I cannot tell you how SICK! I am of the snow this winter. It’s not magical anymore, it’s not special. It’s crap. And it will NOT stop. It’s been a full on blizzard for days on end and I’m feeling as though my life is starting to mimic “The Shining”.
I know I run the risk of sabotaging my own efforts of getting you all to move here to start our blogging commune when I mention something like this. I try not to ever say anything negative about Boise so as to give the illusion of rainbows and butterflies all the live long days because even though I know none of you will ever move here, I still believe that ALL of you COULD move here, if it not for your complete selfishness. And so the fault lies with you, I wash my hands of this.
Things wouldn’t be SO bad today except that Mike took my van to work. Something that I know to be of a revengeful nature on his part. He probably figured that if he took MY car and left me with his “tobaggon on ice” which he knows I deem a death trap on wheels and therefore refuse to drive, he must have figured that I couldn’t go anywhere and spend money and shop for cute things or make impulsive decisions in a shopping mall pet store. Which, I see his logic, somewhat. He DID, I guess, leave for work 2 days ago and upon return, discovered a new puppy in our house. But GEEZ, what’s the big deal?! You know? Take my car away? A bit harsh, I’d say. All in agreement, say aye. I know, right?
It’s just that Delaney and I needed to do some birthday present shopping and we ended up at the mall. EVERYONE knows that when at the mall with a kid, it’s pretty much required of you that you take the kid to the pet store. It’s an unwritten law, you MUST DO IT. So, fearing the consequences of disrupting the alter-sphere-of-parenting-law-bondage (just go with it), we indeed went to the pet store. Upon which, we bought a dog. But the decision was made entirely by Delaney, I told Mike this, it had nothing to do with me! I turned my back for ONE second and when I turned back around, Delaney was just finishing up the paperwork. It was done. I had no choice but to bring the dog home after that.
Meet Annie.
She’s a Lhasa Apso, 4 months old and was discounted at the pet store because she had been there too long. Which made us want her even more.
So far, she’s been scared of every single thing, tip-toes around our house and shakes. But this morning, a sign of life! She wagged her tail! And all day today, she’s been following Delaney around and dare I say it, pouncing? She almost comfortable enough to behave like a real puppy but not quite yet. The absence of barking is awesome though, which I guess is the perk of having a scaredy-dog.
Delaney is smitten. Her life from now on will be marked from THIS POINT. Just as we have B.C. and A.D., Delaney now has “before Annie” and “after Annie”.
And I now have a full day of a wild child and a peeing dog. Oh and the blizzard.
I sometimes lay awake at night fantasizing about having this as my kitchen. With these appliances.
Isn’t it just DREAMY?! I salivate over retro kitchens. And they don’t even have to be authentic retro, just anything resembling anything retro in a kitchen is the bees knees in my opinion. I think it’s the bright colors that do it for me since the rest of my taste in regards to all other rooms in my house is a darker and more muted taste, black actually, and so having a room with a full-on COLOR EXPLOSION is an attempt at balanced home decor I guess.
All of these fantasies and daydreams are a result of the fact that we are moving. Painfully, dreadfully, disgustingly moving. I am overcome with grief at the mere mention of this reality. I. DESPISE. Moving.
Some may caution against buying a home in this crappy market. But, we have been renting over the last 9 months and can’t stand the thought of throwing away another penny on rent. Especially when house prices are this good. I know that the other rationale is that prices may continue to go down but we are throwing caution to the wind and buying anyway. On a happier note, the market in Boise isn’t as bad as the national housing market is. But still, it does make us nervous. I just cannot believe how many foreclosures and repossessions are taking place around the country. And how many people are losing hundreds of THOUSANDS of dollars. It’s a sad sad deal.
Around here, right now, you can get a great family, well built home for under $250,000 EASY. Homes like these:
All of which are brand new construction and within 20 minutes of downtown Boise. So, it’s dumb to be renting, as you can see.
