It's October...

and that means it is Breast Cancer Awareness month again. Shouldn't I as a 7 year breast cancer survivor be over the moon with appreciation when I open every mail circular and it is advertising their undying (sorry) support of the dreaded pink disease? I go to the grocery store and now see that EVERY other company carries their label with a pink ribbon proudly stating that they do indeed support breast cancer, and I see that many friends and acquaintances are walking in this run/walk for life? Shouldn't I be more enthusiastic about this? Didn't I perhaps possibly gain something from one of these large corporate sponsors and their research dollars as the decision was being made about which sort of chemotherapy would give me the best possible chance to live past 35?

Maybe, maybe not.

But I can't help looking downward and feeling slightly sad when the graham cracker company I buy from now is "on board" with their full support of breast cancer and they have the pink ribbon on the box to prove it. It's easy to fly a pink ribbon...

Do I sound cynical? Perhaps I feel a bit cynical about it. I am grateful that lots of money is being poured into research for this shitty disease. I wish more money was being poured into finding out WHY it occurs in the first place. I am also melancholy at the thought that it is taking the diagnosis of 140,000 new American women this year to get the Kelloggs and Johnson's & Johnson's folks on with Susan G. Komen to fight the good fight.

As I was picking up my graham crackers and smiling my "I beat IT" resigned 1/2 smile I thought "wait what about about all those other not so "pink" diseases?" Where is their $50 million dollar corporate campaign? What about every person who is really fighting it today? God, I hope I never forget what it was like to be fighting IT every day.

Then I almost ran into her scooter. I accidently stepped in front of a lovely lady in a ball cap. She had gorgeous skin and a sweet smile. She had only soft peach fuzz in spotty patches along her almost non existent hair line. I stumbled and apologized for my rudeness almost stepping on her grocery store issued scooter with the little basket on the front. She continued to smile and eagerly excused herself. She had taken the time to put on eye makeup. She's the one who October and all the ribbon flying is really about. *

I cringed when her scooter ran out of electric juice in the next aisle. Of all the damned indignity, needing a scooter at the grocery store in the first place when she probably was skipping through 6 errands in a morning a few months ago but then to have the blasted thing run out of juice in front of cereal?

The Muffin Man and I stopped and asked if we could call a grocery store attendant for her. I tried to make a light joke about the store not springing for the Mercedes Benz scooter. Not funny. She said she had a friend with her who could help. We quickly moved on not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. It made me think of the time when I couldn't walk 1 length of the local mall without stopping for a 15 minute rest because I'd just had 4 chemo treatments in 4 months and lost 20 lbs and had about 6 white blood cells to my name.

Later on turning the corner on aisle 16 the grocery store attendant had rounded up a new scooter for the lady in the ball cap. He was gracious and did nothing to draw attention to her needing the scooter he quickly moved her groceries to the new basket. Thank heavens for small favors.

The muffin man and I pushed Olivia to the check out lane, just as we always do. I put the mound of groceries on belt and he took 3 pennies for her pony ride. Just like normal.

That is what I wish the corporate sponsors of the world could do...give each survivor back their normal.


* I completely acknowledge that I have no idea whether this lady is a cancer survivor or not...she appeared that way to me.

Home girls

Since we've had our panties all in a twist over preschool and separation anxiety and sensory integration overload (for both of us) we, ok I, decided that today we would eat nachos and slink around the house in our jammies. La la la...we have no issues and we just want to watch too much tv and perhaps toss in a load of laundry while waiting for Ava to come home, who is off galavanting saving the world and creating peace in the middle east while at kindergarten. But then Liv got yogurt all over her jammies and she had to upgrade to tee shirt and shorts. I however am holding strong and wearing piggie jammies. Loves me my piggie jammies.

Here is what is happening at this very minute on the cul-de-sac. More specifically the nursery on the cul-de-sac.
Toys have been overturned. Home girl has decided that there will be no fun without large mess en masse. She's doing everyone a favor since now we can't see the dirty carpet very well. Good thinking.















Oh, that face.

I occurred to me at the fabric store yesterday that I have become one of those parents who thinks that everything her baby does is just the cutest damned thing ever. Even when she is pulling down large boxes of lighting equipment that goes crash when hitting linoleum. She laughed, I laughed and the sales lady did not. She said something to the tune of "It might help if he was in a cart." He? Um...the pink pebbles hairdo and pink shoes did not throw off an estrogen radar? When did this happen? I was not this parent with my first. It must have happened some time around the first child going off to school and realizing that child number 2 will eventually fly the nest as well. Although, if you are following recent school developments that remains up for debate. Regardless, I am officially annoying and have an equally annoying but awfully darn sweet natured albeit rambunctious child.





What time are nachos served? Ring the bell.

Quitter

Remember this? Those were the good ole' days. We are in preschool hell or maybe just preschool purgatory.

Does this look like the face of a little child who will sit at the door crying her little eyes out for a few hours waiting for Mommy to get off her fat butt and drive the family truckster back to preschool to spring the little jail bird?
No, but then again she is enjoying some sort of bonus apple juice cocktail which is normally against regulation beverage rules but since it was Moon Festival and all.....

She hates it, preschool that is...she's digs apple juice. I hate the hand off where she screams. I hate the pick up where all the other relaxed looking mothers happily collect their protegee's craft and tired but happy little person. I especially hate the little report card that has Miss Stacy's neat printing which clearly states she ate nothing, participated in no crafts, would not play on the playground and produced a multitude of crocodile tears for effect. Weep, sob, sniff. I have to give the little mite some credit in the tenacity department...she simply will not adjust to preschool. It has been the most tenacious I have ever seen her. The most dramatic, and the most wigged out. For the record she immediately calms down and starts giggling and cooing at passersby the minute she hits my hip. (This does mean I'm not doing permanent damage right?) I just tell my kids I'll pay for therapy later.

I so want to quit. But then I so want her to prove to herself she can do it. Overcome a big fear and learn to adapt, and then realize that the big sunny room filled with toys and crafts and yummy snacks is not in fact POW camp. I've been thinking about why this is so darn important to me. I guess I'm getting older and I'm interested in the stretch, the emotional stretch that is. The one where I try to start my own business, hang out with Chinese parents at Chinese school rather than my normal adoptive parent cronies, etcetera. Hey we all want to be a better person, build character, it gives you more crap to brag about to your grandkids.

But then why should she be interested in that? She's only a bit shy of two. Shouldn't she just get to hang out at the grocery store while pulling cheerios down off the shelf in aisle nine each and every Tuesday morning? Shouldn't she just get to swing the bathroom door open grinning every single time mommy needs a minute alone in there?

We are quitting, I don't care what the overly experienced preschool director thinks of me and Livi.

No, we can't quit after only 5 times. Give it 2 months, that would be the rational thing to do.

No, we are quitting. Gosh, I want to be in 9th grade again when I gave not one extra thought to quitting the flute and the orchestra.

To quit or not to quit that is the question.

Sis Boom Ba - Blah

I have nothing of substance against the average cheerleader. Cute, perky, shiny hair, in shape...what's not to love? But I don't....never have. It is a completely unjustified secret (until now) lackadaisical loathe. It is one for which I am not especially proud. Being that I am usually all live and let live etc. To each her own...and let the kidlets be free to be who they really are, never squelch that spirit...how new age of me.

