LBF Goes To The Mall

Yesterday, in my infinite wisdom I decided to take my two perfectly behaved and mild mannered children to the mall to do a Land's End return. (Bathing suit top needed in smaller size...notice it wasn't bathing suit bottom needed in smaller size...sad.) Anyway, did you know that you can return Land's End catalogue stuff at Sears? Me either. But you can. Schwing!

In addition to my children accompanying me, because I am the mother that can go NOWHERE alone...I also had LBF with me. LBF is Ava's little best friend. I've mentioned LBF before but to catch anyone who needs a refresher up to speed...LBF was adopted on the same day as Ava in a hotel in Hunan. They live 10 minutes up the street and are pretty much inseparable. I'm beginning to wonder if they are indeed Lao Tong, "old sames" from Chinese legend. They are sometimes freakishy close even for 5 year olds. So, LBF was mine for the afternoon and that bathing suit top needed to be returned before we leave on Saturday to pick 1 million grains of sand out of our toes and other crevices for a week. I popped her in the Dodge and off we went.

Have you as a white person ever taken a slew of little Asian kids to the mall in the Midwest? I've certainly taken one and now even two little kids...lots of stares and a few comments. Here's the deal breaker, three little Chinese girls twirling and singing at the top of their lungs being chased by moi really can attract as many wide eyed stares, head nodding, secret giggling and unsolicited comments as say a bald Brittney might walking down past the Wetzels Pretzels in high heels and a gold tone handbag.

I bribed them to act sane with pennies to toss in the fountain. This worked for 2 minutes until we drew a small crowd. Apparently two 5 year olds explaining the finer points of toss and wish to a coy and semi-reluctant 18 month old is far more interesting than the free cell phone minutes being dolled out by college drop outs from Sigma Chi at the kiosk next door.

Next, a bribe of ice cream for anyone who will walk quietly while holding civily onto the stroller. Ava shouts "Uh, I'd prefer a strawberry smoothie, it's much more healthy." LBF responds 16 decibels higher, "Are you crazy, girl? We are getting ICE CREAM. Which then leads to a rousing rendition of the old I-scream, You scream, We all scream for I-c-e-cream. Ugh.....Old people are now stopping us telling us their neighbors adopted from Korea in the 1960's. Teenagers are giggling, encouraging them to twirl as they sing. (I might add here they did seem to have almost perfect harmony as far as 2 5 year olds singing go.) I am trying to smile politely while practically spitting at Ava to move quickly and quietly.

New strategy. Hang back with the baby and let Sonny and Cher perform their little hearts out 100 paces in front of me. Perhaps mall security will pick them up and I can hit the Gap all by my lonesome, or with the baby, whatever. No such luck, I'm dragged to the ice cream stand. More questions about ethnicity and sisterly bonds of love while ordering 3 small swirl cones.

After icecream I'm done. $52.50 has been wiped off my credit card while a large size bathing suit top is on its way to a clearance rack near you. We head off in search of a black Dodge. We wave the Queen's wave to their adoring fans.

I silently promise to eat my own toenails before taking children to the mall again.

Chinese School One More Year

This weekend Ava completed one more year of Chinese School. In addition to her regular three morning a week preschool we have her enrolled at the local Chinese Community Center's Chinese language school. The class she attends is Chinese as a Second Language. (Their term, not mine.)

She goes Sunday afternoons from 1-3pm and sits in a high school classroom chair with her big girl backpack complete with Hello Kitty notebook and printed Powerpoint lessons. Her teacher sends the lessons via the internet each week and we print them off acting like we practice the 20 minutes per day that is strongly suggested. In actuality we practice Mandarin phrases and songs on the weekends right before she enters the class. There were a few five year olds in the class this year but mostly there were 6-8 year olds who are reading. The five year olds were at a bit of a disadvantage with the lessons since most of the 6-8 year olds cheat when Lao Tse asks them questions in Mandarin and look off their Powerpoint printed lessons to read the answers. The five year olds must try to memorize all the words and phrases since they don't exactly read English pinyin yet. So, overall I've been fairly impressed with her ability to hold her own.

I've remained pretty relaxed this year about pushing her to practice. I operate in whatever mode due to the fact that I just want her to go without kicking and screaming and expecting bribes of ice cream for attendance and good behavior. She has readily complied in untypical Ava fashion and pretty much goes without too much fuss each week. She reaps the rewards of knowing something interesting and unexpected at her regular preschool telling everyone who will listen that apples are ping guo and laughing while goading the boys with Ni jiao shen ma ming zhe? Wo jiao Ava Jing.

At the end of the semester I was asked to attend a planning meeting for next year. Some of the school's board is interested in what the Chinese as Second language (CSL) parents think and want to be accomodating. (For the record most not all but most of the CSL families are indeed adoptive families.) What has happened is that the CSL class has for all intents and purposes turned into an adopted kids class. Not much integration happening. (Honestly, I have been highly motivated to keep going in hopes of integrating more with the Chinese families. But it is a slow process, that I am not making any faster by bringing my knitting and comfortably sitting with the other adoptive families while Ava is in class.)

Some parents want some history and culture in addition to language instruction in the CSL classes. The board members running the school are completely baffled by this this request. They are very hesitant to take away any time for strict language instruction. They feel the children are hardly being exposed enough with 2 hours a week and any true level of competency can hardly be reached with the way things are, never mind adding culture only curriculum. I see their point, they are offering Mandarin lessons, not This Is The Cultural Revolution 101 lessons. At this meeting there was a divide among proverbial nations. Around that table the American parents wanted fun but educational learning opportunities so it will be easy for us to convince our kids this is the best thing since sliced bread and the Chinese parents who simply roll their eyes at our obtuse parenting styles. To them it is easy, study hard do whatever you need to do to achieve greatness. Period, end of story, no whining, stop sniveling.

