As we were leaving Ikea we stopped to grab an ice cream cone on the way out. Heading toward the door with our cones we walked past another family with Caucasian parents and 2 Chinese daughters. I thought I would take advantage of the opportunity to (discreetly) point out another family who looked like ours to my 6 year old.
Her response? “No they don’t. They don’t have ice cream cones.”
A good reminder/illustration for me that not everything is about adoption every minute of every day. Sometimes it really is just about ice cream with your family – whatever they look like.
Merry woke up this morning with The Mark of A Beast on her forehead.
Beast = Ava
Dinosaur stamp. Bright Orange. Dead center.
(J is no longer qualified to watch children unattended.)
Still alive. Lots in my head that I’d like to say but I seem to have lost my voice ~ my ability, my motivation, my whatever ~ to get it out of my head and into a more lasting medium.
The girls are doing great but its been a rough year with several unexpected (and unpleasant) events so far. My family is struggling to find our new normal after the unexpected loss of J’s mom, my mother-in-law, and my girls’ grandma. We’re mostly faking it until we make it right now. We hear it gets better with time so we’re clinging to that hope.
Really, I do. But it is just.so.hard to find the time.
I have pictures from Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas – and they are all still on the camera. Not even one has been downloaded to my Mac.
I have things I want to say – but they are all trapped in my brain unless they can be used as a short status update on Facebook.
Happy New Year! There, at least I got that out.
I have no idea what possessed me to think that dance class for Ava on a Monday night was a good idea. Really? WTH was I smoking? Oh yeah, I thought that J or I could split the kids and it would be easy. I clearly failed to take into account his job and social life (volunteer meetings and commitments that seem to fall mostly on Mondays).
And poor Merry. She just gets hauled along for the ride – willing or not. Good thing she’s pleasant natured and easily pacified by stroller rides, goldfish, and Cheerios.
Me? Well, I’m never going to be a dance mom, that’s for sure. I’m too tired to care that much.
Ava loves her combo tap/ballet class, though (even though she says that tap is hard) – so we will slog through it and it will all be worth it when we get to recital time. (Right?)
But, But! Something exciting did happen at dance tonight. Her teacher had a baby. Well, not AT dance but you know what I mean. Ava was a bit befuddled by the whole process and told me that her teacher had to go to the ‘hopsital’ to have the baby cut out with a knife. Well, obviously I couldn’t leave her with the impression that all babies are cut out so that led to the discussion of babies in bellies and how they get out of there.
Her response: “Ewwwwww.”
I reminded her that she wasn’t in my belly and that she grew in her Chinese birthmom’s belly – a topic in which she couldn’t be more disinterested in if she tried, by the way – so then she asked me if Mamaw had a baby in her belly (I then explained that Mama and siblings were all in there at different times) or if Daddy had ever had a baby in his belly. Ummm, no because he doesn’t have a va*ina (not spelling it out because I get some freaky google hits already so no need to encourage more) so there’s no way for the baby to come out…which then led to a whole ‘nother conversation about how boys have to squeeze their ‘peanuts’ to get the pee to come out.
All this because I signed her up for a Monday night dance class…