This is why the Muffin Man was practically doubled over in hysterics last night ready to have a kitten when he guessed immediately what Ava's first choice for after school activity would be. Tried as I might I just could not steer her to italian cooking, karate, baking, mad cap science, chess for champions, or kickball. "Cheerleading", she whooped. (Just like a cheerleader...I observed grumpily.) I tried psychology, reverse psychology and bribery. Nothing worked. "Tell her how cool chess playing scientists are.", I snottily scolded him. He giggled like a school girl and slinked out the back door. Seriously, I am the only one who really parents around here.
So, on Monday night at 7pm I will be standing in line at the school gym with all the other cheerleading wanna-be mothers with $20 in hand to try to be one of the first to enroll Ava in cheerleading. My God, I could tolerate this so much better if she would just concede to hip hop dancing. I've heard through the ever powerful elementary grapevine that after school activity sign up can be very crowded and somewhat competitive. Fabulous. Competitive to get this kid into the class? Where is the ice pick? My eye needs it.

Since she doesn't have to see me go sign her up I might take my old basketball, university diploma and dusty old corporate id badge while standing in line. How's that for live and let live?

The Chatterbox

This morning at the breakfast table Ava asked the meaning of her Chinese names. I explained that the character for Jing that she was given means quiet and the character for Tang that she was given means sweet. She thought about it for a minute and then said, "quiet, really?" "Yes", I smirked. She thought about it for another minute and then quickly blurted out, " That doesn't really fit, I am not very quiet. I am pretty sweet though, so that one fits." A human life left unexamined is not a human life worth living, yes?

She then went on to observe that perhaps Liv should have been named Jing and she in turn should have been given GeGe, which means princess. Always love a gal willing to laugh a bit at herself, or then again I'm not entirely sure it was a tongue in cheek comment. Welcome to the world of Ava.

This was all interesting and in my opinion a quite fitting observation in Ava Jing Tang's part.

Olivia Xi GeGe, the happy princess remains a quiet one. Unless I have the audacity to move from room to room attempting to do laundry, then she is quite verbal, but in a whining sort of way that seems not Cantonese, not Mandarin, and certainly not English...although very almost 2 years old universal high pitched WHINE. (As in, you are not right next to me and I am in complete fear that by tossing a load into the dryer you will mysteriously disappear from my life forever and honestly I don't care all that much about clean jammies so stick nearby Momma for God's sake.)

Although, perhaps I am not being completely fair in judging Olivia's language development. We have had a huge breakthrough this week. She is now officially naming Ava. She looks right at her and calls her Vava. Which is pretty darn close if you ask me. She even points to the window when Ava is gone at school and says in a clear question, "Vava?" Meaning where is my five year old playmate?

Her language development, which has been professionally evaluated 2 times now and scores somewhere on the low but functioning normally range, remains a complete mystery to me. Why is it that she almost always gets the first 2 letters of a word and cannot get the last part even it it is only 1 more letter? Watch is wa...wall is wa...ball is ba....bus is ba....daddy is da....but mommy is mama. As you can imagine almost everything that comes from her is ba or wa or da...but rarely finishing a word. The speech therapist says this all counts as complete words and don't worry. Hmmm....I'm still not sure.

Perhaps I just got too used to having my Ava Jing chatterbox haunting my every move. I knew at every given moment what she was thinking, add in a touch of her dramatic and dogmatic self and there wasn't much mystery. With Liv, I sometimes pause at how unnerved it makes me to be living with this little short human who understands every last word we utter...but cannot in turn respond verbally.

Back Pack Management

I have two daughters. Between the two of them they are attending 4 schools, if you count Chinese school on Sundays. I'm not exactly sure why I thought this many schools would be a good idea when I was planning for scholarly excellence this past spring. Apparently I need to re-read my back issues of Real Simple magazine for a refresher as I am sure they would not advise this many halls of excellence.

Each child has a backpack or tote bag for each school. Again 4 bags for 4 schools...2 kids. One of which is not even 2 years old.
I'm going to the hardware store for a peg board from which to hang them all just as soon as I can come up for air from the Kindergarten newsletters. I have three on my desk as of right now. Apparently Ava's teacher needs to write one as does her principal. Could they not get together on this and save a tree?

This is quickly turning into a time sucking warp trying to keep up with which school is having the spaghetti dinner fundraiser and which one is having the ice cream social. Who is selling entertainment books and who wants me to spend $12.00 on a roll of Christmas wrapping paper. Never mind filing away those darling macaroni works of art. By the way those hard macaroni droppings really create a nice puncture wound when stepped on at 3am while trying to go to the bathroom. Consider yourself warned.

You know what peeves me the most? This is a tad off the subject but I must stop for posterity's sake and mention that Ava's public school is requiring $69.75 to borrow books. Yes, $69.75 and yes borrow at public school. I'm not getting this one. It's Kindergarten, and I already sent in the appropriate list of school supplies. What part of and old mimeographed alphabet worksheet costs $69.75. Am I going to call and complain? Oh no, I'm determined not to be the problem parent until 2nd grade.

So, each day after school I peer over my child's head to inconspicuously gaze at how much paperwork is in that bag for me to read and consequently write a check for. Managing this is a part time job. Which in itself wouldn't be a big deal since I'm not exactly full time occupied cleaning floors and popping laundry into drawers. Oh, how I pine for my old cleaning lady of bygone years. I am however in the throws of heating up over at Pink Evita. Which is good news. But getting a wee little business up and running is proving to take a little more time than I had originally anticipated. I sort of thought 2 hours during nap time and a small business could run smoothly. Oh, the naivete. I'm feeling so darn green, what with the booking of Design Your Own parties for the fall, (5 thank you very much) sending invitations to hostesses, sewing bags, looking into expansion opportunities at boutique stores and changing a diaper in there....well I could quite possibly get in over my head. Dare I suggest?

But then, I have so many ideas in my head for Pink Evita. I get love struck at the idea of creating a business my way. Breathe and ride the wave...that's my new motto.

One More Click Please

I'm playing reindeer games over here today.

Not So Much With The Preschool

Olivia attempted preschool this week. Technically, I suppose you could call it Mom's Day Out (MDO) since she is still shy of two years old. And how much schooling is there really in a 4 hour time frame once a week for a 22 month old? I like to think of it as Mommy's little sanity time, they should probably be up front and just call it that.

If hamsters had MDO perhaps they wouldn't eat their young. This is why every Mommy I know, or at least the sane ones who will admit to needing a short break now and then clamor to the good churchly types eagerly signing their little darlings up for MDO asking of one morning a week is all they have. I've known some who don't go to suck down 13 vicodins and slowly stroke their hair in front of their master bathroom mirrors saying "pretty" over and over and over. Seriously, I don't want to hear from you in the comment section if your child did not attend any school at all until late the late preschool or kindergarten.

Liv went in just fine and even smiled a bit for the teacher. Great I thought, this is easier than Ava's first preschool experience. I skipped out of the building while turning my cell phone on and sticking it in my pocket. Then I thoroughly enjoyed 3 hours and 45 minutes of no whining, no sticky hands, and no cute little smiles from a little girl who insists on stomping around in her sister's shoes while depositing them in strange places throughout the house leaving me to utter every bad word in the book looking for that damned elusive shoe when we need it.

