christmas kitchen nightmare 1

We have officially lived in our house for 10 years. I have officially hated our cabinets and countertops for about 8 of those years. The first two, I was just happy to have my own non-rented kitchen so it didn't matter so much. Plus we were never home and when we were, the counters were usually covered with...stuff.

It is now time to update this kitchen. Especially if Scott's prediction that we will "die in this house" has a shot in hell of coming true. I am not living with apartment-grade crap oak cabinets and gray Formica till I die. I have my standards.

Demolition meet inspiration. We have to figure out our official plan ASAP.
Where is the tape? And the vision?

We have been debating the future configuration of our new kitchen for a long time. And, frankly, I was the hold-up. I just couldn't decide what the best set-up would be for our new kitchen so it was impossible to commit to things like granite and cabinet colors and styles. And then, one day, we moved the kitchen table to simulate a big giant island and wah-lah! We had a plan! You can't really see it from here but we got it under control!

I really don't know what to do with this star. I kind of want to keep it
even though EVERYONE has one now. It's a reminder of my cutting-edge design skills.
The crap on the counters? That's all Scott.

It was like we realized how we actually use our kitchen. No matter what, everyone hangs around the center, the heart, the island. Dinner, parties, cooking. Doesn't matter. Everyone gravitates to the center of the kitchen. So we are building a big, giant island where we can gather as a family. And we booted the pool table from the front room, in spite of the fact that the kids love to "play balls" on it. That was looking like a recipe for a broken front window as they get older. So the dining room table will be in the front room so we can gather as a bigger family for holiday dinners or Sunday dinners or random weekday dinners. Or for game nights or craft nights or whatever. We may need to add some lights out there or our dads will cheat more than usual at cards and blame the low-light. Guys, we are soooo on to you on this one!
And, just for a little added pressure, we started this process December 1st. December 1st! TWENTY THREE DAYS before Christmas. We have our 11th annual Christmas Eve-Eve party on December 23rd where we take donations for the Road Home, and we get to hang with our people before they get sucked into family stuff and we never see them again.

The Girls at a Christmas Eve-Eve Party. New background in the works!

We will be done with Phase One in 16 days. Technically, today is Day 6, the day we picked our granite, bought cabinets, finalized the island design, sent the just-sold pool table to its new home, elevated the kitchen table to a dining room table, and started demolition on the kitchen. 18 days to Christmas. 17 days to party. Crazy work schedule. This is not lost on me. But I think we can do it. We rock when we're on a deadline! Stay tuned! And wish us luck. Or send help and booze. We'll probably need both.

This is how we are surviving the next two weeks.
It's this or no Xmas presents, Santa crap. Life is rough, kids.

And don't worry, if you haven't been invited to the Christmas Eve-Eve party it's only because we have to decide how many additional workers we need. We'll be in touch. :-)

the little things

I got a little note from Paulie tonight that was a big deal to me. I am a little weepy about it. I had posted a preview of some family holiday photos that we had done a few weeks ago on Facebook. Not gonna lie, they're pretty cute. Stinking adorable. Mostly because our kids are darling and our photographer is amazing. Maybe we're not so bad either.

So Paulie Facebook-messages me cuz that's how you do it these days and says, after letting me know he's almost done with finals (good boy):

"i just looked at some of the christmas pictures gosh he is getting soooooo handsome and sloan is just gorgeous you guys look like the perfect little family =] makes me the happiest person in the world"

That right there is the beauty of open adoption. You get to share all of this stuff, this great love, these perfect moments...these children, in a way that is so incredibly special and shocking and unique and wonderful. My heart is so full of love right now. We are all the perfect little family.

care

We went to see Kid Rock on Saturday night. Total last-minute thing but I love Kid Rock. Like love, love. His songs have been Lake Powell soundtracks for years and you just don't get over that stuff.

In a little drama moment, my online ticket purchase transaction did not go through so at the last minute we ended up in a parking lot at a seedy truck stop meeting someone named CannedAss (Candace. Get it?) to exchange 250 bucks for 5 general admission tickets. Felt like a drug deal. Seriously.

So we get to the concert at Saltair and it's...insane. Packed. People were angry and pushing, probably trying to get to the bar. And then we went downstairs to actually "see" the concert and dance and it was a little the same but also amazing.

