Most Certainly Not

I Miss Writing

I blog in my mind all the time. It used to be I didn't have time to come here to write. Anymore, I hold in pretty much everything because I have closed many windows that once peered into my life and I'd rather leave those shades drawn. Doing that has forced me to close off many of my avenues of release--writing, interacting on Facebook, corresponding via e-mail, visiting certain areas because of whom I may run into or see.

In some ways, I've never been happier. Constantly defending yourself and your choices makes for an exhausting part-time job. At first, it hurt to realize that no matter what I did, it would never be good enough. It hurt even more when I realized this isn't something new. This is and has been my life, for years. I saw the first inkling of this when our trusted therapist told me that the only way we'd continued to survive as well as we had and the only way I still had a sense of humor about the mess our daily life had become was because I'd been groomed for this from childhood. Take that emotional abuse and keep on trucking.

I understand what she's saying, but I don't blame anyone for who I am. I've allowed myself to be made to feel less than. I've taught people how to treat me by putting up with some pretty messed up bullshit.

There is really not one positive thing that has come from the decision we made three years ago to adopt. However, I'm determined, as always, to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Very soon (although not soon enough), this whole experience can be left in the past along with a lot of other things.

I'm almost 40. I've wasted a monumental amount of time on people, places, and things that should have been left curbside decades ago. I've decided not to do those kinds of things anymore. I can't change other people. And, if people don't change (I believe very few people do), then an adult is faced with a choice. You either continue on in the relationship, taking whatever someone dishes out or, you don't.

I don't.

Push came to shove a long time ago in my life.

I know who loves me.

I know who claims to, but can't possibly given what has been said and done...or not. And, frankly, if that is what it takes to be on the 'loved' list, I'd rather be on the casual acquaintance list given that the fakey persona shown to those folks is so much nicer.

I'm done wasting time trying to prove a negative. You can't prove you're something you're not. Period. You are who you are and if people choose to believe differently that that, it will be their loss.

When people show you who they are, you need to believe them. Even if it sucks.

My children requested a break from the drama a few months ago. Try as I might to cover it up, they saw the things hurting me. Not only because it was only hurting me, but because they were also being hurt. So, we're taking that break.

The hiatus is self-imposed and it is indefinite in duration.

And, it feels great to take the necessary steps to protect my kids from that hurt. It's sad that I was willing to be called names and treated as a horrible person in the hopes that my kids could continue interacting with those choosing to behave inappropriately. But then, it started to affect them and my husband and I took a step back and said, "What in the HELL are we doing? This is crazy. We're done."

And so we are.

People can feel however they want. Many of them choose to share all those feelings, filter-free because they somehow feel they have the right. They have ignored our directives over the past year and a half and have cost our family dearly. For those folks who want to keep believing they know better than us and who, even though they can't even walk in our shoes for more than a day or two, feel that we are failures--Go on with your bad self. Preach it. Talk all you want. Bait all you want. Put on that public face and represent to those who believe it that you actually care. 

I refuse to participate. People can continue to behave however they wish. But when it affects my family, I don't have to be a part of it.

From now on, if I want to write, I'm writing.

And, I am not ashamed to say that even given his many foibles, my husband is the only person who walked through this fire with me and who honestly gets it. And, who respects and loves me more because of what we've been through. I love him more today than I ever could imagine possible. He has been my rock. I trust him. I trust a handful of other people. And that's that.

We have given up and had so much taken from us because of one fateful decision to try and grow our family through adoption. Mental illness is no joke. If you don't live with someone whose brain is physically altered because of what happened to them, you can have no earthly idea.

I refuse to give up the one thing I love--writing. It's the only thing that is really mine. Not even my business is mine anymore because all my commission is going to go pay our legal bills for the dissolution of this adoption.

Whatever. Spilled milk. Not worth crying over anymore.

Cleaning off a shelf in my closet because the boxes up there are growing in number. But, I'm okay with it. I'm a better, stronger person for it.

