Author Archives: So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

About So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

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I'm a bookworm, nature lover, kick-boxer, candy fiend, sci fi geek, home body, progressive Christian and part-time student. I love my crazy life and the messy, fun, stubborn, silly, brilliant people who populate it.
May 28, 2012

Obnoxious, Thy Name is Mommy

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m pretty sure it’s time for me to start meeting new people. Oh, there’s nothing wrong with the ones I know, but most likely I’m getting on their nerves. Or very soon will.

The problem is, they’ve seen them. The pictures of my son. More than once. But I can’t help but think they should want to see again. We aren’t allowed to post them online so we are forced to disseminate these amazing images the old-fashioned way.

I showed the waitress at Red Robin.

I showed every staff member at school.

I whipped out my iPhone at church, at school, in waiting rooms, the dance show and even the grocery store.

“Have you ever seen a more adorable child than this… my new son?”

I can’t help it. I’m excited! After all, I am an expectant mom!

Unfortunately, that cute belly is just last nights Habanero and Lime Tortilla chips (far too delicious for my good). And I would rather you didn’t rub it, thank you very much. The glow = a new moisturizer I picked up for the summer (SPF 15, tinted for fair skin). The emotional outbursts… well, I can’t blame hormones (much), but it certainly seems to be part of the process.

Does this need I have to show him off demonstrate an unhealthy narcissism?

Possibly. I’m often embarrassed by the attention. Yet I still feel the need to talk about him, read and reread every document in his file, relive every minute with him, and show him off to the world.

Perhaps it’s a way of coping with a very sudden and somewhat unnatural family addition. We missed all of it: the pregnancy, the birth day, the cooing over a sweet newborn… We’re trying to catch up on missed years.

Most of all, it is a way to claim him as my own. Every time I say it out loud I confirm to the world, and myself, that he belongs with us: MY son. I’m trying to stop acting like the world, and the foster family, and the social workers are doing me a favour by letting me have him. I AM his Mom, and I am entitled to be.

I spend a lot of time feeling insecure and awkward, something I haven’t associated with parenting since that very first solo bath with my eldest child.

It’s difficult to “visit” my own child; to try to get to know him as he eyes me warily from across the room. So I try too hard and I fumble my way through familiar stories and every song or finger play seems SO very important and I probably am doing just fine but I question myself at every step and I hate to leave and I’m worried about stupid things and I’m kind of a neurotic mess… But then he gives me that huge grin and it seems like nothing.

And he loves his Daddy already! Reaching out for him, snuggling on his lap, following him down the hallway and waiting outside the bathroom door until he’s done. The feeling is quite mutual, and the two of them just laugh at nanny and foster mom and I for getting all teary and sappy about it.

Already with the eye rolling. “Girls…” Daddy shrugs. He’s just glad to finally have a compadre.

Don’t worry, I took some pictures. And a video. If you see me on the street I’ll be happy to show it to you. And to the neighbors. And the speech therapist. And for the first time I look forward to the J.W.’s knocking on our door.

So, thank you world for confirming it to me. That he is adorable (he really is). That he is precious. That he is mine.

So here’s me, and apparently my new catch phrase is “awww!” Hoping to bring him home for good in a couple of weeks…

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in adoption, parenting

May 24, 2012

P.S. Did I Mention…

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I have a terrible sense of direction. Even in familiar situations, I can get completely turned around. I can handle “Left” and “Right”, but if you try to tell me “East” or “West” it makes me laugh.

You may as well be speaking Mermish.

Once I picked a friend up from the train, got distracted talking, and turned the wrong way onto the highway. In my defense, it had been a long time since I’d seen him and we were having a Great Discussion. After 1 1/2 hours I realized that we should have been home by now; we had to turn around and didn’t get home until 3 hours later.

I’ve adapted. I am quick to ask for directions. I leave a little extra “getting lost” time when I go to a new place. I don’t panic, just calmly turn around again, and again, and again, until I finally get where I’m going. Or call Glen in tears, cursing the creators of GPS and the idiots at Mapquest, when I’m mostly just mad at myself.

We all have abilities AND disabilities. Some are more obvious than others, but everyone has both. There is no perfect human specimen (and if there was, who would want to be around such an obnoxious know-it-all?). We all try to maximize our strengths and struggle through our weaknesses. And often it is our struggles which form the Very Best Part of who we are. God likes to use our DISabilities most of all.