You realize this is all a desperate attempt to get my bloggy friends to move to Boise, this posting of dreamy houses with great prices. I am CONTINUALLY campaigning to bring everyone here and start our own community, like in The Village where we can talk and behave as thought it’s the 15th century still. Except for the blogging obviously, there would still have to be blogging. But our kids wouldn’t know any better because we could send the blind girl to the city for Windows updates. I’m telling you, it could WORK!
But no, really, I am curious as to how this compares to wherever you live and what your market is doing in that place. I used to have a fairly good grasp on market values around the country but things have changed quite a bit over the last 2 years. Do tell, do tell.
Back to my initial thought, which was to complain and cry about moving, I was going to tell you how boring our new kitchen is and how I want to remodel it. Someday. This makes my husband want to beat me because there is absolutely nothing wrong with the kitchen, it’s not even dated or worn. It’s practically brand new actually. It’s just really really boring and bland with every kind of cheap and conformist material known to man. It’s just very mass-produced kitchen, if that makes sense. No color, no umph, no love, nothing.
I just realized how incredibly whiney and spoiled I sound. Excuse me while I go throw up. On our new kitchen. Oops I did it again. GAH!
Well I don’t know much about our new Mama Fugee, but I know this, I am going to like her really really a lot. I can tell. She has spunk. pizzaz. sass. Key elements in a long lasting and enjoyable relationship of mine.
One of the clues in which I am basing my opinion on is the fact that she has artistic decorational flare. We arrived at the Fugee apartment the other day and were greeted with a small red present bow taped to their door. I thought this was incredibly charming and figured that someone must have given them a Christmas present and in true Fugee form, not ever throwing ANYTHING away, they decided to hang the bow as a welcome gesture on their door. This made me smile.
I then remembered their first day in America and how when we knocked on their door, they did nothing. Knowing they were inside and likely scared out of their minds, I did what makes my husband incredibly uncomfortable and that was to put on my “aggressive and borderline obnoxious hat” and I opened the door and let myself in. As I’d imagined, Mama Fugee was standing on the other side wrapped in a blanket, slightly concerned and exhausted beyond belief. Mike then saw my logic. He just sometimes can’t believe how IMPOLITE I can be. Which is SO impolite to let myself in and turn up their heat being that they had just arrived from AFRICA and were now living in the arctic conditions of Boise Idaho. The nerve.
Knocking on their door this time was an entirely different experience altogether. Mama Fugee quickly opened the door, gave us that warm welcoming smile that starts in her eyes and then stepped out to greet us by cautiously trying to give us a traditional Burundian welcome which I think was to hug us and kiss us on the cheek maybe (?) but we were too inbred in our freaky American ways to realize what was happening and ended up stiffly twitching and rotating in circles in what probably looked like a do-see-do on crack.
Upon entering the apartment, we were blown away. We couldn’t help but to immediately freeze where we were standing and start to conditionally ooooh and aaaah at the sight of her TOTALLY AMAZING AND UTTERLY UNBELIEVABLE transformation of the house. You could tell she was insanely proud, practically beaming actually, which made us up our shocked excitement level even more. We walked wide-eyed around the apartment taking in the HUNDREDS AND HUNDREDS of assorted and multi-colored present bows taped to EVERY SINGLE surface and fixture within their teeny, tiny apartment. It must have been a logistical nightmare. But the affect was incredible. Bows on each blind, bows on each door frame, bows on the tv, bows on strings dangling from the ceiling, bows bows bows bows bows. If you weren’t instantaneously filled with elation upon entering their home, you were broken. There would be no hope for you. Because this place. This place, was psychedelic.
And at that point, I knew I would like her. Because what woman doesn’t want to plaster every inch of her home with present bows but refrains from doing so? Mama Fugee refrains not. And I love that. Plus, intermixed with some family pictures taped to the wall was this picture:
Why? We know not.