The One Where I Turn 39

So.  It's my birthday.  I'm 39.  I thought the occasion auspicious enough to dust off the blog.  After all, if you can't come toot your own birthday horn, you may need to have your attitude adjusted a bit.  If you're feeling a little bereft, take a music break and remember how cool birthdays USED to be...

 

 

If that song doesn't have you in a celebratory mood, perhaps you're just not as cool as you think you are?  Man how I wanted to be Molly Ringwald when I was younger.  I had the plucked eyebrows and asymmetrical cuts to prove it...not to mention the perfectly russet locks.

So, yeah.  I'm 39.

I'm not sure how this happens or how I'm supposed to feel about it.  Things are so jenked around here now that trying to have a coherent thought about beginning the last year of a rather important decade in one's life is kind of tough.

My husband outdid himself today.  Flowers.  Candy.  Homemade dinner. Nice bottle of wine.  Proper admonitions of the children to 'behave or else' before I arrived home from work.

I've only been 39 for a little bit, but it's already a time of momentous crossroads. 

We have a kiddo living in this house who has no use for parents.  She's driving us insane, slowly but surely.  We simply cannot find a way in there to tinker with her strongly held beliefs and let her know that 1) she's running out of time to get on the train and 2) people without consciences or empathy end up on The First 48 and not at a family reunion.  Her report card came home today and I would trade her academic successes for a conscience and sense of empathy in a breath.  I simply am scared witless that this child will never 'get it' and that her life is going to start taking terrible turns.  Turns that are above my pay grade.  Turns my husband will never tolerate.  Turns we cannot allow our older girls to witness.  Turns that may very well prove to everyone, including us, that we are not the best placement for M3 at all.

Heartbreaking.

Why I did not just jump in with both feet four years ago when my husband said he wanted to have another baby is beyond me.  I was so tired.  From deployment and law school and the bar exam and the job hunt and another impending deployment.  I didn't believe I could do it.

I used to have a life where I could honestly say I did not regret anything.

That will stand as my one life's regret.  Why I didn't just accept that for the beautiful offer it was and give the man that I love another child that I surely could have handled, adored and loved immensely, I don't know.  Weakness.  Exhaustion.  Cynicism.

And now?  We face a decision to perhaps return to a family of four--in debt up to our eyeballs over the adoption and any expenses incurred to keep M3 in treatment or even child support.  Can you imagine?!  Child support for a child we're not even having the chance to raise?  Unbelievable.

39 is hard.

My doctor told me when I questioned him up and down about my health and babies and what not a few years back said, "Whatever you want to do, let's have it done before we're 40, k?"

K.

I blew it.

Had I done what my husband wanted, we would likely have a 12, 7 and 4 year old.

I screwed up.  Big time.

And, at 39, I can see that so much more clearly than my 35-year-old self did.  I thought I had time or that my other heart's desire (to adopt and give a home to a kid who needed one) was so much better or more important.

Wrong on both counts.

I'm going to have to come to grips with that.  I may even need to go talk to someone about it.  I certainly can't be crying and sobbing this summer when my husband sells off all the girls' baby and toddler and kiddie things at a garage sale as he says he is going to do.  He's excited about having all the space.  I'm mourning the child I should have tried to have.

Foolish.  Foolish.  Foolish.

Birthdays are supposed to be happy.  Birthdays are supposed to be about how much you've learned and the things you'd like to learn soon.

This birthday, I'm assessing the lessons I'm learning and many, honestly, suck hard.

I could do without them, in my humble opinion.  But, Someone somewhere thinks this all is worth my while so I will muddle through.

A wise friend said, "You're working under the assumption that you were called to adopt AND raise this child.  Did it ever occur to you that you may have been the only one willing to do all the hard work of getting her here and that, perhaps, that was your job in this and that job may lead no further?  That perhaps this burden was placed on your heart because you were the only one with the wherewithall to make it happen?"