I arrive at pick up bright eyed and bushy tailed. Then I hear Liv from down the hall. It is not a happy sound. Apparently she cried on and off the entire time. She enjoyed sticker time and outside play but that was about it. She calmed down the minute she took her place on my hip. Then she waved bye-bye to all the MDO kids. We plopped down in the car and she sorrowfully sniffed her way home while signing ALL DONE. Oh gees, Mommy guilt. Mommy guilt as the ice pick is stabbed into my heart.

But then one first time MDO does not a preschool career make. We will try again next week. Sniff Sniff.

On August 28th....

I left a place called Yangxi in a province called Guangdong, China. It was clean and the aunties took pretty good care of me. They fed me, they changed my diapers, and they even let me play with some little friends.

See, there I am third from the right. Cute as a bug's ear, yes?

But I didn't have a forever family. I sort of wanted a Mom and a Dad and a big sister. Presto...on August 28th...they all appeared in a goverment building to come meet me. It scared me. They looked and smelled funny. But not in a ha ha way. More in a "Universe, You have got to be kidding me way."


Here I am meeting my sister and my mom last August 28th. I was less than pleased with my situation. But that was before I realized they have good snacks.










It's a whole year later.


Here I am celebrating my one year forever family day with candles. My mom likes candles. She let me pick these three candles out at the Hallmark store. (I confess, my sister had to help me because I was a little cranky since my mom and I were in a tiff over being strapped into the stroller.) I voted no, she voted yes. I'll let you fill in the rest of the story.

Anyway, we picked three candles. The red one is for China, the country that let me go but will always be there for me when I want to go back. The purple one is for my birth family. They gave me life. We are grateful for that. My mom likes purple and it makes her feel connected to my birth mother. (She can be a little sentimental at times.) The peach one is for my forever family. I was tired and so my sister picked peach, since she likes the smell. We will light these candles to remember how grateful we are to have found each other as a family each August 28th, forever. Or until we need new Yankee candles. (I won't pick peach next time...it's overdone a little 1980's if you ask me.)

I am sampling the peach one here. My mom was afraid I'd drop it and break it. She can be a little uptight, but I love her anyway.


Yes, the red one is definitely the best.














I'm happy to be at home now. It is comfy cozy. My parents love me and my sister is the best. She calls me cute and kisses me 100 times a day. I miss China, I miss my birthfamily. I hope they are all well.

It is going to be a good life.

A Fit Free Day

Oh, how I wish someone from the local gym has come to my door offering me a day of "fit"ness for free. Unfortunately, fit means big ole' tantrum...Ava style. Classic, no not classic perhaps... rockin' retro, no classic, let's leave it at that. There should be something in Wikipedia it is so awesome.

I am reeling from Kindergarten fallout. Why did no one warn me about the drama, the temper tantrums, the extreme exhaustion that can only be riveled by 29 straight hours of international plane travel, the manic highs of being the one who already knows the stupid alphabet, the depths of disparity at being the one who was third, not first in line at the bus stop? What is it that Bob Costas says via voice over at the Olympics, the thrill of victory the agony of defeat?

Seriously the last time I rode such a rollercoaster I had a $119.00 ticket that read Disney Magic Kingdom on it. If you haven't already noticed, this week has been a bit of Ava centered drama probably initiated by the fact that she is no longer a "stay at home" kid. She is tragically wiped by this whole going to school business. I am jonesin' for a fit free day...bring back the days of too many episodes of Backyardigans followed by a trip to the pool.

Don't get me wrong...it is the best 7 hours packed full of fish sticks, puppet shows, and printing capitol letters she has ever been privy to. However, she has absolutely no idea how to self regulate. You know, pace herself. As in, Avery is throwing a whopper of a tantrum because her mother had the audacity to drop her off at school but I will be mature and walk away and calmly wash my hands properly like the other 15 kids. Oh no, she must play computer games, read little Matthew a story, run to Spanish class, stop by the gymnasium...and then pause for a moment to pat poor Avery's shoulder. I suspect that Miss Ava is tossing every smidgen of energy at the Kindergarten cronies and saving not one iota for herself.

Translate...she comes home a ball of fire...quickly disobeys or breaks some solidly placed domestic rule...gets tossed into room for quiet time to think about said federal infraction...completely melts down in two year old fashion...and then is asleep in 20 seconds. For 2 hours. (Can I pause and add that my 5 year old has not napped in 2 1/2 years?) At 8pm which is bedtime she is rocking and rolling telling me how great I am and singing my motherly praises while refusing bedtime with a purple passion. 11pm...she conks out. I am nearly to the breaking point while looking at the clock realizing that we have exactly 8 hours before the whole thing starts over.

Here is the issue I am a wee bit stressed about. She starts the other fancy dancy artsy fartsy Kindergarten on alternate days next week. I'm choosing to think glass 1/2 full...the solid structure will be good, no more willy nilly, what are we doing today? Oh god, hardcore everyday school starts on Tuesday. This is temporary adjustment right? Yes?

Seriously, because I think it against some state law to let her stay at home and watch the Backyardigans full time. Or could we get away with that for one more year?

All Prettied Up

I'm all prettied up, in bloggyland that is. In real life I am still sans under eye cover up, scary. The incredible Spacemom lent a hand and poof 24 hours later I am the proud owner of one original blog banner. The niftyiest thing is that the real twoladybugs do dance like that, facing each other hugging in some of their finest moments that is. Which reminds me...must take some pictures of them together. Many a xie xie coming your way, Spacemom.

We worked out a little barter deal. Tit for tat. Isn't barter the best? I swear I get the best stuff through barter. It seems so very civil and neighborly. If only Nordstrom's would feel the same way. I might be able to score these. My cousin pointed them out this weekend and we both simply swooned all moony eyed, we giggled like school girls and then had to move on.
Sad but true. She went to visit them a few days later, just to say hi. Now that is true love.

Speaking of spiffed up, Livi is having her speech assessed later today. I'm sort of hoping she qualifies for a bit of speech spiffing up due to the fact that she has taken to a slow high pitched whine when she can't get her point across. Otherwise known as I want DAT and you are not getting it for me! I am not a mother that does well with whining. Wine'ing, yes whine'ing, no.

I'll report later with how it goes. If she doesn't qualify I'm going to have to spend some seriously boring hours in front of the more advanced sign language dvd's. Hmmmmm....

Hair

I went and got myself an adorable little bob last night. Feels much better a little shorter. Is this blog worthy information? No, not really. No one in their right mind gives a rat's ass about how short my bob is.

While in the chair my stylist, I know that sounds pretentious but that is what they call themselves these days, Hilary, kindly asked about the girls. Completely normal get your hair trimmed small talk. I explained that Ava's hair is getting so much more thick recently and I am having a hard time combing it out each morning. I lick and pat while pulling the comb through, she whines, it's a right of passage if you ask me. I went around 1980-1983 with a french braid pulled so tight from my mother's skilled hand I ironically sported some Asian looking almond shaped eyes. That and a headache from hair follicles pulled to the breaking point. Hilary suggested some super yummy expensive leave in conditioner and I countered that my mother had some of that stuff at her house but it was $4.00 from Pantene. Hilary explained that Pantene was all wax, the curse of wax would NOT touch her perfectly coiffed head. Ok, well Ava is five, I'm on a budget so she can deal with a little wax if you ask me.

Other ladies in the shop started to comment on their hair and hair history, their mother's hair, their aunt's hair and it's thickness and curliness and straightness and when it changed in life, when it went gray, when it thinned, and when their sister got that God awful perm. On and on. I was completely struck and oddly saddened by the fact that I know not one bit of hair history for my girls. I have no idea if Livi's hair will darken or thicken. I have no clue if Ava's hair will continue to show these amazing almost blue streaks from trending to a black satin sheet. She has no aunt that I know of to peek into the future for this bit of information.