Driving around town in an attempt to get her an ID card was relatively simple (mostly because we have BLUE STEEL, the best minivan on the planet) but things started to get progressively worse on the second leg of our journey. Littlest baby Fugee started crying (right at the time that Mike started playing the Greatful Dead, coincidence? I think not) and it became one of those scenarios in which there are too many Chiefs. Everyone in the car thought they knew how to make the baby stop crying. Baby Fugee’s older sister kept trying to reach back and pat his head, Delaney kept telling him “nope nope nope!” while Mike was obsessively changing songs over and over again on the radio. I passed back a snack pack of crackers with cheese to Mama and that worked for about 3.3 minutes before Baby was just too pissed to take this horrible life any longer. Everyone was starting to get on edge and the scary strappy cage things that we forced her kids into were not only questionable in her mind, but were downright annoying. Mike tried to ask her if she’d like another snack pack to give Baby to which she replied no. And since I automatically assume that since Fugees don’t know English, they must not understand anything ever at all, I then offered again but used a VISUAL of a snack pack this time. She not only said no to us again, she basically DEMANDED in her tone that we die. SHE GOT IT THE FIRST TIME AND THE ANSWER WAS STILL NO, THANKYOUVERYMUCH. Geez, frickin nincapoops.
See what I mean? Spunk. I like it.
By this time, we had pulled up to the DMV and Mike had to take Mama Fugee inside to get her ID. She questioningly looked at me and I gestured for her to go inside and I’ll watch all three kiddos in the car, including the wee screaming banshee. I then had one of the freeze frame moments in time wherein I was frantically caught up in the moment only to stop and realize “Holy Crap, this is what it’s going to be like!” It was like a glimpse into the future, a future with Delaney and 2 more kids, African kids at that. A little surreal.
I am happy to report that I got the baby to stop crying and managed to entertain older sister. Everyone was happy until Mama Fugee showed back up and baby started crying again at the sight of her. Without one SECOND’S hesitation, she picked him up and threw him on her boob, outright refusing to place him in the strappy cage. Which is probably exactly what I would do in the reverse situation. I couldn’t help but respect her for taking control and telling us to piss off. She’s already doing better in America than she thinks.
Somehow, we ended up with a four year old on our hands. Without even asking, she continued eating and growing and now we have a four year old on our hands. Which, is so incredibly KID-ish, to be four.
When I imagined myself as a Mom, I always saw me with an infant and then I could see me with teenagers (because every teenager likes to envision how much COOLER they will be when THEY are the parent which is SOOOOO much cooler, like, ten TRILLION times cooler). But the whole in-between stuff, I never saw. Basically from 2 years old to 14 years old, I figured I’d wing it. Which, I suppose is what all parents really ever CAN do which is on the contrary to what I envisioned as a Teenager which was that my parents had a PLAN to make my life utterly un-livable. But wisdom will tell you (and I am incredibly wise) that there is hardly ever a plan and if there ever was one, it’s gotten revised and worked over too many times to consider it legible anymore.
I suppose there is beauty in not having a plan from the beginning because then you can’t beat yourself up over not following it. And in that regard, I have succeeded. If there is a category for not following a non-existent plan, I win in that category. I feel I should get a prize for that.
So, considering there was no plan to not follow, she turned out pretty darn great. Not bad for two amateurs who thought having a baby would be cute and fun.
I mean, we’ve gone down the checklist and we feel we have fared fairly well. (I’ve always wanted to say “fared fairly well” and it was just as awesome as I thought it would be). Here’s the checklist.
Says please and thank you. check.
Loves books. check.
Can order a strawberries and cream frappucino. check.
Rides a pink bike with training wheels. check.
Knows her letters and can write her name. check.
Skilled in the ways of toilet-using. check.
Knows all the words to “Fergalicious”. check.
Thinks peanut butter and honey sandwiches are the most delicious things in the world. check.
Calls Bob Dylan “Uncle Bob”. check.
So, I mean, CLEARLY she’s on track here, right?
It’s hard for me to leave the Threes behind. The Threes were good to us. We had a good time, it was a good year. I can’t imagine the Fours being as good to us as the Threes were, but I’m hopeful. I just don’t want her to become all jaded yet. When does that happen? Do four year olds ask to be dropped off a block before the mall?
The year of the Fours. It’s the year she will become a big sister. Little does she know, the year of the Four will be a big year for her. And here’s hoping that we as her parents can continue to wing it another year. As planned.