Hell no that never occurred to me.  I don't usually mortgage my house for something temporary, you know?  The idea of working to build a family and then ending up without the family we worked to build is not cool.  Not cool at all.

I'm grieving now and I know it.  Empathy and a conscience are important.  We aren't sure M3 will ever have one with us as her parents.  Zero attachment does not an environment for improvement make. 

Don't take this post the wrong way.

I'm glad to be alive.  I'm glad to be here.  I'm glad that soon the temperature may rise above the teens such that I can get a run in and clear my head.

I'm thankful for the chance I had to reconnect with the man I loved first in my life.

I'm thankful for my beautiful M1 who took so much time to try and make my birthday special.  Handmade gifts and even a banner to wish me a Happy Birthday.

I'm thankful for M2 whose laugh makes me laugh and whose thoughts like "I'm finishing my homework while I'm sitting on the toilet because otherwise, I'm just wasting time" make me want to hug her 24/7.

I'm thankful for M3 who gave me a chance to dream again.  Even if those dreams have been stalled if not dashed.  Even if she doesn't care, doesn't love me, doesn't want me.  She's here now.  And, no matter how this turns out, she's safe here.  She will receive the medical treatment and psychological treatment she needs here.  And, even if she doesn't continue her journey to adulthood under this roof, she will always have a place at our table.

But, a part of me wishes that life were more like a Choose Your Own Adventure Book.  Because I can identify the exact page where I went wrong:  If you choose to go to law school, turn to page 46.  If you want to have a third baby with your husband who loves you more than life itself, turn to page 68. 

Yeah.  Page 46 sucks.  Hard.

Holiday Hacking

You have to love the holiday break.  Before Christmas and between Christmas and almost New Year, there is no down time.  Running around, toting kids here and there, attending family functions, finding locations for the new stuff the kids receive--takes a bunch of time.  But, before returning to school and work after Christmas vacation, there is usually a three to four day period in which you can do whatever you would like.  You don't have to go to work (especially if the holiday falls on a weekend) and you could accomplish a few things around your house.

You could do these things if you aren't me, apparently. 

Cognitive Dissonance

Maybe my master's degree and years of teaching will finally be worth it?  Rather than just being an admirer of cognitive dissonance, perhaps I can put it to use to save my family.  Or, at the very least, to help me feel like I'm doing something to save my family rather than feeling like things are being done to me to create the opposite result.

I remember as a child hearing the phrase, "You can't bullshit a bullshitter."  I will agree with that adage to a certain degree.  However, as any decent bullshitter will admit, there are varying degrees of proficiency on the BS meter.  And, it is very possible for an expert BSer to BS a novice.

That's what I'm counting on now.

Merry Christmas! Your Kid has RAD

Let me start by saying that while holiday breaks from school and work are convenient times to schedule things like doctor's appointments and the like, perhaps you may want to consider the potential for earth-shattering news and diagnoses before you set an appointment one day prior to Christmas Eve.

Of course, we could wait no longer.  And, the appointment on Christmas Eve had previously been set for the 16th, but the therapist had become ill and had to reschedule.  And, as much as I'd like to say we had no idea what we would hear at the therapist, I knew exactly what diagnosis we would have even before we went.  What I didn't anticipate was all the ancillary information provided by a child I'm legally obligated to try and help.

Not only did we learn that, yes, much as we have suspected for months, M3 has Reactive Attachment Disorder , but we also learned, she is very much satisifed with her current living situation--as in, she emotionally manipulates and controls everyone she comes in contact with and holds our house hostage with her behavior.  She told the doctors, while we watched on closed circuit television, that she is happy; things are going 'good' for her; and she doesn't care about how her behavior makes anyone feel.  In fact, when they asked her, "Don't you care how your behavior makes Mommy feel?", a self-satisfied smile spread across her face, she shook her head and said, "No."  And then caught herself and said, "Oh!  I mean, "Yes."