On the way home I couldn't help but think this was not my conversation to have at the shop. Ava's birthmother should have been there. She most likely would know exactly how to care for her ever thickening and darkening hair. She would know because her sister or mother probably had that same hair. She would have already known that her family's more adult hair would come in at around age 5 and the thinner finer toddler hair would begin to change.

Driving home, I had this odd conversation in my head with her birthmother. I was explaining the situation with the tight rattiness in the mornings and she was nodding while laughing a bit saying that oh yes her Aunt Ling had that same issue in grade school so her mother used xyz on it and it became this silky gorgeous mane. I nodded sheepishly at her and pulled gently at my straight blond processed highlights silently apologizing. She casually waved her hand at me, knowing I wouldn't have the slightest idea.

Then I approached a red light. I was completely caught up in how strange this imaginary conversation with Ava's birthmother really was. I couldn't decide whether I simply needed to get out more or if perhaps I really was sort of having a conversation with her birthmother. Esoteric and elusive as it was.

In the end I suppose it is just one of those adoption things. It doesn't really matter what happens with the strands on their lovely little heads. Perhaps it was just one mother's wish to belong, to be close and intimate in a way only family can.

She's Registered

Remember this day? Me too, head splitting that it was . Today was register the adoption with the state without legal representation part 2. I used all the cheat sheets given to me by the nice bureacrat on the last visit. I collected every scrap of paperwork given to us in China proving Olivia was legally adopted with the consent of one very democratic but inefficient government and one communist and yet oddly sweet tempered government, topped the stack off with a legaleze petition, formal order, and one bit of triplicate 3/4 sheet of paper for which I have no idea how it added to the integrity of the stack but I was told it was "very" important. At least it added interest since it could not be filled out with a computer, it had to be typed on a dinosaur typewriter. IBM Selectric...pass the nut mix at that party.

Liv and I marched down to the city county building one more time with low expectations but bright with hope of further progress. I was stopped while getting out of the car by a man asking for a quarter. I obliged... hoping to create good karma. Liv was excited because she got to take her new stuffed monkey and she knows after all that by completing this task she will have legal right to her $.50 of inheiritance to be shared with her sister. (Don't spend it all in one place, my darlings.) Spread the bubble gum money out making it last; remember that when I am gone.

We arrived 2nd in line to meet with the Commissioner. Apparently he had to approve my petition before he would allow me to kevetch with a clerk who might ultimately press the go button. I explained that the Commissioner had already looked at my paperwork last time I arrived at this taco stand and surely I could just proceed to the clerk station. No go, said the secretary with the nose ring and lovely tats. You must wait your turn and get the coveted rubber stamp. So we did, we waited 1 hour and sure enough upon seeing him we actually got a rubber stamp on our documents. I couldn't believe it! We did it, Liv and I registered her adoption with the state all by ourselves. And it only took 3 rice cakes, one cup of soy milk and one package of yogos worth of time.

Then Liv picked up her monkey and stinky pink blanket and dragged it all the way down to the clerk's desk. Ms. clerk took all of about 6 seconds to happily process us. She hit the go button as I wrote a check for $10 to the State Dept. of Health. The probate court apparently will send the processed info to the State Dept. of Health so that they can kick off a delayed state birth certificate. They provide this service since they are a rocking happy bunch of state funded employees. And, honestly they must have warmth in their hearts after all. We in turn should see a birth certificate in a mailbox near us in about 4-6 weeks.

It took everything I had not to take that $600 I saved in legal fees and march right on over to Nordstroms for fall shoes.

First Days

Today, like many when you are parenting was a first. First day of Kindergarten. Let me spoil the mystery by saying she did fine. Better than fine, if I am truthful. She hopped on the bus without even looking backward. It never occurred to her that she would be leaving the protective arms of the mother who loves her beyond what the English language would allow in prose. She climbed the all too big bus stairs, waved and disappeared until 2:45pm when she was deposited safely back to me in the same fashion...descending the too large stairs with a too large backpack strapped to her tiny frame. Her only comment, "I got a Hersey's kiss, Mama. It was great!" Then she immediately started the verbal campaign to play with her version of American Idol, Jessica, who is ten. But Jessica completed her first day of 4th grade and already had homework.

All day I thought about September 17, 2002. Why this day? It was the first full day of parenting Ava. It happened in Changsha, Hunan China. She was 1 day shy of eight months old. I loved her but I was forcing myself to love her. I think I knew I would eventually love her without forcing myself but September 17th, the first full day I was truly forcing myself. She cried...a lot. She cried every minute she was in the hotel room. Or, that is the way I remember it. She cried every moment I was in charge of holding her in the hotel room. Although this picture proves me incorrect.
The Muffin Man was over the moon with the whole meeting Ava business, but I was freaking out. I remember when this picture was taken I was clenching my teeth hoping she would not start screaming again. The cups seemed to help keep her busy for 2 minutes. This photo must have been shot 1 and 1/2 minutes into the cup adventure. I really don't like this picture, we look so happy and we were not. She was probably fine although exhausted. I had been a parent for about 24 hours. She had been a child with forever parents (however lame) for 24 hours. I honestly thought, I have survived cancer and corporate jobs, and 11 years of marriage and yet, I'm not sure I can survive one more day of parenting. It was too overwhelming, too stressful. This little child needed more than I could give her. She deserved more than me. She was drop dead gorgeous, she was a survivor, she was perfect in every way...I was not. I wanted to look into those soft brown cashmere eyes and connect. But we did not. I knew it and she knew it.

Just after this picture was taken out travel mate Jeff knocked on the door. He was "checking" in on us. He had just met his daughter Alyssa who is now Ava's LBF (little best friend, from Chenzhou) They were second time parents and their little girl slept, and ate, and cooed and smiled. She even napped. Her mother was completely smitten from minute one. She instinctively knew how to be a great mother. I did not. Although I did make a mean bottle, even Ava had to concede to that. She got the cashmere eye connection that I so desperately wanted. Jeff casually asked if we were doing better. (This was polite code for Are you ok? You seem a wee bit stressed.) I told him we were fine and Ava was perfect in every way but the last 24 hours seemed like 24 years, if truth be told. He stepped back a bit in that Dolton Hotel hallway and smiled a knowing smile at me. He got quiet and said, "Perrin, you have such a short time with her before she grows up. She will be big before you know it. She will be going to Kindergarten in a blink of an eye. Enjoy her while she is so little."

I did not get it at all. I had parented this child for 24 hours and I thought I might spontaneously combust from the stress and he was talking about 5 years of this? I could not conceive five years. I had recently received massive doses of cancer therapy and other emotional therapy telling me to take it one day at a time. How could I do five years? I could barely survive 24 hours. I thanked him politely and closed the hotel room door after making arrangements to meet his family for breakfast the next morning.

After I shut the door Ava cried, and I cried. After Brian got her to sleep (a two hour adventure) I had what I am pretty sure was a panic attack. My Muffin Man held my hand from the twin bed next to mine and told me to breathe, the same way he did after I had a chemo treatment and was afraid I would be throwing up all night 2 years before. He pretty much talked me down from the tastefully wallpapered wall.