Our children are the same. We love them for Who They Are, not What They Can Do. In fact, their disabilities are part of their unique make up. And while we wish life were easier, we love even those parts too.

All our children have Special Needs.

L needs to be reminded to let things go, to take risks and to quit bugging her sister.

C needs help to regulate her emotions, to behave selflessly and to not let her sister bug her.

B takes longer to learn new things, has low muscle tone and a speech delay (aka – Down Syndrome).

S was born 3 months early, he has a rare genetic syndrome and a moderate hearing loss.

The truth is, we don’t know the extent of our new son’s special needs, but he does have them. We haven’t spoken about them to many people, because, to us, they are beside the point.

Oh, I know they will very much affect our lives. We have researched and continue to do so. He is doing AMAZINGLY WELL so far; his developmental assessments use words like “surprising” and “remarkable”, especially about his cognitive abilities. But he will have learning disabilities his whole life. He will take a longer to catch up in milestones. He may never be “just like everyone else.”

But so what?

He is our son and that is the most SPECIAL thing about him.

If you are person who prays, please pray for our boy tomorrow. He is having surgery on his skull. They assure us that this is a fairly common procedure with quick recovery time, but it is still upsetting. Especially since we can’t be there with him every step of the way. He needs familiar people around him and, as much as we love him already, we are strangers.

So here’s me, praying.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in adoption, special needs

May 22, 2012

Oh Happy Day!

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

It’s never taken me this long to figure out what to say. Ask anyone who knows me: I am rarely at a loss for words. Possibly never… until today.

There are no words. Just love, love, love…

Seeing my best friend at the end of the aisle.

Hearing my daughter’s cry for the first time.

Watching the new big sister put a gentle kiss on the baby’s head.

Celebrating those very first steps after years of physical therapy.

Holding my son in my arms for the first time!

We come bearing gifts. Not just for S, but for his 6-year-old foster-sister. They wave to us from the window. Be cool. Be cool. It’s a bizarre blind date. Please, please God make him like me!

We hug foster mom and then meet his nanny, a lovely woman who has been with him all his life. We sit around the living room while he hides his face in her neck, peeking out at us with a little grin.

He is leery of us at first, especially the noisy little girl who seems determined to hog the spotlight. He pulls out the book we had given him last week, the one with pictures of our house and each one of us. I wonder if he recognizes us?

Small talk, trying not to stare like a creepy stalker, getting to know the sweet family who was raising my son and keeping my hands to myself. Be cool. Be cool.

I will be content with the smiles. I will be content from a distance. I will not overwhelm this shy little man.

We play a game of ball – rolling it between all the sisters and parents – new and old. A strange kind of family. There is nothing natural about this situation, but it is not as awkward as I expected. We all love him. We all want what is best. And they are so welcoming to us. Even when B starts up with the tantrums.

Oh no! Not today, of all days! But that is the reason, I’m sure. She knows that changes are afoot. We have pictures of him everywhere. We set up his room yesterday. We talk about the new baby brother daily. And now we bring her into this strange situation, so many new people, each of us keyed up and excited. About someone else. Unacceptable to the one we sometimes tease is “Queen of the Universe.”

As the afternoon wears on, the kids begin to play more freely, talking amongst themselves, wandering from room to room. B and S have a few very sweet moments. We even catch some on film. And our little guy pushes the stroller all around the room, beaming at everyone. He has a smile that lights up the room.

He literally throws himself across the room, looking to all the world as if he is going to pitch right over, but miraculously staying upright. He moves faster than he should, an unsteady, almost drunken gait, each step fueled by pure determination. He buzzes around like a happy little bumble bee, checking in with his Foster Mom from time to time, touching her face, sitting on her lap, then back into the fray.

He chatters constantly. Occasionally there is a word we can understand – usually “ball.” He reminds me of the Swedish chef from the Muppets. So much to say. Such a happy boy.

But he doesn’t have ANY trouble making himself understood. B helped L make banana muffins this morning and they are a big hit. He eats everything put in front of him and demands more. After three picky eaters, this is a revelation. I can live like this.

Naturally, B says “No” to every question, insisting she does NOT want to eat, but clearly dying to. Sometimes her words express her feelings and not her wishes. At one point I end up taking her to a room on her own. We listen to some music, play just the two of us… the lovely nanny steps in to play with her so I can join the rest. Attention is attention. She is happy again.