The RAD link above provides the fodder that was parroted to us by doctors and therapists alike, even those considered "international adoption specialists."  The idea that this condition is "rare" persists, much to adoptive families' detriment.  Our lives have not been our own for nine months and the idea that I could be questioning this almost from the get-go and being told I'm wrong; I read too much; she's just adjusting; I'm too high-strung; etc. pisses me off to no end. 

I will give it to M3--she's a good little game player.  Not only did she have nurses, doctors and previous therapists wrapped around her finger, she currently has people in our own families (some of whom who have known myhusband and I since birth) questioning us about this as well as usurping our authority as parents by allowing her to engage in her reindeer games at family gatherings, etc.  NOT HELPFUL.  So, you can imagine what going into the world of total strangers looks like for my family and me if our own relatives treat us with suspicion and contempt for having to crack down on M3 and her emotionally blackmailing behavior.

M3 is an addict.  Her drug of choice is manipulating any situation to put her in control.  After Thursday, my husband and I have renewed our efforts and combined forces to shut down her supply.  She's frustrated.  She is angry.  And, she has attempted to turn things up by several notches, but we refuse to bend.  Unfortunately, Christmas happened right in the midst of this mess.  We had to take her somewhere with us on Christmas Eve and then two places yesterday.  It was like taking an addict into an opium den and a crackhouse and trying to keep them from shooting up or smoking.  Practically impossible.  Required constant intervention and supervision and a dizzying array of quick-thinking responses.  We did as well as we could, but we were thwarted a couple of times by well-meaning relatives who just don't listen and who can't believe that this sweet looking little girl could be so sick as to work a room like that.

M3 enjoys pushing my buttons.  One of her ways of doing it currently is to smile at me when she is receiving an admonition or intervention of some kind.  She did it one too many times yesterday and something clicked inside me that said--it's you or her.  Who you taking?

I take Me.

I'm not going to allow a five-year-old, practical stranger destroy me and the family I have so lovingly built over the past twelve years.  M3 has not been put in any situation so far that would make family life, responsibilty and the like an attractive proposition.  She wants her cake and everyone else's and she plans to eat it all right in front of you.

NO MORE.

I don't care anymore what other people think.  I know that rationally she is sick and she cannot help it.  However, it is no one else's fault in our household either.  Therefore, she can and will still be held accountable for her choices.  She will also not be receiving all the perks of family living when she chooses not behave like a family member.  She has a pretty cushy existence for a kid who treats everyone around her like shit. That ended as of 9:30 p.m. last night when I decided that I don't need to be upset or worried or stressed.

I AM THE ADULT.  I am the MOTHER.  I am the Head MF'er in Charge.

I. Am. The. BOSS.

Period end of sentence.

Get on the train or under it because there are no other choices.

We liked the new therapists very much.  We did not like what they had to say--they were not at all optimistic that things will be good for us ever again while M3 is a member of our household.  They told us we are strong enough to help her (because if we were a 'normal' grade of person, this adoption would never have gone on this long--parents would have folded up the tents and given up), but that our living situation will be 'tolerable' or 'livable.'

I have no interest in either of those adjectives to describe my daily life or that of my older girls.  None.  At.  All.

Until this intensive therapy can begin--did I mention it costs thousands of dollars and insurance doesn't cover it--yeah.  Thanks adoption agency for all that wonderful information regarding the fact that ALL these kids are screwed up in one way or the other and will likely require lifelong psychiatric care.  I mean, if you have a kid with no regard for consequences, other people's feelings or remorse, you have the recipe for a new inductee into the criminal justice system, do you not?  Yeah.  So, we don't have a choice.  We will have to figure this out and hope that she gets her shit in one sock and wants to join in and get better.  She has to develop a will to do it--I'm not hopeful on that.