Obviously love hearing my favorite songs....Cowboy, All Summer Long and, of course, Bawitdaba. I don't even know what that means but I love it. But even better, I love the whole concept of this tour.

Just before the main song, "Care," Kid (we're apparently on a first name basis) said "We're here to appreciate the love of music, not the money.

So we're giving most of the money from this tour to charities in every city, because that's how we do it in Detroit. We take care of our own. We are not left or right, us or them. We are Americans and we are in this together. And we may not be able to do everything we want to make everyone good but the least we can do is...care. So dance and sing and share what you can. And care. Just care." I'm sure I didn't get it exactly right but the sentiment is dead on. And that's pretty cool. Especially for a white cowboy rapper type from Detroit (is that even a thing?) who is oddly sexy if not traditionally hot (hey, how many of you have been married to Pam Anderson? Shut it!), borderline talented (I'm channeling that from the internet buzz because I think he's amazing and I'm tone deaf), and uber-wealthy but eager to share as much of his earnings as possible.

It made me think. And care. There was a woman in the bathroom trying to get her friend to the front of the line because she was going to puke. Nice try. I was cranky and waiting in line when I really, really had to pee and I was not very charitable. Sure, I let her cut but I was not happy about it. As I was leaving the bathroom I noticed a red-headed young woman janitor cleaning up puke and paper and crap. And I thought about how horrible her job was but she would do anything to get money to feed her kids, keep a roof over their heads, whatever. So I tipped her every cent I had in my pocket, which was about 20 bucks. And I swear, when I looked back she had tears in her eyes. I'm guessing she wasn't weepy about the money, I'm sure, but because somebody cared. And they didn't care about where they were in the beer line, or who pushed by them to get to the front or the back of the concert, or whether they could see from where they were, but because somebody cared about the people who made a night of fun and enjoyment happen.

And that is what it's all about, right? Caring. Sharing. Dancing. Singing. Living. Loving.

Never thought I'd have that epiphany at a Kid Rock concert. Very grateful that I did.

save the trees

I'm a bit of a hippie, I guess. In addition to my desire for world peace and love-not-war, I want to preserve some (if not all) of the world's natural beauty so my kids get to see and enjoy the blue sky and forests and clear running streams. Today, I had a tree-hugger moment...

For the last few years, I've pulled up to my office and been greeted by this fabulous tree. Dead, yes. But the majesty of its branches against the sky is always exaggerated by the season, the sunrise, the sunset, a snowfall. It changes but it's always powerful and beautiful.

The rustic barn, the tall grass field and the worn fences serve as a canvas for this bit of art. For many months there were two horses that circled this statuesque tree, adding their equine glamour and peaceful demeanor to the barren beauty of the tree. It's hard to capture in words the impact that this tree, even without leaves and life, has had on me and everyone in our office for the past few years.

So today, when they started ripping down all the trees in the yard that belongs to this tree, with a huge yellow backhoe thing, I was unnerved. As were a lot of people in our office. People stood at the windows watching huge yellow machines crush these lovely, gigantic old trees that were overgrown and half-dead but still majestic and important somehow. And it was a little tragic. We took pictures. And videos. And likened "our" trees to the Ents from Lord of the Rings. How did they feel about this travesty? Were they sad, angry, violated, vengeful? For us humans, there was sadness. There were even tears. There was mourning for this beautiful view we've enjoyed for so long and depression about the "zoned for commercial" buildings and expansive asphalt parking lot that we are certain will replace them. 

It took five minutes to demolish "my" tree's twin.
Five minutes for 50+ years.

I hope, for myself and my children and their children, that someday we find a balance between commerce and development and nature and beauty. I loved this field, especially when the horses were there and they'd walk up to the fence hoping for nothing more than a carrot or an old apple. And I loved this tree because it always reminded me that even when you're dead you can still inspire people with beauty and poetry and character. I loved that every day when I walked into a corporate world, there was this superbly human, basic, natural, majestic moment right outside the door to remind me why I was walking into a world of cubicles and meetings.