So then, where are we? Some parents actually believe their child can achieve Mandarin fluency in 2 hours of instruction a week without serious reinforcement at home. In my opinion this is sort of a joke. Probably isn't going to happen. I speak from experience here and it takes a heck of a lot more than 2 hours a week and minimal practice at home to truly learn a language where no one has proficiency in the household.

What is the consensus motivation for us American white folks sending our Chinese born kids to the classes in the first place? I think that is a question that the Chinese Community Center has been asking us for a while. My observation is that there is no true unified consensus. Each family has their own slightly different motivation for spending the better part of Sunday afternoons at the school.

1. Language instruction
2. Cultural subjection for the children (or perceived cultural exposure)
3. Place for children to be in racial majority
4. Ease of guilt after children were pulled from native culture (this may be controversial but I'm calling them as I see them)
5. supplemental avenue for academic achievement

This list encompasses a fairly wide range, thus making it hard for all of the people to be happy all of the time with one or two language class options.

Where does this leave us for next year? I wrote the check and signed Ava up again. I loved her teacher this year. She did a phenomenal job balancing her bosses requests for traditional Chinese language rote instruction and the American families request for Western teaching style. I'm banking on her staying another year.

Because integration with Chinese families and children are important to me I've decided to ask Ava if she wants to take the after school dancing class in addition to the language class. The dancing classes are heavily populated with Chinese children and very few adoptive children have signed up so far. This means another hour at the high school.

This whole thing is sort of life in a test tube...so why not try it? I'm often asked by other parents why we go to Chinese school and how long do we think we will stay and continue to take classes. A few years ago I was naive and stated it was so important to us and we are in it for the long haul. Now, it is day by day semester by semester. I have no idea what the future will hold. I have no idea how to balance her American upbringing with her Chinese heritage. Sometimes Chinese school and what it represents serves to confuse me and make me doubt my parenting choices. (I'm sure this would be reassuring to Ava if she were old enough to read this or begin to comprehend.) Perhaps her autobiography will be one day titled "One Chinese American Life: My Life As A Lab Rat"

Only time will tell....I'll be sure to report back in 20 years. Maybe I'll know more then.

Three Wheeling

I love this photo. The Muffin Man took it as the girls were settling in for a jog. Yes, it's my sweetie pies Evita and Pink tilting their little heads for the camera as if to state clearly we are cute and we know it. Now give us Dora The Explorer popsicles. But that is not the reason I love the picture.

I love it because they are close. Look at them all smooshed up next to each other in the double jogger/biker. Could you score a better hand-me-down gift that the double jogger/biker?

I love it because they really do enjoy being all smooshed up next to each other using the backyard bench cushion to pad their bony little butts. They share snacks, they pass water bottles back and forth and Ava will put her arm around Olivia and make sure she has her pink blanket when she gets tired. They really enjoy each other's company. Or perhaps Ava is always just so desperate for human companionship she is truly grateful for the warm body. Or maybe Livi just sees , ahhh big sister gawdess who has an uncanny ability to negotiate cookies from parents. But I'll take it, no matter the root cause or intention.

For right now it is sisterly bliss. Ava asks if Liv misses her when she comes home from preschool. She will push Liv around the backyard in this stroller stopping to attend to Liv's needs when she utters a groan. Liv in return will hold her hands up to Ava when she sees her stating, "PPPPPP". Which in Livi-ism means "Hi, Up pick me up."

It makes me wonder, when will the back biting, hair pulling, she got this and I want this start? I know at some point they will fight, tease, jab and cajole each other, all siblings do. But right now either they aren't sophisticated enough for the complexities of sisterly disfunctionality or maybe they are still young and sweet, bringing out the best in each other.

Either way, when they do decide to fight someday I'm holding on to this photo and this memory. I will use it to show them how sweet they are together.

These are the good old days. That's what I'll tell them.

Sad Little Backpack

Did you have have a home craft project go terribly wrong? And you knew it was going badly before 1/2 way through the project and yet you persevered in denial thinking..."Well, maybe I will be surprised and it might turn out ok?"

Yep, this is the little backpack gone bad. Sad little backpack.

I had a pattern. So I can't blame it on not being able to figure it out. I even had nice fabric, which thankfully I scored on serious sale or I'd be even more depressed than I am now...backpackless and a wee bit mopey.

Here is what went wrong. I listened to this lady who really looked like she knew what she was doing at my favorite J store. I have some issues staying away from the J store. Anyway, I was grumbling about the price of pre-quilted double sided fabric since I wanted to make myself knock off Vera Bradley bags. I like some of these handbags but I'm not $90 in love with them. So, I strike up a conversation with this employee at the J store who tells me "Don't pay $17.00 a yard for pre-quilted fabric, honey. Quilt it yourself." She goes on and on about how easy it is and if I have any experience with fabrics and my sewing machine...it will be a cinch.

Ha, crazy J store lady was indeed on drugs. It wasn't a cinch. It was a nightmare. Trying to get the batting evenly in between the two layers with out bunching was time consuming and frustrating to say the least. I have serious holes in 6 of my fingers.

After, 1/2 ass quilting the material I tried to use it. Perhaps I used too much batting. It was too thick to fold and double fold and then try to get into the machine. I broke 6 needles on this project from hell.

