap on a pair of stilettos…

Lets just get you a corner and a pimp and you are set.

KNOCK  KNOCK

Hi, I’m Brittany” (of course you are)

“Can I help you?”

Yes, can you scrape my dignity off that damn mirror?

Dear God

“Um so like Brittany…

I am not sure I can do this”

“Well let me see”

“oh no…

You can totally wear these”

“oh I don’t know…

You know I am not 25 any more

I am X”  (it’s really none of your business if you don’t already know that number)

“Really?  Wow you certainly don’t look it…

My mom is almost your age”

I HATE her

“you look way better than her…

She could never wear those”

Her mother hates her too.

“No I am serious you should get those…

They look great.”

Love her again.

She exits so I can agonize over my decision.

Walking out with my purchase…

I have decided to do it…

To bite the bullet and buy these ridiculous pants…

Brittany is handing me my bag…

Post sale and…

Smirking…

She is smirking…

OMG

She…

She…

She works on commission.

She LIED to me.

I do not look adorable…

I look like a 40 something year old woman in leggings…

which should only be worn by hookers and pop singers.

But…

I got 20% off…

 
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Posted by on September 19, 2010 in Fashion, Shopping