The next morning I dug my heels in determined to be a good mother to this child. I would survive until Kindergarten. We would survive until Kindergarten. I didn't come all this way to give up now...and she didn't lose her first parents only to get a pair of sissys. We were in it for the long haul.

It's five years later. We survived. No, we did better than survive, we've had fun. We have loved, throwing caution to the wind. She has learned to trust, I have learned to be and to exist in her presence. It it exhilarating and maddening and a privilege.

Things like stepping on a big bus and going to a new classroom are easy for Ava. She is wicked strong. And she has people skills. Kids follow her. She has more God-given self confidence than me and and all of my girl power circle of friends has put together.

Alyssa's dad Jeff was right. Time has gone by quickly and now it is 5 years since that stressful day in Hunan China. He was my sage....enjoy your baby, before you know it she will be off to Kindergarten.

The State Fair

Wow, what a bunch of vegetarian optimists you are. Unfortunately they would not come within 6 feet of my lovely veggie tray. They are however munching on a dinner of garlic croutons and blueberries as I type this. Sadly enough croutons do not count as veggies even though they are married in some states. And another note: to Ava's new public school lunch room director: tater tots are NOT veggies. And for that matter neither is corn...but I would be willing to let the corn indiscretion slide should I have not seen the tater tot referenced in the Wednesday's veggie option.

Tomorrow is Ava's first day of Kindergarten at public school. As luck would have it we (ok, I) sweated it out all for not this summer waiting to see if they would have alternating day kindergarten so that I could send her to the arts and leisure program next door on Mondays and Wednesdays. The Kindy Gods are with Ava...she got in fine to both. Whew. Now all there is to fret about is her actually going. It is currently Kindergarten eve. She has been duly prepped with her teacher's name, for getting off the bus purposes, and the fact that she will select chicken fingers from the lunch line when she goes through. (Only after promising me that she will indeed eat the veggie side dish option as well.) Yes, I know I am a complete sucker and she will eat the chicken fingers, and the cookie and ditch the green beans since I am 6 degrees from ear shot at home screaming at Livi to get off the kitchen table.

I needed a kindergarten eve distraction today so I popped the twoladybugs into the car and headed straight for fried oreo cookie therapy at the state fair. It is a once a year indulgence I assure you. Yes, I also made a choice to eat a fried tenderloin for lunch as well. I swear I had never even heard of a fried tenderloin until moving to this state as an adult. The girls...they ate meat on a stick in the form of corn dog. Meat on a stick people...this state has some redeeming factors but really....meat on a stick.

What does one weepy, remember kindergarten eve, mother do at the state fair with two children 5 and under?






Ride ponies. Three dollars well spent. She grinned from ear to ear.




Next, we met up with some friends and headed off to the fishing pond. If you are five the Department of Natural Resources folks will teach you to catch fish. We are serious cul-de-sac people and if this kid is going to learn to fish for something other than what is in the Pepperidge Farm bag it must happen here on the annual pilgrimage to the State Fair.

See Ava in the purple tank top? I was pleased that she scored the hottie ranger sitting next to her. Believe me he was way more interested in teaching her to fish than any old tired momma.

It was immediately after this I decided to throw caution to the wind and eat that double sized tenderloin for lunch....being late thirties has its priviledges.

However, after Livi grabbed my tank top and gave a nice health tug the older gentleman in the yellow was quite attentive I might add.


And what was Livi doing during the festivities?



Squinting in the hot sun strapped to the stroller.

Poor thing has to watch her sister have all the fun. We took a vote and decided the blue gills would not appreciate Liv taking a dip.





The Hoola Hoop contest was next. Both girls seem to show natual talent and being a family member I felt I must withdraw from formal judging duties. This was immediately following the official meeting of Curious George. Yes, the real Curious George, or the one who tours State Fairs. I missed the photo op due to the fact that I was having an indepth discussion of our state's 529 college savings plan with the man running the booth. We got as far as 20% tax credit up to $5000 donation if I roll over from our current plan....and then I heard Livi squeal in utter delight at meeting George. Financial discussion over, don't ask.


















We ended the day with a tour of the livestock barns. Yes, barn(s) that was plural. I've already explained that we are cul-de-sac girls. But even I was somewhat softened by the sight of these pink and brown piggies. Did you know they come in this delightful color combination? Me either.

Liv decided to climb the pen. Shocker. At some point I saw this strange woman rolling her eyes at me motioning to this shameful little Chinese kid. How dare she climb the piggy pen and where is her mother? She sheepishly (get the state fair pun?) walked away when I yet again expained to Liv that climbing in with the mother sow might not be in her best interest. Especially with the SOW BITES BEWARE sign hanging in front of the pen. It only took her a long few seconds to figure out who the mother of that Chinese heathen kid was.



So, a good time was had by all at the State Fair. We came, we saw, we ate fried stuff and we sweated. Then we got a lemon shake-up for the road.

Tomorrow....I will be the mother of a school age child. I will certainly blog through the tears and post embarassing getting on the bus pictures. Check back.

Over There

Yummy new Fall the leaves will be turning soon bites posted over there.

Scroll down to see the lovelies.

Veggie Good or Veggie Bad

Which would you vote as the girls' true feelings about the veggie tray?

Veggie good or Veggie Bad? Go ahead, vote.

Blue

I'm not a real blue person either. Ye old twoladybugs is now blue...but it is there. Have I mentioned how happy I am that it is there? My god I am a geek. Unfortunately not a geek with perks...you see if you are a geek with perks you would know how to fix bloggy problems without having to stress for 2+ hours and know how to add a way cool bloggy banner. Have you seen all those people who have the coolest of coolest bloggy banners? I have banner lust. I'd rather have a fabulous banner than the pool boy on Desperate Housewives. Perhaps it is time for me to figure that one out. The banner that is, I couldn't give a rat's ass about the pool boy.

It shall be my mission, as soon as I have 1 hour to surf the net for a complete and well written tutorial explaining the finer points of blog banners. I will tackle this as soon as my children are not tossing hotdog bits onto the carpet and grinding them in with their new crocs.

Did I mention that Liv's high chair is toast? Gone'ola. Replaced with $12.00 strappy plastic chair that hooks to the breakfast table chair. No more standing up when meal is done. No more using the chair as a launch pad to swing from the kitchen light. Ha. The 20 month old will not be smarter than dim witted mother. Seriously, the new $12.00 plastic chair that has straps that work is a wonder. Except she is getting back at me for attaching the strap by flinging gooey food all over the place.

Will all of this foddder seem banal when we are fighting over state universities vs. hoity toity private women's colleges? I can only hope for so much.

New Look

Why the new look? It's so pink. I'm really not a pink fiend or anything I am just extremely relieved to get the blog back after wiping it out this morning. I'll worry about colors later after I settle down a bit. I'm not exactly sure how I did this but this morning I tried to edit the side bar and within about 2 seconds I had completely wiped out the html code for the entire twoladybug blog. All I had left was the list of favorite blogs I read ad nauseum.

I've been fiddling with it for 2 hours now and FINALLY figured out that if I upgrade the old html style to the newer easier (for complete idiots) template I would get all my archives back. Ahhhhh...breathe.

In my two hour fit I realized how much of my life the last two years has been on the little blog. Waiting for Olivia, pictures of Ava when she was only 3, getting Olivia's picture for the first time, the TRIP TO CHINA....and on and on.

Seriously, I need to investigate one of those services that takes your archives and makes a cd or paper document for you.