As far as my husband and I are concerned, we will do what the therapists say to do, but until then, we are in survival mode and it isn't "suffer through and keep your fingers crossed until therapy starts" either.  It is "We were here before you were here and we will be here after your fate is decided so learn you place or I will put you in it without fanfare or ceremony.  If you are 5, you are not the boss or even close."

I realized what we've done so far has not made one thing better.  In fact, trying to assimilate her into the family and treat her as an equal member when she isn't behaving as one has made things exponentially worse.  So, we'll break it back down to bare basics and see if that rattles anyone's little world enough to jar her from her little reverie where she believes she is perfect and in control of everyone and everything and that everyone loves her and her antics.  All of which she firmly believes (she has quite a little world she has created in her head), but none of which is true (no one else lives in her head--we all live out here and are not enjoying her behavior at all).  We need to move her into the real, actual world and it's already started.

It will be exhausting, but we're legally obligated to do it.  I believe in the rule of law.  Otherwise, I'd definitely be doing something else by now.

Whoa! Slow Down December!

It's a bit disconcerting that the last post I wrote featured my 12-year-old daughter's birthday and she's been 12 long enough for me to remember that she's no longer 11.  Things have been moving right along and that's good in some ways and bad in others.

Let's update from today backward and see how it goes.

Today, it's snowing.  Quite a bit.  Not a fan.  At all.  Really never have been, but the older I get and the more my sanity depends on things like running two miles every few days, ice and snow just don't really do anything for me.  I know some people can run on a treadmill like it's a sidewalk.  I am not one of those people.

My children would beg to differ, especially M2.  Give her even a dusting of snow and she's scrounging up the sled and the nearest pair of boots and heading out to any number of inclines on our lot.  She's a pretty proficient sledder...is that even a word?

She loves sledding and always has.  I think she has a need for speed which is scary enough when she's seven.  Not looking forward to it when she starts driving or when she makes a career choice.

Earlier this week, we raced from our arrival home from school to our favorite Christmas tree farm so we could officially check something off our Christmas list.

We posed for some photos with our choice tree before we had to cut it down and head to the barn to pay for it.

M2 was none too pleased to have to share tree hauling honors with her older sister.  I think she would rather have gone and done the entire thing herself with us just there to witness it, but she does have to share some things sometimes. 

The tree looked much more straight in the field, but we were able to do some finagling once we arrived home and the tree looks pretty much now as it did at the tree farm.  We have not quite managed to put lights or ornaments on it yet.  I know it sounds goofy, but I'd prefer a bare tree or a tree with all white lights and nothing else.  I find all the gobble dee gook of ornaments really distracting from the beauty of the tree itself.  I admire people who have fancy trees for their decorating prowess, but I'd prefer to keep mine O' Tannenbaum-ish.

Other things occupying our time?

M1's basketball practices and games.

Being M2's Brownie Troop co-leader.  Which, might I add, if I had the job of selecting someone to work with as a co-leader who was exactly the opposite of what I would want, I could not do a better job of making that selection than the person who assigned the person with whom I'm currently working.  I would gather that it would not be lost on you, if you've spent any time on this blog at all, that someone who uses the phrase "I've just been so busy" will not receive any sympathy points from me.  Being busy is not an excuse to be late.  Or not to do anything.  Or to say you'll do things only to not do them.  Seriously.  I want to scream (and have) on occasion in fielding the vapid e-mail in which it is apparent my communication was not read or heeded.  Annoying.  And, it's always a one-way communication stream.  If I need information, it's not forthcoming.  You'd think people would realize I'm just a little too close to the edge to be prodding like that.

Enjoying Elvis the Elf on the Shelf again this year.  M2 loves Elvis and so do we.  He's been found in some pretty interesting places so far this year.

This was one of my personal faves.

Elvis guarding our front door.

He's a good little watch elf.  Certainly more useful than either of the bag of bones that shed all over the house we call our dogs.