Well, Disgusting couple had their baby. A beautiful, perfect baby boy. I couldn’t be more happy for them.
As my girlfriends and I sat in the waiting room waiting for Abby to push her kid out, (which, insanely, only took 25 minutes to do) we made each other laugh, reminisced on how long we’ve all been friends, how life changes so fast and how Abby was TOTALLY PUSHING A BABY OUT HER VAJAYJAY RIGHT THEN.
It was a memorable moment, sitting there with best friends in a hospital waiting room while our sweet Abby became a Mom. And in that moment I realized that if I was a semi-finalist in the Miss America pageant and Mario Lopez asked me the on-stage question of “what is my wish for the world”, my answer would be not that every person have a puppy, it would be that every person have friends like mine, to have the experience of having super amazing friends like mine. And I would TOTALLY take the crown with that answer.
I know this is uncharacteristically cheesy of me, but I really cannot imagine a life without friends. Good friends, that is, because it seems everyone has known a few bad ones at one time in their lives. Or maybe you’re the baddy and in that case, you need to watch yourself some Steel Magnolias a few times. I can say with pride that I have no baddy friends, only supportive, uplifting, honest and stubborn friends. I really appreciate that I have them and even more so now because I am learning that this whole having good friends thing? Not so common actually.
I admit that I’m just now noticing this trend. Most people do not actually make friends in the 6th grade and then keep those same friends for 15 years as we have done in our little group of friends. And I suppose I have always taken that a bit for granted.
I don’t remember all that much from middle school, truthfully. I remember I was new, a little nerdy and desperately eager for people to like me. I don’t know when it officially started happening but before I knew it, I was making people laugh. All different kinds of people not just the usual Mormon kid crowd that I was accustomed to. I was amazed. I wasn’t intimidated by the cool kids. I could make the cool kids laugh.
Before I knew it, I was hanging out with the VERY kids that were cool that I have just spoken of. First at school, then magically and gradually, places outside of school. And eventually I was at their houses and eating their food. While still making them laugh. I was like a National Geographic Field-Study Journalist. I watched, I listened, I took notes, I assimilated myself among their species. And the cool kids? They TOTALLY pick bugs off each other’s backs and eat them like Gorillas do.
I remember one day, Erica called me. She was basically Grand Master of the Cool Kids so I was pretty stoked. I’m not sure if all the other girls were busy or if their pagers were off or what, but she asked ME (of all people) if I’d come over and talk. She was going through a God-awful, middle school break up and was wrought with agony as the end of her life was nigh. She, amazingly and courageously pulled through that devastating night. And I left feeling like I had just made a friend. She let me see her real side, her raw side. Her guts.
Soon after, the other girls spilled their guts too. There were guts all over the place. I saw Soandso’s NEAR MURDER at the hands of her twin sister. Soandso had a seven member family living in a 2 bedroom home. Soandso had Dad issues. Soandso had body image issues. The guts were bloated and stinky and twisted and we shared them with each other. At some point during the gut-spilling, I stopped seeing them as the cool kids. They were my friends, real live real friends.
Those friends and I stayed friends throughout high school. Throughout the boyfriend drama, the gossiping, the parties, the bridge-jumping and the Western Idaho Fair fights (lest you forgot I grew up in Boise Idaho). I know that talking about high school for some people is like inflicting a mass trauma head wound because for some people, it was THAT BAD, but (and I know this may make some of you hurl) for me high school was a breeze. And I know it was because I had these friends.
After high school, I did something I still regret. I wrote off the friends. I left for a long time and it looked as though they would never hear from me again. Truthfully, that was my intention. Not that they did anything to deserve this treatment. What happened was, I was yo-yo-ing. First, I tried my hand at the big bad city of Los Angeles and got my butt kicked. Then I got scared and ran the OPPOSITE direction back into a Mormon church. And feeling safe again, I decided I would stay there. So I wrote off anyone who wasn’t Mormon and that included pretty much my whole entire group of friends. This embarrassing chapter lasted 2 years. I missed out on a LOT during those crucial college years, let me tell you.