So good-bye beautiful trees. You were loved. You will be missed. And we will be better. I hope.

thanks a million

I love Thanksgiving. Not just because turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls and pumpkin pie are my favorite...although that's always been a big part of it. But mostly because it gets really easy to take all of the things that make life wonderful for granted and this time of year you get to revel in each and every blessing that you have. So here we go...

our little man.  
He is such a joy and a blessing and a gift. There's no way to describe how his big heart and sharp wit and around-the-neck-bear-hugs and 'emergency kisses' have made our life and our family so amazing. He has this little lilt in his voice when he says things like "Thanksgiving is for loving mommies and daddies" or "You wanna make a deal?" We are so incredibly grateful that Tagg is our son.

our baby girl 
Those big blue eyes. Sloane brings new meaning to love and adventure every single day. She will wrap her arms around your knees one second and scale the counter tops the next. There is nothing better than her belly laugh or her big kisses or her curiosity for life. She is our angel and our love and our miracle baby.

friends, family and crazy running stuff.  
I am grateful for my family and friends who do crazy things with me, like run 188 miles in 24 hours or get up at the ass-crack of dawn to run a 5K in freezing temps on Thanksgiving. And I'm grateful that I am healthy enough to run a block, let alone 6.2 miles in 63 minutes. Most every step is hard, but every step is a gift and I know that for sure.

sunrises. sunsets.  
Somehow the sky gets painted with these breathtaking colors and patterns that make me stop in my tracks. God, nature, miracle, call it what you want. I don't care. I love them.

freedom.
You ain't seen nothing until you've seen Sloane in the throes of the joy of running. In her Uggs and her leopard skirt-pants, baby mullet flying in the wind. She is the epitome of joy in life, all day every day.

love.
You can't ever have too much love in your life, we always say. And judging by the calls, texts, emails and hugs we got today, we are not lacking in that category in any way. We are so very, very blessed to have an extended family that envelopes us all with so much pure, unadulterated, unselfish love. It is beautiful and amazing.

special friends.  
Tagg and his cousin Ashley have a special relationship. They have grown up together and well, they just love each other. I have a lot of friends like this. The ones who love you even when they smack you or share their cold with you. No matter what, they are always there to hold your hand when you need it, or when you don't, and to give you their last M&M, even if you don't ask.

Scott gets the love. I am the ride. Did I mention that I also love little kids in footie pajamas?

my amazing husband, scott.  
I love this man. He is my best friend, my rock, my guy who will do anything for me as long as I ask with a smile on my face, and he is the best best best father in the world. He can out-play, out-patience, out-smart, out-love our children and me without a sweat...and that's saying something!

Seriously. Does it get any cuter than this?

suburbia.  
Normally I don't love living in the burbs but every once in awhile you find a reason to love it. Today, we had an epic Thanksgiving dinner with the family and then walked about a half-mile to see a zebra. Oh yeah. You heard me right. A ZEBRA! Like at the zoo. And a couple of emus, a goat and some horses and stuff. But seriously, a ZEBRA...named Zuri. We fed it grapes.

Here, goatie, goatie.

grandparents. 
Scott and I have unbelievable parents. And those parents make over-the-moon grandparents. It's a different kind of special love. It's beautiful to watch and enjoy and appreciate and be inspired by. And I love that our babies are embraced by that all-consuming love from all of their grandparents every day of every month of every year.

family.  
Sometimes a walk on a cool day is the thing you remember.
It's always the thing that you love.

football. 
I am grateful for DVR (thanks couch potatoes) so I could watch the games between chasing kids.

food on the table. 
We ran a 10K this morning to benefit the Utah Food Bank. They did a challenge recently to see if you could survive on food stamps for a month which basically meant you could spend 6 bucks a day on food per person. Uh, hello. That's my Starbucks budget. So we've tried it and failed. And I am so, so incredibly grateful that our family has more than enough to eat and that we can share with others who don't.

The spoon is actually sticking to Sloane's hand like magic. But really it's sticky Jell-o hands. I am thankful for Jell-O, especially when I'm sick or when my mom makes it for Thanksgiving with cranberries and nuts.

hope. 
I want everything for my children, my siblings, my parents, my family, my friends. When there is something that they desire, I want it for them and we will do everything we can to make it a reality. Today we know that the all promises of life and love and family continue. There are so many great things ahead of us, more joy, more love, more photo moments. And we are nothing but thankful. So incredibly thankful. Today and every day.

drinking games ain't what they used to be

I was indulging my guilty habit the other night...watching Teen Mom. And Scott, who suffers through this with much more grace and patience than I get through World Poker Tour re-runs, innocently asks me if Farrah's mom is an alcoholic or if she's addicted to prescription medications or something. So I obligingly Google the question and...bam! up pops "Teen Mom Drinking Game." Noooooo....really?! Does such a thing exist?! Yes, yes it does.