Ok, I know this is probably the most boring read of anyone's life ever. I will now sign off and stop obsessing to relax.

Or perhaps I might read an archive or two just because I can.

On Social Working

That's it we are done. We had the very last social worker visit for adoption extravaganza 2005-2007. Liv was perfectly cute and engaging throughout the whole meeting. She played happily in the playroom while the Muffin Man and I met with the social worker. Well, honestly social worker and I chatted incessantly and the Muffin Man sat dutifully in his chair not getting a word in edge wise.

I could not stop thinking about Ava's last social worker visit while we were chatting it up. It was much shorter since she absolutely would not sit still or play with the toys during the meeting. Liv is the type of kid who given a room full of toys will see fit to entertain herself for quite some time. It is a sanity saver in my opinion. Ava simply would not do this until she was well over 3 years old and still has to be threatened into self entertainment.

Social worker was delicate with us but did suggest another free state assessment of Liv's speech...or lack there of. No major worries, just keep in on the radar. Yes, I am aware that the 5 year old does speak for everyone including the 20 month old in the house. But then if they BOTH start speaking at me all day everyday what would I do? Kidding, sort of. I called the therapist and she will be here Friday to take our insurance info. Yes, they need their almighty big buck before sitting down with my silent climbing wonder.

I also mentioned the attachment stuff mentioned in my earlier post to Ms. social worker. (too lazy to link it, just scroll down a wee bit) She told me to follow my gut and speak with a developmental psychologist. Wouldn't you know the speech therapist can also send the developmental psychologist out from the state as well. Convenient. I get such peace of mind when I see a tax dollar working for me. Schwing.

In the interest of being a little more conscious of Liv's needs and strengths and all over person hood I've been carefully observing her while Ava is attending dance camp this week in the mornings. Wow, am I ever a nicer less shrill mother only attending to one life sucking but affectionately adorable short person. I mean of course I was probably at the top of my mothering game about 6 months before I met my first child, let's be honest but seriously Liv and I were cooking with oil this morning. We read books, we changed diapers with no kicking Mommy in the gut, we ate about 6 snacks. We both have a cold so we commiserated in front of a chocolate chip cookie. Real bonding happens when chocolate cookies are present.

It was a glimpse of what life might be like around here in another few weeks as the first bird flies the coop for the place where she will learn all she needs to know about life and lunches cost $1.85. The thought of such a life change is exhilarating and overpoweringly hideous all at the same time.

Here We Are

In all of our glory. Do you like the raccoon eyes on mama? Seriously if this sinus crushing summer does not come to an end soon and bring low humidity and 60 degrees for my wounded little sinus cavities...I might have to resort to more expensive under eye cover up.

Tomorrow is the very last social worker visit for us! Yipee, bringing the end of the seemingly endless check writing extravaganza to adoption related personnel known to visit the cul-de-sac. Yep, we're movin' on up to possible check writing to speech pathologists and pediatric dental officials.

We are required, it appears, to provide the kind folks at the Beijing office matching kids to families photographic evidence that we are indeed NOT axe murders and really do provide unlimited fruit snacks and 10 trillion trips to the Toys-R-Us. Of course I looked at my calendar yesterday, realized I'd have to provide the darling family portrait, did not have a picture of all four of us together and had to beg an old travel mate at the reunion picnic for a photo. She happily obliged and consequently I will not be seriously reprimanded,. Like last time when social worker showed up to collect photos with Starbucks in one hand and files 2 feet deep in the other hand.

Do you think Beijing will care that I have sinusitis and Livi simply would not keep the matching bows in her hair? There was nothing explicitly written in the adoption documents about matching hair bows, although I took the unwritten implication very seriously with my first daughter. Ava Jing and the Muffin Man appear fetching nonetheless don't you think?

On Attachment or Personality or A Bit of Both

The thing is Olivia is attached to me, the Muffin Man too. She adores him, really adores him. She trusts me, I know she does. When she sits on my hip she feels like she truly belongs there and I feel her relax. When she cries we pick her up and she stops. It seems like a normal progression of the attachment cycle where baby has need, need is met by one who loves her, baby is soothed. She never rejected us the way Ava initially rejected my love and attention. (Looking back Ava was bonded to someone at her orpahange, she had to have been. It was a smaller facility and her early behavior truly spoke volumes for some broken but loving relationship with someone we will probably never know.) Secure attachment is something we have worked pretty hard at the last several months. We did not stray too far from home the first six months because she would shake and seem withdrawn after a big outing in those early months after returning home from China. Now she is much better and seems to enjoy outings where even large groups of people congregate. She is engaging and laughs when she is surrounded by other children. Our friends are even beginning to comment on her "coming out of her shell" and "isn't she so much more outgoing than she first appeared to be?"

But there is this one little issue that is nagging at me a bit. Olivia has a serious distaste for grown women other than myself. She likes little women, meaning girl children, and she tolerates teenage women especially if they act like little women and get on the floor and play. This is all fine and I'm happy she shows some wary behavior around strangers or almost strangers. That seems completely normal to me for a 20 month old. The part that makes me tip my head a little bit is that she knows no stranger when it comes to men. She will approach strange men and hold her arms up to be picked up just like she's known them forever. She will even go out of her way to approach strange men in public places, often straying further from me than her usual 12 feet radius. She will act coy and stare at them, then slowly approach them but always moving in for their attention. Luckily all of the men she has approached would not touch a baby they did not know with a ten foot pole without express written consent. I sometimes wonder why she seems to have a much lower tolerance for grown women than men. Why does she not feel that inate stranger fear that she feels with women?

It think it is easy to make light of this situation and simply joke "Oh, she'll be one to watch at 16," completely downplaying the behavior as nothing to worry about. On the other hand it is also pretty easy to go down the slippery slope making this an adoption issue related to the fact that she probably did not experience a true loving and nurturing relationship with a female figure in her life until she was 9 1/2 months old. She obviously lost her birthmother quickly. Her nannies at the institution kept her very clean and fed enough that she was not malnourished but after seeing numerous pictures of the room and hearing how many children to nanny ratio...it would surprise me if any secure bond between small child and caretaker were truly to take place. This is not to say that no child does not form a secure attachment at Yangxi SWI, I would not presume to make that assumption. We have all heard those stories of 50 children in a room and a nanny breaking down in tears to see that one child go home to forever parents. I'm just saying in my daughter's case, I saw no evidence of that. It's a harsh reality, but a reality of her situation nonetheless.

I share this information publically with some trepidation, I do not want to share my daughter's personal information too easily. On the other hand I also believe there is no shame or anything to be hid or to shy away from in the post instutionalized adoptive community when it comes to behaviors which may or may not be related to our children's precarious beginnings.

Ultimately I am resigned to watching her with the sharp and critical eye of a mama who loves this little kid without abandon. If she continues to show more and more signs of normal attachment, leaving behind some of the stranger behavior...we count our blessings and move on bowing to her strong resolve to heal and her strength of human spirit. If things go further awry, there is always outside help.

Wait, watch and learn.

Shock and Awe and She Hopped The Crib

There is something creepy about a lean long limbed 20 month old who walks the back ledge of sofas on her tip toes. There is something downright weird about a child who can wedge her toe in a 1/2" strip of wainscotting to hoist herself up 3 1/2 feet to a seat ledge. When other toddlers are ambling around carrying tubby bellies and roly poly legs my 20 month old is running through the house gracefully skipping from room to room in attempt to hide from her 5 year old sister. If you catch her out of the corner of your eye while distracted making dinner it appears as if she only touches the ground every other step or so.