I just couldn't come out of denial that it would be a wash after all that work. So, I persevered. And I tried to fix by hand sewing some pieces. I finished it this afternoon, took a picture, wrote about it and will be cutting off the expensive D rings to use for a later project. I plan to also cut off the straps and make a little tote bag out of some of the scraps.

Sad little backpack project. Chalk this one up to live and learn.

23 Pounds of Storm

She is going to seriously injure herself if I don't string her up by her toenails first. She is a one woman whirlwind of terror, and I'm not sure how this happened overnight. Look at the previous posts, other than leaping from shopping carts she was really quite a placid baby.

Placid baby has morphed into dervish toddler hellbent on destruction. It is like watching the old Wonder Twins cartoons, where the kids would spin and then things would happen. Livi now gets get a look in her eye, spins around and then starts a tornado of destruction . She does not discriminate she does not spare a moment to contemplate...it is all about a climb to abomination all the time.

I offer this photo as proof she considers all ottomans and hassacks as tools to assist in an apocolypse.

Here she has decided she shouldn't have to wait another 30 minutes for the chicken in the oven or another 20 seconds for a glass of wine.
Let's see how many glasses she can break in one week...right now the record is three. No blood, amazing.




Caught in the act. But not deterred.













Knives, she loves knives. Usually there is a knife or two in the kitchen sink. Excellent.















Climbing up to the counter to help herself to the car keys.

Oh, take your chances on that one little girl. When daddy can't find those keys, play time is officially over.

She laughs hysterically when you come home from Target...ahhh little white and red plastic bags to play with. If scissors are anywhere below 42" anywhere in the house she can smell it.

The sewing room is a playground of death and destruction as pink ribbons are flying and mixed with pins and needles sticking from the carpet. The dryer is akin to a Disney ride in Fantasy Land. Bookcases are stepladders thank you very much. Stairs can be scaled in under 20 seconds flat and the kitchen table? Tap dancing anyone? The remote control for Daddy's ridiculously expensive and hard to operate television, she'd love to tell you what happens when you lick it too much. But that is not funny....yet.

This is what you get 6 months after bringing home the cutest, most laid back baby in the world. You attend to her needs, you verbally assure her of family love, you feed her until she gains six pounds in six months you get up with her in the middle of the night. She repays you by becoming....The toddlinator.

That Which Weighs Heavy

I've been reading the same story that I am sure much of the Chinese adoptive community has this week. It is not a pretty story of ladybugs and red threads. It is ugly. Woman goes to China for her healthy bouncing baby girl and is greeting by one very sick little child. She make a gut wrenching decision not to parent the child. Things aren't handled all that well and woman returns home empty handed...mad and sad. Child is left in China, future uncertain.

I wasn't planning on publically commenting on this story. I had planned to go on with adorable pictures of my lovely brood and snarky cul-de-sac commentary of life at preschool and perhaps tossing in light fanfare about how my 17month old is suddenly not a baby anymore...she's all about the toddler trouble these days. (Stop by again to see knive throwing toddler style.)

But, I can't. In the last few days I've dreamt I went to Guatemala and adopted a sick little boy. I've been at the grocery store staring at Livi with her runny nose and grubby hands tearing up just because I love her so much. The check out man had to ask me if I was ok. Yes, one of those days I carelessly told him as I whipped out my Visa. I won this adoption lottery was all I could callously think. Who knows what tomorrow will bring but today I won. I admit it, I thought that.

This isn't how life always turns out though. I know this first hand, being a young cancer survivor. I know what it feels like to have a baby die inside of your rotten un-working body after IVF. (How's that for ladybuggy fare?) I'm not completely unaware of how life sometimes deals bent ugly cards to normal nice folks to make them stop in their tracks and take stock in how fragile life really is. One minute you are walking along with your head in the clouds, the next you are sitting on a gurney looking at pasty white guys in white lab coats...hoping for more. Or staring at a govennment official who has all the power in asking for life's greatest favor...knowing full well you will not be obliged.

I personally know a family that could not take a child home with them upon meeting her in China. They were granted to gift of a little girl called C. 1 week later in China. I was admittedly horrified upon hearing this story from the mother the first time. It stopped me in my tracks much like the story I've been reading this week. But you know what? They are nice people. They aren't bullies, they aren't unfeeling, they aren't even self rightous, they had to make a choice for their family. I have no idea what choice I would have made if I'd been in the same position. I'd like to think I'd know what choice...but I don't...since I haven't lived it.

My thoughts this week are with the families that have to make gut wrenching decisions about parenting whether adopted or biological. I hope I have the courage to never judge them harshly for their decisions. Right or wrong, here or there.

In the mean time I hope adoptive parents are more educated through this process of learning about this story. I hope they expect that there will be bumps in the road, and when things turn up all rosy and ladybuggy they are pleasantly surprised. I hope they are committed to knowing that every adoption is in some ways a special needs adoption. Yes, I do believe that every adoption is in some way special needs. Being ever vigilant about watching your adopted child for signs of needed help and intervention is in its own way...a special need.

We will be back to our regularly scheduled girlie antics and the mother following along with bad roots and a sore back soon. All this after a short breath to reflect on life's ability to bring a breathtaking course of pain and doll out intermittent jogs of exhaulted joy all in one journey.

April Get Your Craft On

This month's GYCO challenge was aprons. Before I made these aprons would you like to know exactly how many aprons I had in my kitchen? One. One lonely sad Cathy cartoon apron left over from the mid eighties I believe. It probably said something about the over consumption of chocolate.