Two comments. Maybe three.

One. You could totally get hammered if you followed these rules during an evening, but only if you add in the ones suggested in the comments. Just the ones about when Tyler (who I love!) has his hat tilted and wears clothes too big would have me passed out on the living room floor about 52 minutes into an episode. I think I will add one to drink every time Farrah whines about being broke and then promptly goes on a trip, to the spa or has plastic surgery.

Two. It's kind of sad that teens, or whoever, made up a drinking game about the teen moms. But I think we all get the underlying tragedy of this game so let's just focus on the funny, ironic part shall we?

Three. Back in my day (insert old-people joke here), we knew how to do drinking games for TV shows! I will never forget the first time we got a bunch of girls together and tried to do the Friends drinking game. It was not pretty. Especially because we were drinking some kind of sugary sex on the beach crap and kamikazes on the rocks (kind of cute and sad, right? who does drinking games with THAT?!). So we start playing, rules printed out and set conveniently on the coffee table. Why? Oh yeah, there are FOUR levels of drinking: sips, gulps, chugs and drink everything in sight. And the attention to detail is just, well...you really have to try it to appreciate it. You'd miss 3 things while you were trying to find out if you were supposed to be drinking for 1 thing and then have to catch up while someone else made refills and you kept their "tab" open for missed drinks. Crazy. It was like 30-minutes of power drinking where we were just praying for commercials. Maybe that's why we only did it that one time. Here's a little sample:

Take a sip if...

• Rachel demonstrates her lack of understanding of the real world
• Monica anal-retentively cleans or straightens up (2 sips if it's not even her stuff)
• Phoebe says a "Phoebism"
• Ross gazes longingly at Rachel (2 sips if she notices)
• Joey doesn't understand something that should be perfectly obvious (2 sips if you didn't get it either)
• Chandler makes a deadpan smartass response to a stupid comment (2 sips if you predicted it ahead of time)
• any main character makes a sweeping generalization about the opposite sex
• anyone mentions or sees Ugly Naked Guy (2 sips if you're ugly, naked, or a guy)
• any of the main characters drinks any coffee product
• the exterior of Central Perk is shown
• the interior of Chandler's and Joey's apartment is shown
• any of the main characters' parents show up
• any of the main characters are shown at work (Rachel only counts if she is wearing her apron or holding a pot of coffee)
• any of the main characters hug (2 sips for a hug involving more than two main characters, or an exaggerated hug between any of the guys)
• any of the main characters asks "What's wrong?" (2 sips if followed by "Nothing, it's just that...")

So, bring it, kids! If you're going to do a drinking game, maybe do one about fake people whose lives aren't so tragic that it kind of makes you want to drink anyway, and do it good. Gotta go. We have a bunch of Friends re-runs on Tivo and kamikaze fixins in the bar...

dirty girls

Dirty Girls.

 Have you ever hear of the Dirty Dash, a 6 mile mountainous trek that promises the following:

Have you ever said to yourself, “Marathons are too easy, and Triathlons are for sissies?”
We haven’t either…those races are really hard. Think about it…the first person to run a marathon actually died.  HE DIED!...and he probably didn’t even have fun along the way!

Well, welcome to a new kind of race: THE DIRTY DASH.  This race that puts all other races to shame.  The Dirty Dash is a mud run obstacle course where a military boot camp meets your inner five-year-old’s fantasy and subsequently converts boy to man and then man to swine. 

You’ll need endurance to trudge up mountains of sludge, courage to overcome uncompromising obstacles, a complete lack of shame to wallow in pits of mud and a smile to show through at the end!

Dirt? Mud? Sludge? Sign us up! Cuz that what's we do.

Obstacle #1...balance beam, over a mud pit. Seriously.

Greased up with dish soap before the big slide. Sweet!!!

Army wall!

Natalie after rocking the big slide!

Apparently hands like to make mud prints on butts.
There's no other explanation.

Shut up. We walked some.

No. These are not Jell-O shots. Everyone was
hoping but they were just the straight stuff.

Before we got "dirty." Literally NO idea what we were getting into.

Pig Tattoos? Perfect. Almost better than a medal.