But now the all the "oh, my that is sort of strange" has now turned into Oh, shit what do we do now?" Exactly 20 minutes ago I left Olivia for a nap in her crib. I was in the next room downloading yummy tunes on my new Shuffle. Then I heard her bedroom door open behind me and a little pitter patter of toddler size 6 feet thumped quietly moving closer to me. I turn to see a huge grin to accompany those feet. It honestly took a minute for it to register, she hopped out of the crib and opened her bedroom door. I promptly told her no, no and popped her back in her crib in denial that she might do it again.

Not 10 seconds later that door opened again. There was no small sound of a thud as the kid scaled the crib and landed on the carpet, I'm presuming she landed on her her feet since I haven't actually witnessed the circus act yet. I heard no screaming related to a broken neck or arm so I'm assuming she's now not only capable of climbing the crib she's also more than proficient. And by more than proficient I'm wondering her her people were feline circus folks.

Seriously, what do we do now, she is only 20 months old? Too young for a big girl bed in my opinion. Do we toss a mattress on the floor and gate the upstairs hoping she doesn't figure out how to scale the stair railing in the middle of the night. I'm more than a little wigged out at the thought of bolting the bedroom door shut for obvious reasons, of course.

I have to go break the news to the Muffin Man, he will be so pleased. Then I guess I'm off to the baby super store to see if those tent contraptions will hook to her crib?

Really, if your kid did this please leave advice in the comments section. I have no idea how to keep the kid down. Would a water squirt bottle work? Kidding.

Middle of Summer

I love summer. I love the pool. I love sleeping in, which I get to do regularly now since Olivia is a champion sleeper, and yes I do appreciate the cosmic twist of events that somehow gave me a good sleeping toddler after Miss Sleep is For Weenies almost killed me in 2003-2004 and 1/2.

But summer can also be a bit of a challenge when you are home with two small children for 1000 hours a day...alone...for days and days and days on end. (So, how many hours of television will it take to rot a 5 year old's brain?) Oh, the guilt of seismic proportions.

Just when I think I can't take on more minute with the 5 year old who needs to know what a blade is, this very INSTANT and the spider"esque" toddler who is literally climbing the walls I realize I only have 4 more weeks of summer before Ava goes to school. Real school, as in takes the bus and all. Then I am weepy and nostalgic for the biting, non-sleeping, counting to 50 in Mandarin 3 year old. Two seconds later I am secretly happy dancing yearning for time alone in the house and what a relief that will be. I am pining for Tuesday mornings when BOTH kidlets will be in school.

Then I am guilt ridden again for thinking such un-June Cleaverish thoughts. Skip forward another 6 seconds I'm thinking screw June Cleaver, she wasn't real, this real momma needs a pedicure and 4 hours alone.

Summer, it's complicated....in an un-complicated way.

Registering An Adoption All Alone

I suppose this post could be subtitled "That Which Drives Her To Bang Head On City County Building and Eat Old Goldfish Crackers."

For reasons which are purely driven by my very own pig headed constitutionality and the overwhelming desire to save yet another $600 in post adoption expenses, I have ill wittedly decided that we don't need legal representation and I will act as Olivia's legal counsel to file the petition to register her international adoption with the great state we live in hereto and therefore.

I do change her diapers and feed her gobs of goldfish crackers, why could I not act as her official legal council?

In our state most families whose children come from a foreign country and enter on an IR-3 visa (which simply means both Mommy and Daddy were with the little darling shoving benedryl down her little gullet for 29 hours straight on the airplane when she touched down on USA soil) choose to hire an attorney to file a petition for a formal name change and have a delayed birth certificate issued by the state. Completing this task successfully will mean in our case that the ungrateful little mite will get to legally share the $.16 worth of inheritance with her sister when we meet our our maker or, bite the big one.

She will also have easy access to our public Kindergarten when the time comes...and I'm paying enough taxes so she should get the red carpet rolled out after showing her pretty delayed certificate of birth. I was the only mother happily flashing Ava's delayed certificate of birth when I registered her for Kindy this summer. I made the principal comment on the pretty pink seal, I was so excited to show it off. Naturally my second offspring needs a pretty pink seal as well.

Last night I spent $17.04 at Kinkos copying every damned piece of paper Guangdong Province ever graced us with, in triplicate.

I dropped Ava off at a playdate and then popped Liv in the car and we headed off to the State capitol City County Building. We were scanned and then frisked. I think I enjoyed it more than the older gentleman with the wand.

We took a deep breath and marched off to the 17th floor armed with 4 inches of paper and one very cute little pig tailed girl toting a big bag of snacks and stuffed animals. I couldn't help be feel how brilliant we were to attempt what normal petty folks pay big laywers for. Probate court...here we come.

We promptly met with the Commissioner, of what I don't exactly know but he had a big office. He looked at out 4" of paperwork copied in triplicate and said I had done everything right.

WHEW. ATTORNEY...SCHMORNEE.

Then the ball dropped. Apparently I did get all the paperwork correct but I need a formal petition and formal order to legally file the paperwork with the court. "You mean, like a cover letter." , I say sheepishly. "Let me try to explain this to you as a lay person.", he says. Go to the 3rd floor law library and look up these 3 forms, then go home and try to copy them inserting your personal information and then come back here and try again. I will help you with one form and give it to you. But it has to be typed on a typewriter, not a computer so the carbonless copy fills properly." I thought he was kidding. I explain that we are a wireless household now a days and where would one get a typewriter? "Not my problem he says with a large grin." Seriously, he said not my problem to me! "So, I need to sweet talk someone into using their typewriter for one little 1/2 page form?", I say. "Can I sweet talk you into using your typewriter in the corner of your desk which I notice is collecting dust?", I add. "Sorry, no." he says and quickly ushers me out of his office so fast that Livi's little people Sonya Lee doll was left for him to trip on later. Serves him right.

Oh for the love of GOD. I got this kid out of a Chinese orphanage to fulfill my every dream of a baby in my life and I'm going to be stopped by some ding dong government official hoarding dusty old typewriters for the sake of shits and grins?

HELL NO.

So, I march out of his office and softly explain my sad story to 5 employees standing around with nothing to do. Is there anyway I might sweet talk some nice clerk or secretary into using their typewriter for less than 10 minutes? I'd be happy to pay. One lady quickly whisks me back to her office and pops the form into her typewriter and says I'm going to ask you a few questions and you answer quickly. My form was typed and ready to go in 3 minutes. I thank her up and down...then she says SIT. I do. She then proceeds to give me a copy someone else's old petition and order. She writes down for me how many copies to make and sends me on my merry way instructing me to come back when it is all done in a few days. Oh, she also complimented Olivia on her pigtails.

SCHWING...A CHEAT SHEET.

I have spent the last 1 hour changing little Grayson's Guatemalan info to Livi's China info as I re-type the entire petition and order request. I expect to have it to the notary's desk at our bank this afternoon.

So, jury is still out..but I'm not writing that $600 legal fee check yet. If nothing else I get to go see more guys in orange jump suits riding the elevators at the city county building looking to make bond. Now, that my friend's is entertainment.