A new apron was definitely in order here on the cul-de-sac. You know I am all chef-y and all. Hold the spitting soft drink out your nose laughing comments those of you who know me and my long history of kitchen debacles. Harvey Wallbanger and the great spinach ball tragedy shall remain quietly in the past.

Why? Well, the girls and I have new aprons! New 1940's style inspired aprons. Check this out.

I couldn't resist the somewhat ridiculous children playing western theme. It is sort of toile"ish" but just a teeny bit too hokey. I love it. The fact that the three of us have matching aprons...well it just adds to the carticature of one's self.

So, there you go. April's GYCO...all done.

If you made an apron would you leave me a comment so I can see it?

Found the Glasses

We found the perfect glasses to go along with the bathing beauty and her swimming ensembles. Only, as it turns out big sister is the one who seems to be able to carry off the glasses.

Oh lord, if only spring hunting for swimsuits and matching sunglasses was 1 iota as much fun for moi. Where is my $9.99 Target swimsuit that fits perfectly and comes in 6 bright sunshiny colors? If only I could even stomach the thought of a swimsuit for me in any bright sunshiny color. And don't tell me oh, it's 2007 you can wear any color you like, you liberated woman.

Check out the Land's End catalogue...the bright lemon yellow swimsuits do not come in "Women's sizes". So women of a certain girth and earthly magnitude should not be able to wear lemon yellow if they so choose? (Really, check out page 7 in the most recent catalogue.) Where did the apparel industry get the term "Women's sizes"? I think I might take offense to that. I suppose I can't get too uppity at Land's End, since they do seem to carry long torso. I love that, long torso. "Yes, I have a long torso." I guess it is a given being 72 1/2" inches tall. The torso is long. It is just that long torso sounds a bit like a medical condition. Say it outloud, am I right?

Dr #1: Yes, today we are going to fix the deviated septum.

Dr# 2: Oh, while we are in there can we do something about the long torso?

Dr #1: Oh no my good man, we'd have to call in the specialist for that.

At the bottom of the catalogue page it states....Don't know your size? Call 1-800-LANDSEND

Oh yeah right, like that's going to work. "Ummm, I'm 72 1/2" tall and I simply will not step within about 16 paces of a scale so I have not one clue how many lbs. but I know I have a long torso, and umm...a little junk in the trunk from the months of reading internet blogs. Can you help me determine my size please? Oh, and I'm partial to lemon yellow and polka dots."

Right, the customer service rep in Banglaore, India will surely be able to help me with that one. I think I might skip the delightful ice pick in the eyes conversation.

Or, I suppose I could do what I always do. Go the the swimsuit graveyard that is the left side of my bottom dresser drawer and hope for the best. Operate in denial, but hope for the best.

Or I could concentrate on the glasses again. Yes, perhaps I might have to find ice blue plastic cat eyed glasses in "Women's" size.

About the Weather

Conversations with a 17 month old:

Mom: The weather here stinks. Let's play bathing suit dress up to cheer ourselves up.

Olivia: It's snowing. It's April. It's 65 degrees in the house. And you want to puppet me up in my sister's old bathing suits for your own entertainment?

Mom: Yes, dear I do.

Olivia: (See photo for "You are an idiot." face)




Olivia: Now I'm thinking that we should put this suit to good use. Take me somewhere warm.

Mom: Like where?

Olivia: I'm 1. I haven't completed my geography lessons yet. Let me think. How about the remote area of Captiva Island, Florida? I could use a white sandy beach.

Mom: Done. It's yours.


Olivia: Really, all I had to do was ask?

Mom: Oh, yes dear it is my life's wish to spoil you and your darling sister so much that no adult can possibly stand you by the time you are 10 years old.

Olivia: I can live with that.














Olivia: Seriously, when do we leave?

Mom: May 12th.

Olivia: Will that be enough time for me to find sunglasses to match this suit?

Mom: If not let me know. I aim to please.

Spring Break and Breech Babies

We decided to buck the system and head the decidedly unpopular route NORTH for spring break. Everyone and I do mean almost everyone else in my town hopped a plane to Florida. Mindless drones following the trend I tell you. I was snickering watching the news as they lined up enmasse at the airport...Starbucks in hand...waiting out the delays in flipflops.

NORTH held the sweet promised land of Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Greggor, (as Ava calls him.) They did not disappoint. The girls were in heaven, even though the weather was so freaking cold the Muffin Man's forehead was cracking open in 25 degree snowy weather after spending the last week on business in Panama City, ironically enough Florida. The cad. Apparently the weather change of 60 plus degrees did not agree with his skin, imagine that.

Grandparents sugared them up, let them virtually destroy a very nice 1920's tudor style home, and walked about 600 flights of stairs with Liv. She simply wanted to "do" the stairs ad nauseum, nice pool with swim up daquari bar? Not needed, thank you very much. Because their names are Grandma and Grandpa and not Mommy, Da...they let them have their way. Isn't that what is right with the world? I cannot wait to get back at Ava and let her kids eat a peppermint candy every 20 minutes for 144 solid hours. Then disappear when it is time to visit the pediatric dentist. I actively dream for the day.

And what were we doing while they were coloring the walls with washable marker and sticking bubble gum on the sofa? Two dates with the Muffin Man. Yes, real dates. This involved two restaurants and not one chicken nugget. Heaven I tell you. Then I shopped....alone. Not for groceries. For girlie sandals. On sale at the Gap. It took me a serious 30 minutes to find my mojo while on the first trip to the mall alone. It was sort of an out of body experience. I found myself only looking at mother's walking with strollers. Then smacking my over processed mom-do saying snap out of it....head to Sephora! Go to Victoria's Secret and see what Ipex means. And so I did. I now know that Ipex means virtually the same thing as Body by Victoria but it costs $9.00 more. No purchase. But I enjoyed the pink dressing room with no giving a 6 minute dissertation on why little girls wear undershirts and big girls wear bras. Again, heaven.