Foster-sister has “helped” S make a picture for me. It has my name and several x’s and o’s. Some may see a scribble on a scrap of cardboard, but it looks like a masterpiece to me! I’m pretty fond of that kid too! I think we’ll adopt the lot of them.

All the kids find their way to the bedroom, bouncing a balloon between them. S plays with each of the girls. He lets C pick him up and carry him around. He holds L’s hand. When it is time to go, he joins the crowd by the front door.

I’m pretty sure the puddles and the Great Outdoors are the biggest draw, but we’ll take it. He lets Glen pick him up and hold him for pictures, while we get our shoes on. I am closest to the door. He leans over and jumps into my arms.

I was going to be content with smiles. I was going to be content just to see him. So holding him is such a gift!

He stays quite happily in my arms while we put his coat on and make our way outside. When we put him down he grabs my hand and we walk around the garden, splashing in puddles along the way.

It is so hard to say goodbye.

But I get to see him again tomorrow. So, I’ll reset my countdown clock right now.

This gospel song has been looping through my head today. Celebration. Grace. A gift we can never earn, but can’t live without. It seems appropriate.

So here’s me, happy.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in adoption

May 17, 2012

Friday Favourites: Adoption

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m busy on Monday afternoon. Just in case you wanted to hang out, or needed help moving a sofa, or something. I’ll be busy.

I’ll be meeting my son for the first time!

App

Thanks to my T-Zero app I am able to report that we will be meeting him in:

2 days, 23 hours, 45 minutes and 52 seconds…ish

 It is possible that keeping a running countdown on my iPhone is a BIT over the top, but Life Changing Moments don’t come around everyday. He’s a bit shy and has stranger anxiety, so I’m practicing my calm, cool, non-traumatizing faces in the mirror.

Song

When B was born, it was 3 weeks before we were able to bring her home. Glen and I took turns sitting by her incubator, and eventually, snuggling her and her many tubes. There were so many big worries on our plate: Down Syndrome, a leukemia scare, muscle tone, feeding difficulties, but the one that seemed to matter most was, GETTING HER HOME! It was so hard to leave her at all. This song was on the radio all the time those days. I used to sing it to her under my breath and imagine smuggling her out with me.

These days I have the song on repeat again.

Book

As we ALL prepare for a big change I have been on the lookout for “Big Sister” books to read with B. It has been surprisingly difficult to find preschool level books which work for our situation. There is no baby in my tummy, we are bringing home a toddler, not an infant AND we are not going to a far away country to do it. Apparently, we’re not a big demographic.

I was thrilled to find On Mothers Lap. It is a great sibling book about a parent’s expansive love. We read it while we rock “back and forth, back and forth” on the rocking chair Glen bought me for Mother’s Day. The final line of this simple story says it all: “there is always room on Mother’s lap.”

Blog

More than just an adoption advocate, Kristen of Rage Against The Minivan is both funny and challenging, with a huge range of guest posts about every topic under the sun. I feel like I actually KNOW her family, who are awesome, even though I’ve never met them. When I first read her Form Letter Apology I knew we were kindred spirits.

Also, she is one of the creators of the Pintrest You Are Drunk board, which is one of the reasons I get SUCKED in time after time. So there’s that.

Genius

Honestly, this one has nothing to do with adoption. But it makes me smile. And hug my kids. And shrug my shoulders about my own “struggles.” It’s an old 60 Minutes segment about an amazing musician, who is also happens to be blind and developmentally delayed. I’m not sure what is more inspiring, his musical genius or his sweet personality.

Definitely, his personality!

Quote 

One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a long time.

~Unknown

So here’s me, T minus 2 days, 23 hours, 23 minutes and 6 seconds until we set eyes on a new land.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in favourites

May 17, 2012

The Great Root Beer Debacle

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I realize that this blog has gotten pretty schmaltzy lately. All misty-eyed posts about my sweet, soon-to-be baby boy and the miracle of adoption… That’s bound to continue, so brace yourself. But today I will share a not-so-sentimental moment in my day.

It was supposed to be a special treat. C picked out pop for our Mother’s Day picnic: a 12 pack of Vanilla Root Beer Float. Yes, it was every bit as sweet and disgusting as you are imagining, and I LIKE root beer. But the kids were thrilled. And halfway to sugar coma by the end of a can. And prepared to crown Dad the shopping King of the Universe.