After about a year of marriage I casually mentioned to Mike that I wanted my friends back. The whole marriage thing was fun, but it didn’t replace my need for my girlfriends in my life.
Obviously, they took me back. This would be some bummer of a story if they didn’t, I would guess. And ever since we have lived happily ever after. But the After now includes Husbands, kids, jobs and mortgages instead of matching necklaces and tape mixes. Although I still think I have those somewhere.
So, Mario Lopez, my wish for the world is that everyone have those kinds of friends. The ones that share guts with you, give you second chances, make you laugh and most of all, tell you when you are acting like a complete schmo. (applause here)
It seems the longer we wait for our referral, the more drastic my hair will become.
Please be nice. I have lost all self control, CAN’T YOU SEE THAT?!?
I do like it. And for a few days, at least, if I want to think about something else besides our adoption wait, I can look in the mirror and think “something happened to my hair” instead. Which is actually LOADS more entertaining than my daily inner monologue as of late.
Just to give you an idea, this is what goes on everyday inside the command center of the Battle Station:
How much longer. HOW MUCH LONGER!?! I wonder if anyone got their referral today. I bet there were, like, TWENTY referrals today! I’ll check my email. Hmmm, no referrals. I’ll check again. Hmmm, still no referrals. Maybe now. Nope. Now? No. Now. No. Now. No…… I’ll check again in a few minutes.
And that right there, folks, is a readers digest version of what it’s like to wait for a referral. Which we have been doing for 7 months now.
But enough about that, what do you think of my HAIR?!
Oh and I almost forgot! THANK YOU for the comments on the last post. I am writing the other Mother a note to thank her for her note. And I loved the suggestions to talk it out with Delaney next time instead of making her repeat “ego chants” and then going on a wild witch hunt. You guys sure are good about thinking about stuff. (That last sentence was supposed to be said with a country drawl). Here’s an interhug for you. And if you all ever need advice on how to handle a tough situation involving, say, your tivo. You just let me know. I am THERE. There for YOU.
Speaking of Tivo. Off to watch American Idol. YAY! Adoption wait? What?
I have no brilliant lead in for this and no clever way to build up, so I’m just going to say it.
Some little devil child at Delaney’s new preschool told her she was “ugly and didn’t belong in class.”
*sigh* It breaks my heart every time I talk about this.
I’m curious as to how you all would have handled this situation and if you think I acted A. Like a level-headed, protective Mother or B. Like a rabid screaming Banshee. Because, this is the first time anything remotely close to this has happened to my child and let’s get one thing straight. Delaney, my child Delaney? Is no Ugly.
See?
So, where were we? Ah, yes. The devil child.
Mike picked DeeDee up from school and the VERY first thing she said was that “another girl said I was ugly and didn’t belong in class.” Which, kids make stuff up all the time, but this, this she did not make up. My child would not concoct this sentence up in her 3 year old mind. Dora would NEVER say someone was ugly - and that is how Delaney rationalizes things in her life. What Would Dora Do?
Well Mike did what any loving parent would do and pulled the minivan over to the side of the road and proceeded to tell our wee offspring that she is SO beautiful, SO smart, SO nice and SO BELONGS IN CLASS. This, apparently, went on for the entire drive home because my Psychologist Mother always told us that it takes 10 put-ups for every put-down to rebuild self esteem. And well, Mike didn’t just want her self esteem level back to where it was that morning before preschool, he wanted it at record levels, the best ANYONE has EVER felt about themselves EVER.
After 20 or so minutes of making her repeat self-affirmations, Mike called me.
“Are you sitting down?”
“Why?”
“Some little turd-girl called our child U.G.L.Y. at school today”
“GGGGGAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSPPPPPPPP!”
“AND told her that she didn’t B.E.L.O.N.G. in C.L.A.S.S.”
“…..(trying to mentally spell out the words)….. GGGGGAAAAASSSSSSSPPPPPP!”
“I know.”
“WHAT DID YOU DO!”
“Well, I’ve been telling her over and over again how beautiful, smart and nice she is” (I can hear a little voice in the back saying “I’m a NICE girl!”)