So, good time was had by all. And, we are back from the big woods...rolling into reality.

As I was explaining to Ava that the Easter Bunny might visit after she fell asleep last night she told me that Uncle Greggor was born feet first. "Huh", I said. Yes, most babies are born to their birthmothers with the head coming out first, she informed me. But Uncle Greg was going to be born with his feet coming out of Grandma first. "Uhhuh, did Grandma tell you this?" I asked. "Yes, of course" she replied "And he got to be born and stay with his birthmother." "Yes, that was nice", I added. "Ok, now can you please turn my music on so I can sleep all through the night and NOT hear the Easter Bunny" she said. With that it was lights out.

A very typical end to a very atypical week for us.














Oh yes, the bunny came. Here's the bunny loot.


A row of peeps and coffee for breakfast. I can think of no better way to end the week on a high note.

Meat Schmeat

The wee Olivia must be secretly up at 3am reading A Green Pharmacy and perusing this web site. She is a card carrying convert. I expect to be shopping for mini birkenstock's, batik tee shirts and finding ways to manage bohemian Asian dread locks. (Assuming her hair ever reaches even the tips of her ears.)

She simply will not touch one little iota of meat. Which in itself does not cause me huge psychological issues with but gees, at 16 1/2 months? She can sniff out chicken at about 6 paces. She rolls her eyes at any tiny piece of beef, ground or otherwise. Pork, uh no no way no how. She can dissect any casserole with a meat product faster than Ava can snarf down a fudgsicle. She holds a delicate pinky up and makes careful mini piles of meat that will be tossed onto the floor if not removed in a satisfactory amount of time, by me. (How nice of her to give me the courtesy 3 minutes to move it over to the high chair and remove offensive carne before the flinging starts.) I've even resorted to offering a chicken nugget, she flung it at the window quickly. Her sister has sweet dreams which include salami, which is only offered here in low doses for obvious reasons. Liv thinks salami should only be used to deep condition her hair. Aside from offensive the smell she might have a million dollar idea as it does provide a nice shine.

A friend offered that nuts could be used to supplement the diet when protein might be an issue. Yes, I answered but you usually have to have more than 8 teeth to safely consume nuts. She conceded that I might in fact have a point there.

Since carbo girl is showing no signs of scurvy or rickets and is standing in her corner at a whopping 32 1/2" and 23 lbs. and is burning through baby clothes as she sizes up about every six weeks I suppose I should not worry. Let her eat the peas with a side of wheat bread and cheerios, at every meal right?

But if she starts picking sticks and berries out of the backyard I'm calling Dr. Atkins.

Gone To The Park

We played at the park for hours. Then Mommy got tired and brought us home.

Then we put our jammies on and played some more.


Then everyone finally pooped out and went to bed. Including Mommy.

A day in the life.....

Is 5 too young for menopause?

I'm living with Stormin' Norman here on the cul-de-sac. Over the last few weeks I've been wondering why no one has remembered to tell me that children at age 5 are the epitome of 2 all over again. Cute and funny one minute and temper tantrum's evil spawn the very next.
If I didn't know better I'd swear someone is slipping her hormone replacement tablets. But there are no signs of hot flashes so I guess that's out.

I've explored the idea that perhaps this strange and sometimes sub-human behavior might in fact be delayed sibling issues. Heck it could be delayed, "I couldn't stay out with my friends until 10:00pm trolling the neighborhood like I wanted" issues too so who knows for sure. Has the newness of baby who is now clearly toddler Olivia worn off now that she she showing signs of having thoughts of her own? As in, "Sissy, get the hell off my ear that hurts?" And this just isn't as endearing as "Oh, steal my ice cream, yeah that's funny too." Therefore I will scream my head off 1 hour before bed time to get your attention you idiot adult.

Or perhaps this could be captured in the fact that she only goes to preschool 12 hours a week and honestly needs to be in preschool about 72 hours a week to burn off all the mental and physical energy she has. How many more days until Kindergarten? Really, I want to know.
If this doesn't get any better I might have to strap her little legs to the treadmill and have her put in a few miles before lunch.

Clearly, 2 1/2 plus 2 1/2 = 5. And that my friends must be the mathematical definitive answer as to why Dr. Jekyl and Lil' Miss Hyde has moved into the purple bedroom.

Just as I was beginning to contemplate priestly intervention I witnessed an awesome tantrum thrown by not my little darling, nope the proud owner of this whopper was tossed out into the crowd by our 5 year old neighbor. Ava had to come home since it was so bad at his house. I certainly felt their pain as his mother had to walk the path of shame ending a playdate early. Oh, my dear, if you only knew how many times I traveled that road. But I was secretly resting easy in that space called misery loves company. Maybe someone has put him on HRT too.

I will love you no matter what. You can't do anything that will make me stop loving you. I love you unconditionally. Lather, rinse repeat three times.

Then have a nice glass of chardonnay.

Get Your Craft On

This little bag is my recycle project for this month's Get Your Craft On. All the the material and trim were originally used in making playroom curtains. The little button was originally purchased many years ago when I thought that I would make myself a sundress. Ha. That sundress got the better of me, I cried UNCLE and it ended up in the trash about 7 years ago.
Let's just say it kicked my ass.