Elvis has the responsibility of making the chilly trek to the North Pole every night and reporting on the day's behavior so that Santa's Naughty and Nice lists can remain accurate and up-to-date.  We've been on our toes for certain.

M3 is keeping us busy as well.  I'm not sure some days if it's her and her actual behavior or her and all the tasks that accompany her that are the frustrating things.  Right now, I'm swimming in a sea of forms--again.  As if I didn't fill out a forest full of forms to adopt her in the first place.  The latest paperwork comes from the attachment therapist we're slated to see on Thursday and the Probate Court's readoption paperwork packet.  Frustrating to say the least.  I feel like I've answered these questions a million times (because I have) and it's especially frustrating when the court forms we're required to accurately complete are not realistically formatted for an international adoption.  They are all domestically oriented and that is a pain in the ass.

When I submit the paperwork, I'm going to go prepared with forms and things like the financial agreement from our agency to offer as exhibits for the court.  I want the record to be complete but I'll be damned if I can figure these forms out myself.  I also need to draft a motion from scratch to request that the Court reset M3's birthdate so that her birth year reflects the age the doctors, dentist, psychologist and teachers know she is.  She is not 7 as her paperwork states.  I'm scared about what happens later if the judge refuses to dial the date back two years.  She would be 15 on paper and able to get her learner's permit (theoretically) in junior high.  She could, on paper, buy alcohol before she enters college--of course if she acts like she has sense she'll have her driver's license by the time she's a high school senior and, on it, she will appear to be 21 before she even starts college.  I anticipate loads of frustrating, button pushing, mind game issues with M3 as she grows.  Couple that with the misplaced power a two-year increase in her age (on paper) would give her and you can see our dilemma.

Pretty much same story a different day.  Too much to do and not enough time to do it.  Ridiculous things like "readopting" a kid who has been here for over 8 months creating chaos wherever she has been.  Seriously?  I have to fill out this ream of paperwork and hand you nearly $300 to 'readopt' this child?  Can we call it something else, please, because I'm not sure there is any chance I'd decide to "re" do anything.  I'm a quick learner like that.

Trying to become enthusiastic about Christmas.  I've slowly but surely found deals to put together some nice gifts for the girls.  We'll have to trust Santa will be good for the rest.  Trying to figure out how to infuse some Christmas traditions into what we do here given that we are hardly in our own home over the holidays.  I'm sure that's okay for some people, but it really isn't for me.  Another year of crazy traveling, rushing around & hating the season which I used to love and look forward to every year.  Thanks so much! 

I'll be glad to see 2010 in the rearview mirror.

Wanting to Hide Under the Blanket

For whatever reason, I have had the overwhelming urge to recapture that feeling you have when you hide under a blanket.  Remember that as a kid?  I love doing that with my girls now--flapping the cover up in the air and pulling it over our heads, lying there looking at each other and giggling about how funny it is.

Maybe it's because the 4th Amendment is under assault in a way that makes me shiver.  The 4th Amendment is one of my favorites and I marvel at how a few years ago, certain individuals were up at arms over the New York police randomly checking packages in the subway are now perfectly fine with state actors being handsy and taking nudey pictures of people at airports.  Go figure.  Does it make me feel safer?  Um.  No.  I'd prefer we actually do things that demonstrate some sort of effectiveness.  Seriously.  Running your 'knife hand' between a toddler's butt cheeks on my behalf does not make me feel all that terrific.

I balance the look-which-suggests-something-reeks I wear when I think of the above with the sigh of relief when I read something that lets me know I'm not alone and that there may be hope for the Republic after all.  Thank you for knitting together my random thoughts.

Maybe it's because Hubs has a ridiculously rough cold right now that sent me scurrying to Walgreen's this morning for some super Vitamin C bargains.  I bought a box of Zicam, 2 boxes of Emergen-C and two huge bottles of Vitamin C pills for under $30.  I heart Buy One Get One Free in a huge way and I felt healthier having infused my body with a gigantic dose of C today!