The real problem was finding a place to keep the rest of the case. We never seem to have quite enough shelf space in the kitchen. As I played pantry jenga to find a spot, disaster struck!

I lifted the box above my head and started pushing it onto the top shelf, when the box broke. One by one the cans fell down, hit me in the head (ouch) and hurtled to the ground. As they hit the floor, several burst open, skittering around the entire room, spraying root beer everywhere. All over the floor, the cupboards, the walls, the ceiling, and yes, me!

My children have never moved up the stairs so quickly. Apparently “Girls, dinner’s ready!” does not have the same draw as “Aaaaaaahhhhhhh! Noooooooooooooo!”

As I stood there covered in a sticky film, looking at my white floors and cupboards, now speckled biege, with a small sea of soda in the corner, I had two choices: laugh or cry.

I did both.

My children simply laughed until they cried. In the end, I’m pretty sure they cried only because all but one of the cans of root beer were wasted.

Perhaps this is housekeeping karma coming to collect. I don’t wash my floors nearly often enough. I had to mop the kitchen three times to eliminate the tackiness (in retrospect, the steam mop was a bad idea – it just evenly distributed the sticky).

At this point, I generally insert a “moral of the story” here. Something profound and spiritually meaningful. Today, I’ve got nothing.

Into every life, a little root beer must fall.

So here’s me, realizing that root beer isn’t as great for the skin as you might think. I now have a rash on my legs. I’m itchy, I’m tired and my kitchen is STILL sticky. But it’s a good story, and I’m always in the market for one of those.

Do you have a good story of things gone terribly wrong? I’m eager to share the misery…

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in home-making

May 15, 2012

Painting the Pink Room Green

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

She had her sulky face on. This is how it started. Petulant frown – check. Furrowed brow – check. Disgusted sneer – check.

Don’t ask me how she manages to sneer AND frown at the same time. It’s a natural talent. Thanks so much hereditary traits (yes, Glen, I’m looking at you).

“But it’s too crowded already…”

“We’re MUCH too busy…”

“But that is MY room…” (nevermind that she has been living in her NEW room for almost a year)

Then the kicker:

“Riley says that little brothers are a pain.”

And what do I know compared with Riley? Nine-year-old wisdom is unassailable… to other nine-year-olds, anyway. At the end of each conversation, she would grudgingly concede that maybe, just maybe mind you, it might be okay to have a little brother. She was willing to tolerate the situation, but wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.

Different words, different excuses, but each one a tentacle of the same monster. The I-Don’t-Like-Change-a-Saurus has been stalking our family for many years.

How We Feel About Change

She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t want it. And she sure as heck is not going to enjoy it.

Five-plus years after our move, her face still morphs into a mulish expression when we discuss the topic. It doesn’t matter that she LOVES her new room. Regardless of the fact that her BFF lives only 3 houses down. Completely overlooking the huge backyard and playroom. “I liked my old house. I don’t know why we had to move.”

She cried for weeks when we bought a new van (I did too, but mine were tears of joy and relief).

She orders exactly the same thing each time at the restaurants we frequent. Kraft Dinner at White Spot, really?! I can barely stand to allow it. But she likes what she likes, and frankly, it’s not worth the fight.

I knew this adoption would be hard for her to accept. Even a good change, but especially a challenging one is a hard pill for her to swallow. I knew, because she comes by it honestly. She is cut from the same cloth as her Dad, though he orders the burger platter with a ceasar salad. And, I’m not going to lie, I’m part of the club too (orange beef stir-fry, in case you were wondering).

She inherited a double dose of stuck-in-a-rut-itis. It’s hard to explain the angst and discomfort of change to you who fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, taking life as it comes with a smile of your face. You may wonder, “Why would he fish those raggedy old boxers out of the trash?” or “How come she chooses to stay home and sort laundry instead of joining an impromptu dinner party?”

Because there is nothing as comfortable as what we know. And what we expect. And what we’ve done a thousand times before.

That shiny new thing may be better: more fun, more interesting, more tasty, less drafty, even more life-affirming, but it is NEW, and there is nothing scarier than that.

What Made All the Difference

So, how did we turn it around? What was the twist that unlocked her sense of adventure? How did we get to the place where she is now: proudly displaying pictures of her new brother to everyone she meets, pestering us to find out when we can finally meet him and scrounging through the toy box to find the perfect stuffed monkey?