We were the first wave of the day so we had a little less mud and guts. The reason we know this is that Natalie ran the Dirty Dash again the next weekend with her company team from Adobe, which includes my brother Marc. Dressed as Angry Birds. (video, anyone? You really should watch this!) And they were dirty dirty. Like REALLY dirty. We kind of had to try to get dirty. Which we did.

Mile One. With all the hills, it felt like more. So clean.

Climbing the walls, all military like.

The tire run! I felt like a pro football player!

Climbing hay bales! Some guys were literally jumping them.

Here piggy, piggy!

The rope climb was awesome!

Heading into the swamp. Seriously a half-mile slog through
thigh-high water filled with critters, ivy kind of stuff, and
really stinky mud. Like the kind you don't want your lady bits touching.

The last jump into the mud pit! Photo by 8 year old strangers.

Much needed. Best 4 bucks we ever spent!

The showers weren't quite as warm and relaxing as we'd
imagined. That's a power washer for heaven sake.
But not freezing was well worth it!

happy birthday?

Tagg's baby-mama's birthday was this week. We've called her every year on her birthday and on Christmas and it's always been really sweet and wonderful. So this year we called and Tagg jumped in as soon as she answered and belted out his rendition of Happy Birthday. And it was weird.

We could tell she was a little choked up. Who wasn't?! (other than Tagg who was just quite pleased with his singing skills). So we tried to chat about life and birthdays and stuff and it still seemed really awkward. It felt like she was in a place where she couldn't talk or didn't want to talk and then we started feeling bad. So we hung up the phone, and spent the next hours slash days feeling more bad. And then even more bad...

Did we just completely 100% RUIN her 18th birthday with her friends or her boyfriend by having the baby she gave up for adoption call her for a b-day serenade? My God. How absolutely stupid are we?! That might have been the most tragic, horrible thing ever when we thought it was so super-sweet. Or would it have been worse if we'd called every year for the last couple and then didn't call at all? On a big b-day. Mind-numbing arguments can be made both ways. Trust me. We've been having them.

Definitely one of those moments where you wish there was some kind of handbook for this open adoption stuff. I hope she knows and believes that the call meant that we love her and are always thinking about her, every day but especially on the big days.  The call means that we are so happy that she is doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing on this important birthday - thinking about homecoming and what colleges she's applying to and volleyball and her boyfriend and hanging out with her girlfriends and just being 18. And the call means that the baby she gifted to us is doing and being all of the things she wanted for him, and that he will always be grateful to have her in his life. Hopefully that was the gift. And it wasn't an emotional white elephant.

So happy birthday, beautiful girl!

decisions, decisions...

Our second adoption was a little out of the ordinary. Okay. It was completely bizarre, start to finish. We had kind of dipped a toe in the water in January with a completely new adoption agency as our cute little non-profit agency had been forced to close their doors. The new agency was really slick. To the point where they would send regular emails updating us on what babies would be available. Complete with prices. Kinda like a baby-sale flyer. It felt really icky compared to what we’d experienced the first time around (my personal recommendation…if your agency does this, run like hell!). That, plus the effort, drama and money involved in adoption made it easy to put the slow brakes on things. Eh, we’d get to it to it one of these days. 

And then, I got an email, out of the blue, from a woman I had worked with for about a minute years ago. She was fabulous. Reminded me of cute, perky When-Harry-Met-Sally Meg Ryan with her curly blonde hair, perfect body and impeccable fashion sense. Not to mention she was really cool and smart. But I hated my job at the time and only ended up working with her for a few weeks before I left. How she even tracked down my email address, I still don’t know. But there it was. A seemingly innocuous email asking for some advice that also contained the pot of gold:

My niece is pregnant and considering adoption. Do you have any advice?

Uh, yeah! Give us the baby! (really, tried not to be that obnoxious but that’s how we felt.) So, we had a meeting with her about a week later. In the meantime we were scrambling to get all of our paperwork in order, find an adoption agency we trusted, get a profile book knocked out (the first one took like 3 months, this one was 3 days), and I had the Surf-City half-marathon in California the day before the meeting. So no pressure at all. A couple of days before the meeting, our adoption coordinator called and said she needed our profile information right away because she had a meeting with a birth mother who was due the same day as the girl we were already talking to (we’ll call her “the niece”). So I instantly assumed it, as you would, that it was the same girl and the agency was confused or something was weird. Once we compared notes, turned out it was two different birth moms. Two different potential children. One boy, one girl. Both due within a couple of days of each other. Holy shit.