“That’s it!”
“Well, what was I supposed to do?”
“I’ve got to go”
“What are you doing?”
“Calling the school. Bye.”
And I did. I left a very nice message asking if one of Delaney’s teachers could call me back, I would like to know if anyone saw this happen and if anything was done to remedy the situation (ie: PLEASE TELL ME SOMEONE BODY SLAMMED THAT OTHER LITTLE COCKROACH OF A CHILD TO THE GROUND). And I am pleased to announce that the Principal called me back after only 15 minutes, fifteen minutes of marathon pacing across my living room, and that yes, she TOTALLY DID body slam the cockroach to the floor.
Kidding.
The Principal was very nice, very professional. She mentioned several times what a joy Delaney is in class and how thrilled they are to have her in their school, yada yada yada gettothegoodstuff. DeeDee’s Teacher did see this unfortunate exchange of words take place and promptly pulled this other little girl to the side and told her that we don’t speak this way and the things she said were not nice and unacceptable things to say. I was relieved to hear this, not that it changed anything or undid the damage to my daughter’s sweet heart, but it did make me feel better. And to the Principals credit, she remained professional and would not give up a name (I tried) (Oh please, you know you would have wanted to find out where this girl lives too). The call ended with her assuring me that they will keep an eye on this other girl to make sure it doesn’t happen again and that this kind of behavior is not tolerated at their school. It sounds like a cult, but really, it’s a great place. Don’t judge me all you brilliant, patient homeschooling Moms.
The kicker of the whole story is that the other day when I dropped Delaney off at school, her Teacher handed me a card. The card said
“I was deeply saddened to hear of the unkind words my child has decided to use. I apologize for the hurt and anguish this has caused your child. I am continually working on loving words for my daughter to use and I hope that your child hears some of those words next time.”
And she signed her full name.
Then I felt bad for making such a big deal about it. Kids are kids. Kids are dumb. They don’t even know what they are saying half of the time and I’m sure that this other little cockroach girl has older cockroach brothers or learned it on TV. I’m sure cockroach girl has nice cockroach parents that were really embarrassed by the whole thing. As I would be MORTIFIED if I learned my kid said those words. My Psychologist Mother would have washed my mouth out with soap. Which, by the way, does anyone do that anymore? Is that against the law now?
So. Let’s have it. Did I over-react? Should I write a nice letter back to this other Mom? I’d hate for her to continue being all Opus Dei about it. Thoughts please Internet. Thoughts.
My natural tendency is to horde all secret discoveries and fabulous bits of info to myself, I will tell you this. It’s because I am the oldest child and never REALLY came to accept the fact that I had to share. But, I am sharing today. We’ll call it “share day” (like at DeeDee’s preschool) here at the Battle Station.
First. You all wanted to know where I got the fabulous silhouette pendant for my sister. Fine. If you MUST know. I got it at Lucky Me Beads. Okay?
I love discovering new, awesome blogs to stalk. Betina’s at B-Happy is no exception. Go, become addicted, use me for my linkage.
Speaking of awesome blogs. Jess, one of my favorite writers, has written an insightful and honest post called “What it’s like to be fat.” She’s a master of words, I’m telling you.
In other news. I have found the purpose of life. THIS is it, this is why we are all here on earth. Don’t say I never gave you anything……
This guy has found his own purpose in life. Mike found this and thought it was the coolest thing ever and is now trying to communicate with me SOLELY using daft hands. Which is, needless to say, really awesome. I told him all he needs to write on each finger is “It’s” “My” “Fault” and we’re good to go. But, without further ado, I present to you daft hands: If you’ve ever heard the Kanya West song “Stronger”, this is the old school Techno song in the background.
And I know that after watching that, you’ll now want to save the planet. Well, let me help you do that Internets. Use Gdiapers and feel better about not throwing away 500 diapers a day that will take 500 years each to biodegrade.
There’s my Friday Linky Love for ya’ll. I hope you enjoyed share day here at the Battle Station. Come again now, ya hear?