Goodbye Long Hot Shower

Goodbye Pack and Play. For you were my dear friend as she would sit content among a zoo full of stuffed animals for as long as my skin could take my beloved hot shower each and every OTHER day. Let us not forget that this stay at home mom sometimes opts out of the need for extreme cleanliness on a daily basis. It is a perk to be weighed carefully when considering a paying job as opposed to the non-paying hardest job you'll ever love. Stinkiness has its moments.

And yet, knowing that the option for full bodied cleanliness while the toddler whom shall now be referred to as climbing Spidy in homage to the great Spiderman himself was safe and sound and contained in her little baby jail called the Pack and Play.

She has sprung herself 2 times in 2 days. There is no more denial, she is more than fully mobile. She is able to leap tall buildings and scale wainscotting in a single bound. The Muffin Man timed the most recent death defying act and proclaimed her up and over the edge in 10 seconds flat without a plastic toy to stand upon.

I may not shower again until she can cognitively understand the full ramifications of "time out missy" if you don't stay out of the toxic cleanser while mommy has 6 minutes of naked alone time in the master bath. It could get ugly or stinky or both.

Now someone please wrap up some web shooters that she can attach to her wrists to hoist herself onto the roof to clean some gutters. She might as well being pulling her weight around her if she is going to try one death defying act after another.

I'm forever trying to teach these children to use their powers for good.

Pssst....today's post is over yonder

http://pinkevita.blogspot.com

Two Ladies One Pink Shorty Outfit

Ava on bottom ...Liv on top. Both 19 months both in one pink shortall outfit. Matching hairdo, can't resist those toddler piggies.

I think that I have mentioned in previous posts that I can at times be woefully sentimental about the littlest thing. But other times I am disturbingly callous...take for example wanting to chuck most preschool art. This is rather strange for someone who loves artsy things and who spends a huge amount of time consumed with creating arty stuff. I suppose my sentimental thoughts happen most often in reference to things pertaining to the girls.

I am not a pack rat, I don't save a lot of things. I do however hoard Ava's old clothes for Livi. For obvious reason I suppose, hand-me-downs do help the family budget. Although I think I also keep them to try to keep memories alive of years gone by with Ava. Sometimes I wonder if my memories match what was true reality in the early years of parenting the first toddler.

My friend J and her hubby C got their referral for baby Cate this week. When I opened my email I swooned for this baby. I was immediately transported back to August of 2002 and August of 2006 when were were preparing to hop that China bound plane to meet each girl. I casually tossed adult clothes in the suitcase but obsessed about baby outfits . I needed to make sure each choice was softer than the next. Receiving blankets were washed and re-washed in Dreft.

Oh, I do hope J and her mother have a wonderful trip meeting Cate. I hope she enjoys packing her hand-me-downs.

As for me, I only have to wait another 2 months before crawling up into the attic to get Ava's old size 2 fall togs for Liv.

7 +7+07=38

In this house that is how the math adds up. Yesterday I flipped the switch over to late 30's. Not mid-to-late but rather, late 30's. And, yes it happened on the auspicious date of 7/7/07. I was born on 7/7/69...the summer of love. Excellent. I was a summer birthday receiving a bathing suit every year type of gal.

My parents came all the way from up north to visit and it was non stop fun for me. First after waking up at 8:30 which is serious sleep in time for moi since the 'rents were up and adam on kidlet duty, I received an ipod shuffle from the Muffin Man. He rocks, it's pink. How cool is that? Holy cow, an ipod shuffle. What should I upload? Really any suggestions? I'm not a country music fan but like a mix of decades. Black Eyed Peas, Neil Diamond, Ottmar Leibert, and Madonna will probably make the short list so far. Ok, maybe not Neil Diamond but doesn't that Comin' To America make you well up if you have internationally adopted kids? I didn't exactly hang with the coolest kids at Strath Haven High if you haven't already figured that out. But then again I'm in my late 30's now and truly don't give a rat's ass what most people think of me nowadays. A wonderful perk of getting older. The crow's feet I can do WITHOUT.

Then my mother and her very green thumb took me to two nurseries where we scouted out every last $.50 Coleius plant in about 60 different hybrid forms. Yeehah. Love that purple and green one. My mother can go through a nursery and name about 60,000 different species of plants. She can put that damn Martha to shame. She's like the Rain Man when she gets going. I haven't a clue how one person could be that smart to remember all those plants. When we go up north in August I will treat you to a picture of her flower gardens. It will be worth the wait , trust me.

Next, it was off to Rock the District in my little town. Which means sidewalk sales and B rated live music. The whole clan marched off to scour the closed off streets for free lemonade, popcorn and 5 minute neck massages.

The very best part of the 7/7/07 day was that the coolest of coolest interior design firms was selling loads of material at bottom basement prices. Of course my mother and I were all over the $1.00 a yard trims on plastic tubs on the street corner. After striking up a conversation with the gals working the sale and busily tallying up my purchases they brought the owner out to talk to me when I said I sewed creatively. Get this...after talking to the owner I am now on a list to be called when they need special draperies and pillows for clients. Ok, probably because I said I'd make their pillows for WAY less than the person before me but who cares? They also said they would consider taking some of my handbags for consignment sale. They invited me to make up some of my bags, take them to the shop for the owner to peruse, and then whamo I might get to leave them there for ladies who lunch and have nannies to purchase at overblown prices. Can you say RALLY, ROUND 'EM UP COWBOY?

I took my kidlets, the Muffin Man, my 'rents and skipped all the way back to the car.

Then I ate a burrito for dinner.

Good Times. Welcome to late late 30's summer of love baby girl.

A Nice Niecely Visit

Where have I been? Out at the mall people, too busy to sit and blog. Really, I've been to three malls in the last week. I don't think I've seen three malls in three years. I am the proud owner of some new NARS blush, Victoria's secret lip gloss with metallic hint, and some bras. And, no I will not post a picture of the lovely Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale...because let's be honest, I'm a little too old to be carousing at malls and way to old to have people interested in purchases I made at Victoria's secret.

Why all the mall crawling? A visit from the lovely C. She's our niece. And oh my is she the sweetest thing to hit my state. She is all that is so wonderful about 15 years of age. All the good memories about 15, with none of the teenage angst.

In addition to lots of malls we also visited a dairy farm. C had never visited a farm or seen real cows, never mind seeing real cows being milked. Talk about wide eyed wonder.

Here is C with Livi Xi in the milking barn. Oh yes, a picture of country gals yes? I think Livi is thinking there better be organic ice cream at the end of this tour or else!


The next picture is Ava with her gal pal cronies. She's been playing with most of them since she was 8 months old in China. Of course leave it to Ava and LBF (little best friend) to worm their way down the corridor and into where the employees were hooking up the cows for milking time. They got the worms eye view of the activity and had to stay extra innings at the milking event due to the fact that they got penned in and the cows were in their path to get out. Only my child would inadvertently arrange this setup. And yes LBF and Ava had the audacity to start complaining about the smell of the cows when they got stuck. Nice.

















Who in their right mind would go to an organic dairy farm without helping themselves to large scoops of ice cream on the way out? Not us. Livi got strawberry, I got blackberry. Strawberry was better so I "traded" her. I know I know I'll be chatting with someone in hell regarding that move.

Seriously, she appeared not to mind blackberry.





And now the house is quiet. As quiet as a house can be with a 5 year old and a 19 month old. No more 15 year old. Oh I'm sad, very sad. Who will be hanging around to tell me what shade of lip gloss goes with swim lessons at 9am tomorrow?