Ahhh, but for the sweet smell of revenge. A recycled button on playroom curtain material made into a little handbag.

Now what will I ever do with it?

I suppose I might wait until one of my girls grows up and graduates from Princess material purses.

The Girls Who Went Away

Have you ever read a book that you thought "Wow, this may haunt me for the rest of my life?"

It is an eery feeling. I heard this author on NPR several months ago. I was driving around in traffic on my way to meet another adoptive mother who was going to be a travel mate on our trip to China this past August/September. I was stunned at hearing these stories of birthmothers who had relinquished their children between the post WWII years and before Roe v. Wade. She was truly captivating as she talked about her experience as an adoptee and all of the interviews she had conducted with birthmothers here in the US.

I thought, "Oh yeah, I must read this someday. Huh, isn't it weird that I am in the car getting ready to meet A who is also an adoptive mother and we leave to adopt our girls in a matter of days?" (A and her husband traveled to China with us every step of the way to adopt their twins.)

Well, of course life happens and I got a wee bit busy this fall and completely forgot about the book. Then, I was perusing other blogs this week and stumbled on a recommendation for the the book.

I haven't even finished it and it is painful what these women went through. Some were hardly women they were girls. Society put so much pressure on them to be certain way, and many had absolutely no choice at all, they gave up children under complete distress. Over and over they tell the story of one baby, one choice, and they could never forget what happened no matter how many people told them to move one, just forget about it.

I suppose we all know someone who "got into trouble" as a teenager. Or our sisters or mothers knew someone. This book focuses on women in the 1950's and 1960's. But I started high school in 1983 and I knew a girl who went away.

She was kind and cute. She was smart too. She was popular but not in a "slutty" way. She was 15. She was dating a senior football player. Her parents were Catholic. Her name was Dee.

Dee disappeared in November of our freshman year. She told me one day her parents would not let her stay at school and she was going to a school a 1/2 hour away. I naively asked her why. She replied that she just had to go away but she would be back next year. Sure enough she appeared back in school 5 months later. Rumors ran rampant...home for illegitimate babies was where Dee went and the nuns took her baby. I just couldn't believe that could happen to Dee. The football player went on to become "most popular". He took a very pretty blond girl to the prom while Dee was "away".

Without even knowing that Dee was truly "in trouble", since I just heard the rumors, I had a dream she had a baby boy a week or so before she appeared in school again. I wanted to ask her about it but no one said a word to her about it. Ever. In 4 years of high school. I traveled with Dee our senior year to Scranton, PA to check out Scranton University. It was the first time Dee was allowed away from home since her freshman year. On the car ride listening to the Police she said, "I had a baby." I said, "I know."
That was it, I didn't know what else to say. She did not go into the full story but she told me that she was thankful for our friendship because lots of people would not talk to her when she came back. It thought this was weird since we weren't even that close.

So, here I am all these years later. On the other side of the fence profiting from some woman's shame or poverty or government ruling, parental pressure or perhaps her choice. I don't know.
But I do know this book is a must read if you are an adoptive parent, no matter how much it makes you feel like crawling out of your skin.

Bunny Buffet

Far be it form me to complain or be high maintenance in any way when it comes to life around here but I simply cannot let this issue go. The more I think about it legal representation might be warranted. I've been slighted and someone is taking advantage of the fact that at my deepest core I am an embarassingly non-confrontational type of gal.

It's Bunny Buffet time around here at Twoladybugs again. Remember what happened last year?
(Arrow down to the 3rd or 4th paragraph past Ava staring out the back yard.) Yeah, I somehow drew the short stick and got assigned making the 2 dozen deviled eggs for 4 year olds. Yes, I said deviled eggs for 4 year olds. Deviled eggs, you know the kind that require real cooking? You boil eggs, which in itself I could probably handle. Then, and here comes the hard part, you have to delicately cut each egg in half and scoop out the middle. You then mix the middles otherwise known as yolks in some parts of the country with some mayo and pickles and whatever else you have laying around that you feel might impress and then you have to scoop the mixed stuff back into the cut eggs. Add a smattering of paprika for wow factor. This is so time consuming and quite frankly idiotic that you can even buy special plates to display your creation. (We have no such fancy plate.)


At the end of last year when I turned in my 2 dozen deviled eggs I called dibs on bringing peeps for Bunny Buffet 2007. Really, I did... read it.

However, look at this year's bunny buffet assignment.


FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I'M SUPPOSED TO MAKE THEM AGAIN.

Are they kidding me? I assure you they don't really joke around that much it is strict business at the preschool bunny buffet. I'm screwed.

So, you might think me whiny and petty and lazy. I am ok with this, I've been called worse. However, please take a quick gander at the other assignments. Number 1. on the list....1lb. bag of baby carrots. Number 2. on the list...4 ribs of celery washed and cut into sticks.
Who's zoomin' who here folks? Some other preschool parent get to dig 4 lousy celery sticks out of the dirty recesses of their crisper box while I in turn must spend 2 hours making deviled eggs for 5 year olds?

Look at Number 10. 3 ripened bananas and 3 ripened kiwis. Here is where my sense of humor must kick back in so no one looses a limb. Who is going to send a green banana and who knows what color kiwi to the bunny buffet? Wouldn't it be implied that fruit should probably be ready for human consumption? By the way I'm going to do a little investigation to see who drew the kiwi card and ask them if they even know how to tell a kiwi is in fact ripened. Because if they know this off the top of their head perhaps they would be better suited for making 2 DOZEN DEVILED EGGS.