CONTROL

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. If change is frightening, control is soothing. She needed to be in charge of something, so this change would be HER choice, HER endeavor, and suddenly, HER adventure.

When Glen left on business a few weeks ago, he told us that we should paint the pink room. At the time it was a step of faith, trusting that this adoption would continue to move forward. Inching our way toward bringing him home.

I decided to turn the project over to the girls. A friend took B for the day and we set out on our mission. They were calling the shots.

First step: suss out the situation. I introduced them to a little obsession I like to call “Pintrest”. Before long, I had two opinionated interior designers debating the merits of blue vs. green. We discussed the concept of neutrals, but they discarded that ridiculous idea immediately (apparently it is not a concept that either 9 or 11-year-old girls embrace readily). They nodded their heads sagely as we discussed the need to decorate in increments – let him come home to a simple, uncluttered space and we will add to it over time.

We read through every e-mail from Foster Mom. He is a busy boy; he loves to climb and is into everything. He loves nature walks and playing outside in the dirt. And so, the concept of a jungle room was born.

When our little neighbour, the third member of their 3 Musketeers, came over with a dossier of ideas she had printed up, the ball really got rolling. Seeing how excited her friend was worked wonders for C’s enthusiasm.

Before I knew it, I found myself in an empty room with a full can of paint and three eager, though inexperienced, helpers. I’m not usually one to hand a loaded paint roller over to a 9-year-old (not even one with 10 and 11-year-old cheerleaders to advise her). But this was IMPORTANT. It was their first act as big sisters.

I wrote this in my journal that night:

Dear Little Brother

Your sisters painted the pink room green today. They looked at every single paint chip in Home Depot and picked this colour especially for you. They sorted through all the stuffies we own to find “jungle animals” for you to play with. And they set aside a few special ones that they knew you just HAD to have. Because all the babies in our family have had them.

They painted your room themselves, with help from our neighbour-friend P (who spends so much time with us she’s part of the family too). There were a few spills. There are more than a few touch-ups needed. And it doesn’t look exactly perfect.

Except it is. Because they did it for you. They were so careful. And they worked hard all day long. Your big sisters love you already and they can’t wait to show you your new room!

So here’s me, pretty sure that this blotchy green paint job is the best one I’ve ever seen.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in adoption, parenting

May 11, 2012

Friday Favourites: Celebrate Mother’s Day!

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Mother’s Day is a big deal for us right now. We made our upcoming adoption official and public just yesterday. And now we have 4 adorable photos of our new son to moon over. JUST in time for the big day! Everything is coming up Christie.

Quote

There is no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one.

~Jill Churchill

Mothers

I have many good mothers to thank for the part they play in my life. Not perfect, but in the messiness of life they are doing the best they can. And for that I am grateful!

Here are a few of the lessons they have taught me along the way…

  • Thank you Mom – for your unflagging optimism. You’ve taught me to have faith.
  • Thank you Grandma – for your passion for our heritage. You’ve taught me the value of story.
  • Thank you Mom-in-law – for your generosity. You’ve taught me to give lavishly.
  • Thank you Grandma-in-law – for your kindness. You’ve taught me to be gentle with people.
  • Thank you StepMom-in-law – for your strength. You’ve taught me to advocate for the ones I love.
  • Thank you Foster Mom – for your devotion to children. You are teaching me about sacrificial love.
  • Thank you Birth Mom – for your love and effort. You are on my mind most of all right now. I can’t imagine how difficult this day will be for you. Regardless of everything else that has happened in your life, you truly wanted to do right by S. You gave our son life, and that’s the best gift of all!

Video

This one makes me so sad that my Mom doesn’t live closer by, so that I can explain Skype and web cameras to her, again.

Music Video

If you can hang in there through the 2 brats hurling verbal abuse at one another, you will reach the prize. The prize being Mr.T in tube socks and short shorts doing a rap about Mothers.

You’re welcome.

Infographic

Everything you ever wanted to know about Mother’s Day… and then some, to be honest.

Brought to you by: http://www.ultimatecoupons.com/blog/2011/05/everything-you-ever-wanted-to-know-about-mothers-day-infographic/

So here’s me, thankful for all the good moms in my life. And frankly, kind of relieved that we’re, none of us, expected to be perfect.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , | posted in favourites, holiday

May 10, 2012

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Today I hid behind a rack of ugly drapes in the thrift store and wept. Not because I found a brand new Gap rain coat in L’s size for only $5.99. Well, not only that.