The upcoming holiday marks the first time that my family (minus M1 who is with her dad this holiday) has had a chance to breathe since my husband came home from Iraq.  We have a couple days off.  He's not bedridden.  M3 might be able to hold it together for hours at a time so we almost think we're normal.  M2 can snag lots of snuggle time and have ELF on endless loop.  This weekend I'm breaking out the Honeybaked Ham coupon. 

I'm going to make my family a wonderful dinner chock full of all our favorites--even M2...the girl loves her ham.

We're going to observe a near-religious holiday this weekend.  The observance of the holiday commences at high noon.  And, although the husband and I observe the holiday in polar opposite fashion (we are a house divided), we will be able to watch it in the same house...not thousands of miles apart like last year.  That's a good thing.

I am super excited to have this time which will be capped by M1's 12th birthday at the start of next week.

Where the times goes, I don't know.  But, my family is important enough that I've been planning ahead so we can enjoy our weekend together.  One more day of work and then the fun begins!

Thanksgiving Service Project

Today, all the Girl Scout troops at M2's school held their Thanksgiving Service Project meeting.  The troops donated designated food items to fill boxes for twenty local families.  At the end of the day, families would have their entire Thanksgiving dinner supplied for them, including the turkey.

In addition to helping pack the boxes, the girls created a centerpiece for the tables and had the chance to personalize some leaves to glue onto the little Thanksgiving prayer that went inside the box.

M2 worked hard on her little leaf.  I loved what she wrote.  Much better than another girl's "Help the pore."  Um, first of all, I don't think it's nice to point out to people that you are providing this food because they don't have funds at the moment--pretty sure they know that.  And, if you're going to call someone poor, maybe spell it correctly?  But, they are in 2nd grade and I couldn't explain to the Brownie (what with all the chaos and trying to keep our token Brownie Brat under control) how maybe we could not make the people in receipt of our boxes feel worse about their situation than they already do.  My husband said, "Yeah.  Kind of like writing a letter to a soldier that says, 'I hope you don't die.'"  OUCH.

And The Mouse Keeps Swimming

Although I was brutally honest in my post yesterday, I neglected to share one detail.  I didn't necessarily need to memorialize it here to have it 'count.'  I'm not proud of what I did and usually, if I'm going to have a come apart of that nature (although I've never done it before to that level), I usually do it when I'm alone and not in the presence of someone like my husband (whom I have to see every day until death do us part).

On the way back to town from our meeting with M3's therapist, I lost my stuffings.  Snot running.  Sobs racking.  Tears rolling.  And then?  The anger.  The unmitigated anger at the one entity whom I hold accountable more than any other for the decision to adopt and the one who, although kept a watchful eye while Hubs was in Iraq, seemed to be playing some kind of not-so-funny practical joke on me now.  I'm not proud to admit it, but I called out God.  Not just a "Oh, God, why has thou forsaken me" kind of woe is me moment, but an all out "Meet me at the flagpole after the dismissal bell if you dare" kind of call out.  I'm not proud to admit that, but honestly, my faith has been shaken to its very core during the past year.

Swirling the Drain

This was my view just a week ago when I had the opportunity to spend a few days with the SpouseBuzz crew in Hawaii.  I was lying on my back on the beach looking up in the sky and realized I had not seen something so blue and beautiful in a long time.  I marveled that there is a place in the world where it looks like this EVERY day.  It was great that SpouseBuzz took its live show on the road and we were able to spend some quality time on Waikiki Beach.

The memory of this view will be necessary to move me through winter as well as pretty much every moment of every day for the foreseeable future.

I tried very much to enjoy my time in Hawaii and to live in the moment while there because I knew it would be fleeting.  I wanted to feel the sun on my face, let the island breeze blow my hair and listen to tropical music while eating as much pineapple as one could consume without having to actually go into the field and pick some one's self.