There is probably a special place in heaven for ex-professionals who now change diapers, volunteer at preschool, and make deviled eggs? Yes?

I scream the proverbial UNCLE....go ahead send me your best recipe ideas for deviled eggs for 5 year olds. May 2008 bring me the ripened kiwi card.

Yangxi; A Former Life

Anyone who has adopted a child knows that child had a former life. They don't hatch out of eggs. They've had real experiences, real losses and hopefully meaningful positive moments as well. But for some it is gone in a flash, too young to cognitively remember the former life. Family members struggle to grasp the almost intangible...life before time with a forever family.

So, it is an inexplicable gift when the elusive become tangible represented by a photo and or a story.

There were lots of little kids in the baby room at Yangxi, Guangdong SWI on July 30, 2006. It looks like a full house. A family from America was permitted a visit a few days after adopting their daughter from the same institution. The families visiting that day toured the countryside and county region of Yangxi. When they were admitted to the orphanage they snapped as many photos as the director would allow. They probably hoped they could see where their child slept, which crib was theirs? They were probably fascinated with the ayis working there. How do they feed 47 babies and then change them all? How do they keep this place so clean? Will I ever truly ever understand how these gorgeous children got into this room in the first place? I wasn't there that day but I know it must have been emotionally draining to see the sites with Western eyes.

And then... it occurred to one mother, what about the babies not in our group's arms formally adopted a few days ago? There are so many still left in these cribs. What will become of them? I wonder if I will ever get to know what will happen to any of these children?

And this is where the internet comes in.

Through the miracle of bloggyland I received a cd containing this picture this week from a family who traveled to Yangxi SWI exactly 30 days before we traveled to the Civil Affairs Bureau in Guangzhou to meet Olivia Xi GeGe. Their kindness humbles me. They copied their orphanage pictures and low and behold Olivia is one of the children photographed. I'd know those huge soft brown eyes anywhere. She still tucks her blanket under her chin and pops her beloved thumb in her mouth the exact same way. Not only do we have the close up photo but we were also given photos of the room and orphanage. We were given photos of the town. Some were more detailed and tell more of the story than we previously had access to. Pictures of people in the town seem to give that lush green landscape of far Southern China life.

So, the family who traveled to Yangxi in July and found the Twoladybugs blog would not accept money for their trouble or even postage to send us the cd. That's the way most folks are in the Chinese adoption community. So, what's a gal to do?

That is when I looked over and saw these sitting in the corner. I didn't know it at the time but obviously they were made several weeks ago for Mrs. S and her wee ones. The perfect matched set as a heartfelt thanks for a kind deed done.

I'm glad I got the pictures to put in Liv's memory box. But I'm also glad Mrs. S got some information about where the little girl with the huge inquisitive eyes wrapped in the peach blanket went after she left the metal crib and large white room.

Mr. Wilson

Those of you who have been known to frequent the cul-de-sac and the twoladybugs know that we sort of had to "help our dear pooch find her way to doggie heaven" two weeks ago. It was tragic, in an everyday and almost everyone has to do it sort of way. I am shall we say...completely recovered. I am remiss to admit this in public but one less little being in the world who needs my attention right NOW has been fairly refreshing. There I said it. I'm ok with being evil. I find it interesting. I'm not the most patient human and doggie mama in the world. Six months after bringing home the cutiest of almost all cutiest kids in the world has put me in the position of fantisizing about a part time job at the book store up the street. I attended a funeral calling last Friday night and can I honestly tell you, it was ok since I got to go alone? I think all mother's sort of get to this space I'm in eventually so I'm not freaking out or anything....but I could use a about 24 hours all to myself since my head might spin off if I have empty the dishwasher again today while managing a 5 year old melt down and tackle blowout poop which includes full changes of clothes for her AND me. Do I sound like a woman who needs a puppy to take care of while her man is off on weekly business trips? Can I add that we have no family in town for all intents and purposes when he is off selling widgets and eating at McCormicks and Schmidts I am a single parent...eating chicken nuggets.

Spring will be good for me, that goes without saying.

Back to Mr. Wilson. Mr. Wilson is ironically the new dog who lives behind us. He barks incessantly and wakes me up almost every morning. It has helped the adjustment here at the twoladybug house, "well at least we don't have that barking here in OUR house, I tell myelf as I listen to Ava melt down over her perception of lack of Noggin time on the tv."

Last night the Muffin Man met Mr. Wilson. Apparently Mr. Wilson is a 10 month old designer mixed breed Golden Doodle. Mr. Wilson's owner, Mr. W brought him over to meet and greet. The Muffin Man is smitten, that's all I will say. With Mr. Wilson, not Mr. W. The Muffin Man wants a Mr. Wilson in a big way. "His coat was like silk, He sits on command, He shakes your hand....it is the cutest thing you've ever seen. You have to meet Mr. Wilson tomorrow."

"Ugh, huh?" I say pessimistically. "But what about that barking?" He says, "They are working on that." "Ugh, huh." I say. I casually work into the conversation that vet bills are astronomical these days. And muddy paws make both the Muffin Man and I skiddish. I tell him I listened to the Diane Ream show two weeks ago where the Westminster people totally dis' the designer puppy trade. Granted, the AKC people always seemed a bit like Thurston Howell The Third to me but whatever. He's not buying it, he has puppyitis. I offered a consolation prize, a fish. "A goldfish? You've got to be kidding." he says.