Today I saw a picture of my son for the first time.

It was a beautiful sight!

Obviously, this is not one of the actual pictures of S.
We are adopting through foster care
and are unable to post any pictures online.

My Little Possibility is coming home next month! He is 1 1/2 years old. And he is the one we’ve been waiting for.

Clearly, he will fit right in. Just like all my other children, he is insanely adorable! It is clear to me why they would NOT let us see a picture until we had finalized our decision. His huge smile and bright eyes are irresistible!

We were open to children of any race and prepared to throw ourselves into the fray of inter-racial politics and soothe the heartache of a child who “looks” adopted. But he looks just like us. He has the same colour hair as his sisters. The same colour eyes as his Dad – his new Dad, that is.

I can’t help but feel relieved that the only time it will be obvious to others that he is adopted will be the innate talents and personality traits that we clearly can’t take credit for (for example, great mechanical skill or a love of rap music). It’s just so much easier this way. Another part of me wants to declare to the world that we are part of this confusing, bittersweet, but miraculous world of adoption.

We took the family out for dinner. With plates and real silverware… super fancy for our crowd. They were so excited to see him for the first time, immediately asking to text the picture to friends and get copies to put up in their room. The people in the table behind us were not-so-subtly eavesdropping on our excited discussion, so I made sure to hold the picture up high enough for them to take a peek. It’s pretty exciting – of course the public is interested.

Then, over nachos and hamburgers, we discussed the name issue.

Long ago we decided to leave our adopted child’s name as it was. I totally understand why some people do not, but we felt that it is just one more change for a toddler who has established their identity. Also, it is one of the only things birth parents can give to their child and we want to respect that. I was bracing myself for something wretched or bizarre. What if it was “Albert”, like that kid in grade 1 who used to chew erasers and then stick them in people’s ears? Or poorly thought out like “Debree”, which sounds pretty until you realize it is also the word for garbage?

Fortunately, his first name is perfect for our family and we love it!

But we will add to it; so tonight we picked out a middle name. Still honouring his roots with the first name his birth Mom gave him, but claiming him as our own by adding a special family name. His middle name will be the same as Glen’s and his Dad’s; the first name of both my Dad and Glen’s grandfather. There will be no escape – he will be part of us, too. “S. William”

I immediately put his picture in the place of highest honour – the home screen of my iPhone. And I have spent the better part of the day staring at it. And showing everyone I meet.

This is my son.

So here’s me… Happy Mother’s Day to me!

13 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in adoption

May 8, 2012

Waiting is a Baked Potato

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Last month was an ordeal. Our microwave broke… again.

There was weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth.

I told my husband to suck it up and be a man.

Poor Glen. This is our third microwave. Not the sitting-in-the-middle-of-the-counter, edges-encrusted-in-crumbs, easy-to-replace version. Oh no, not us; we have the fancy schmancy over-the-stove-top-built-in-hood-fan model. Which requires a tricky installation, risking the sanity and daily bliss of anyone who is not married to Bob the Builder.

Glen the Good-at-Everything-Else had trouble facing ANOTHER installation debacle, and who can blame him? In fact, this microwave had been installed amidst many not-suitable-for-young-children outbursts only 7 months ago. Which is when we realized that it fell into that glorious category: Not Our Problem Due To Warranty!

Except it still was our problem, since we had to track down receipts, visit Home Depot, fax the documents to the manufacturer, connect with a local repair company, book a visit, and then wait 3-weeks-to-forever for the necessary parts.

In the meantime, we found ourselves in the dark ages of food preparation. Not a good place for our family. How to defrost? How to reheat leftovers? How to make popcorn in under 2 minutes?

Never have I been more cognizant of the fact that my culinary life revolves around fast and easy. The most glaring difficulty was my almost daily lunch option – the nuked potato. Throw it in the mic, add some veggies and a bit of meat – et voila, my favourite meal. There is no fast or easy way to cook a whole potato without a microwave.

In the meantime, we were wading hip deep in adoption angst. We’ve found a child we very much want to adopt. The social worker is on board. His foster mom is on board. The guy at the checkout in Safeway seemed to think it was a good idea.

We had asked the questions, heard the stories, explored the issues… We poured over every e-mail and revisited phone conversations late at night in bed. We have prayed about it. We have discussed it as a family. We have painted the pink room green. We’ve figured out a timetable for the transition. We’ve adjusted our plans for the summer.

But, there is no fast and easy way to adopt a child. Social services is not a microwave-esque industry. Nor should it be. The paperwork has been held up a number of times. Glen had a business trip. Meetings are hard to schedule. There are more questions to be asked and even more stories to be heard. And we can’t even see a picture of him, until everything is official.

So, his other family is tucking him into bed at night and singing him songs and teaching him all the important little lessons a toddler learns each day: how to hold his fork, how to pet a dog gently, and a thousand other things I can jealously imagine. And it feels like we are missing out. I’ve never met him. But I miss him.

In the meantime, I discovered something amazing. Potatoes baked in the oven for a long time are the BEST! I suppose I always knew that. I imagined my Mom was just a better cook and Wendy’s had a magical potato machine. Despite the wait, the crispy outer skin and the soft, even, potato-y goodness of a truly baked potato is SO much better than one nuked in the microwave.

How often are the most important things in life easy and convenient? Things like love, and learning, and parenting… They require something of us. Some patience. Some commitment. Some risk.

And maybe it won’t turn out just right. When I throw something in the microwave and it bombs, it’s easy to scrap it and start again. But where I have invested myself in a wait… there is no easy out.

In the meantime, I am learning that waiting is not such a bad place to be. I had braced myself for a great deal of frustration during the uncertainty. And I’ll admit, it’s not easy, but it’s not the waste of time that I had imagined.

Our pastor gave a sermon about “Waiting” just last week. It’s a powerful spiritual concept. Because this time between what is and what is promised is important. It is a time to learn, to trust, to prepare and to dream. And I’m better for it.

But those who WAIT/HOPE/TRUST in the Lord will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,

they will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:31 (from Msg/NIV/NLT)

Waiting is a Baked Potato. No shortcuts. No quick and easy. No fast forwarding the process. But worth it in the end.

So here’s me, in the meantime. Turns out, that’s not a bad place to be.

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May 7, 2012

Smurfette the Superhero

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

First of all, I loved the movie! The Avengers is delicious sci-fi candy for a dork like me. As always, Joss Whedon delivers.

I especially liked Scarlett Johansen’s character “Black Widow”. She is tough and smart and she saves the day just as often as her male counterparts. I walked out of the movie excited that they had included a female superhero in the line up – a very rare thing.

By the time I reached my car, I was annoyed at myself, for being so pathetically grateful to be represented at all. The sixth movie in this series and the first one with a female hero, well, one of six heroes anyway.

I had been explaining the “Smurfette Principle” to my daughters just last week. Essentially, it describes the tendency in media to assemble a cast of male characters with one token female, usually the love interest or sexy sidekick.

If outsiders were to look to Hollywood to understand our society, they would be unlikely to believe that women make up MORE than 50% of the population. That’s right men, we outnumber you. But a trip to the theatre does not reflect that.

I recently heard about something called the Bechdel test. In order to pass, a movie must have:

  • 2 female characters
  • with names
  • who speak to each other for at least 30 seconds
  • about something other than a man

Honestly, this is not asking much; half a minute of dialogue in an entire movie. Hardly the framework for a raging feminist flick. But the puny number of movies which actually pass this will BLOW YOUR MIND!

It doesn’t mean much in and of itself; it doesn’t measure whether it is a good movie, or even respectful of women. But it does make you think about the representation of women in media.

In movie world, it seems that women’s lives often revolve entirely around men. We exist only as the prize; the prop for smarter, more interesting and more important characters. You know, the men.

They say media reflects real life, but it also influences it. I fear that all of us, men and women, may come to believe that it is true.

That women play the bit parts in life. That we aren’t crucial to the plot. That we are merely decorative. That the size of our boobs (or our size, period) and not the strength of our intellect is what matters most. That how we look is more important than what we have to say.

I don’t think women need to butch it up and take over the “world of men”. More women playing soldiers and assassins and action heroes is missing the point. We shouldn’t need to act macho to be the protagonists for a change.

We are daughters, and sisters, and wives, and mothers. We are friends, and co-workers, and artists, and thinkers. We are interesting. We are smart. We are funny. We are not scenery. And our stories matter too.

So here’s me, and this is my feminist rant for the day. In case you were wondering, more than 50% of movies fail the Bechdel test.

What is the last movie you saw? Does it pass the test? The answer may surprise you.

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