During the whole converstion I start to hear quiet chanting in the background. Of course it is Ava making up some chimy rhyme about how she likes Daddy's ideas and Mommy is a total scrooge or poopy head or something. I remind her that I hate the word poopy head. She stops in her tracks and yells that "We don't use the word hate in this house." This is a result of the over use of the word hate on her part earlier this week. "Fine", I say. "Please don't say poopy head, it is not endearing me to Mr. Wilson or the likelyhood of a canine neighborhood playmate that lives at our house." She scowls at me.

The Muffin Man at this point suggests that we just go look at some dogs. Not to buy or anything, just to look. Yeah, right I ride to the grocery store on a turnip truck buddy. Let's take our 5 year old out to "just look" at puppies. This is the man who also wants to "visit" the Harley Davidson dealership on a monthly basis as a family as well. Ava knows the difference between a Fat Boy and a Soft Tail at 30 paces. She also knows the unridden dirt bike sitting in our garage is no pimp'd ride.

Anyone want to give me the number of a $16,000 dollar puppy? That is the only one we are "considering".

Are you expecting this little tale to end with a darling picture of us, the family of 4 on the cul-de-sac snuggled up with our new puppy? Sorry, ain't happen'in.

In the end I told my family to zip it up about any further pooch talk. I said it in the nicest way possible, really I did. I offered to call Mr. Wilson for a playdate. How's that for sunshine and roses, snips and snails and puppy dog tails?

Fun Pics of the Liv'ster

First, let me say a quick thank you for the well wishes of the dearly departed pooch. She would have absolutely loved that I spent a few hours crying my little eyes out while cleaning up buried dog bones from the recesses of expensive leather chairs and pee stained carpeting and reading a few comments from her unknown but well intentioned dog posse out there in internet land.

Danka and Xie Xie.

Now, onto cutie pie pics that I took this morning after Liv found a pile of Ava's old hair paraphanelia in a corner that we were supposed to be cleaning. Remember? Dog bones and pee stained carpeting?

I wish someone would have told me back in early 2002 that little girls come with a silent contract saying that when you feed them yoghurt and hotdogs thousands of hair barettes , pony tail thingies, and clippies in every pastel color known to the rainbow will also mysteriously appear in your house. Then after 4 years they start to multiply on their own, sort of like hamsters and find their way to the corners of your house. It can be a problem if the family does not bond together and do a shamanistic cleansing at least annually.

Well, it's been 4 years of little girl hair. No one has done any cleansing. And here is the result.

Oh yeah, that thing is lavender. I think I bought it when Ava was 2 to match an Easter ensemble to visit the in-laws. Perhaps I bought all this crap because I was sleep deprived during Ava's baby and toddler-hood.














"Hmmm...Mommy, you told me you would always love me and never do anything to make me look like a chicken when you met me. Are you keeping your promise?"


Ok, fine. I like lavender just as much as the next gal.








That's it. I'm done, be gone with you. Turn on my music and let me take my nap. And take that 2 bit piece of lavender slip material with you.

Bye -Bye Bailey

It's been a bit like living in the twighlight zone here this week. Everything is real and tangible here in the house but I keep looking around for her.

This is a picture of Bailey. She was the present that the Muffin Man and I gave each other for our very 1st wedding anniversary almost 16 years ago. I wanted a dog in a big way and pretty much badgered him into driving down South about 45 miles to a kennel that was a bit like visiting Deliverance. A man with no teeth in a double wide trailer brought 6 of the cutest puppies you've ever seen into his living room. We sat on the floor and played with them all for a few minutes. I had my heart set on a black and white puppy that was Bailey's sister. But the Muffin Man would not hear of it and he had to have the brown and white Bailey. We brought her home at 5 weeks old and she fit neatly in the palm of my hand.

She was the most rambunctious in the litter, she was forever HIS dog. And we paid dearly for many years to come trying to tame that most willful and rambunctious pup. She failed out of puppy obedience school, she obtained a "note" in her file saying she wouldn't be invited back to stay at a local boarding kennel here in town. She ruined countless yards of carpeting. She peed on my mother's antique persian rugs. She barked obnoxiously for 12 years straight. She bit me when I brought Ava home from China. She pooped on my pillow once. She and I had an interesting relationship as she loved and doted on the Muffin Man and turned her nose at me. But like any semi-disfunctional family relationship I still loved the little gal. She had spunk. She lived life her own way and took a cat's philosophy of "I'm the queen...I'll let you know when I need you." I am canine...hear me roar. She had a little Gloria Steinem in her.

Ironically as she became quite old and arthritic and sometimes sick she also became more lovable. She softened a bit. She would come sit next me at night when I would read or watch television. She had this inate routine of circling several times before she sat down all curled up in a ball. The other night after I put the kids to bed I wholly expected to see her rumble into the playroom and watch Law and Order re-runs with me.

But she was already gone for two days when I absentmindedly looked for her tail wagging in the air. I had to help her pass if you can believe that. It wasn't exactly said out loud but I don't think the Muffin Man could do it. It took him several weeks to come to believe she needed a little help moving on. After kidney failure was uttered by the vet the decision was a tiny bit easier.

The weirdest of all weirdest things is that I'm the one having the hardest time moving on. I'm the one who casually and callously told friends I had new frisee' carpeting picked out for the MINUTE she went to doggie heaven, or wherever she was going. But I don't want new carpet, not yet. Ava was totally fine with the situation. She is already asking for a new pet, of course her father wants a new puppy right away. I can't even think of it. (Not to mention we have no business taking a puppy now with him traveling for business and me holding down the fort with the two kidlets.) At the grocery store we looked at Beta fish.

Can you get emotionally attached to a Beta fish? If so, I don't think I want one.