So we met with the niece on Monday, at Starbucks, with her mom. We had a great conversation and even though it was a little awkward – what do you expect from a job interview/meeting the parents for the first time/first date on steroids?! – But we all got along and had a great chat and she seemed very committed and solid about her choice with lots of support from her mom, who was also amazing. It just felt kind of natural and we were all feeling the “fate” moment. The big thing for her was knowing that she’d be able to be part of her child’s life in some form or fashion. We were really up front about how open our relationship was with Tagg’s parents and how we hoped to be in a similar relationship with our other children’s parents. Our feeling is that you can’t ever have too many people to love you and families are made in all different ways, but it’s always the love that bonds you together.

We met with the other birth parents later that week. They were a cute couple but very, very different. A little more rough and rocker, they already had 4 children between them and they were both just 21. They were only parenting one of the children. One had been placed for adoption and the other two were living with their birth mom out of state. She seemed very sullen and emotional the whole time we talked and the conversation felt awkward and stunted. Kind of like I expected every first meeting to feel, but this was the only one that actually felt that way. I suppose it was only natural, considering her little guy was right there playing with toys and being adorable and she’s seriously in the process of placing his future brother for adoption. Their reasons were solid. They were both unemployed with absolutely no support network and they knew they just couldn’t give this child the life they wanted him to have. But you could tell that they were unsure. So we left feeling unsure. Excited but scared.  

As the next few weeks unfolded, we had decisions to make. Niece and her boyfriend were dragging their heels on a decision. Torturous, of course, but you have to give them credit for really, really thinking through everything. This is, after all, perhaps the biggest, most important decision they’ll ever make.  At the same time the other couple said, yep…we want you. So what do you do?! We were less than 8 weeks from due dates and the clock was ticking. Who do you pick? How do you know they’ll go through with it? And, if they do, who do you have a solid, long-term positive relationship with?
 

When you’re going in to an open adoption, that’s a really, really important thing to consider. You have to know, 100% (well, as close as you can get) that your family and style will mesh with theirs because this journey is nothing but a leap of faith. For both of you. After a few days of complete insanity — at one point I thought we should take both children, one because it was so meant to be and one because I felt like that child needed all of the things we could give him and because we were so ungrateful for turning away a gift that so many people are desperate to have, like twins. Cute, right? Scott was like hell, no! He really does know some stuff. — we decided Niece was the right decision for us. 

Do I get how lucky we were to be the ones making the choice? Absolutely. Were we panicked that niece would ultimately choose to parent and we’d blown our one and only chance to have another child? Absolutely. But when you embark on your adoption journey, you can really only bank on a few things. Honesty. Faith. Trust. Hope. And most of all, Love. The rest of it just sorts itself out. And it may be horrible or wonderful, but it’s real and it’s yours and you get to decide to shape it into beauty and greatness no matter what.

are we family?

I got a "family" request on Facebook the other day from Paulie, Tagg's baby-daddy. I'm sure a lot of people would be shocked that we are Facebook-friends at all, but we are. And it's good. Don't get me wrong, when the first "friend" request came it was scary. In I was like...uh, no. It's my Facebook world. Really? Accept? Deny? Is there any winning move here? So we went with the trust thing and became Facebook friends. Leap of faith. That's what it's all about.

Sometimes it was a little too much, too easy to get caught up in their being-young lives. But it was good because it let us know that they were actually doing all of the things that choosing adoption was supposed to let them do - football games, dances, parties, graduation, picking colleges, first jobs, all the good stuff. And, frankly, it's sometimes the best way to keep in touch with them. Blogging ain't always that easy, but you can Facebook from anywhere - short and sweet, with photos? Easy.

So a few days ago, I get this family request from Paulie. And the only drop-downs I could choose to confirm him as "family" were like: father, brother, son, uncle, nephew, grandfather...Not even an "other" option. Huh. What to do now?

So I Facebook Paulie:

Hey you! got your family request - which I LOVE, don't know why that makes me feel good but it does. Really a lot. Oddly enough they make me put down a relationship, me and you, from a drop-down menu. So what do you want? Nephew, cousin, father in law (ha ha)? Weird, right?

And he responds:

yea im not sure what to put ether haha oh well just put what comes first 

It just seemed weird. We are, for all intents and purposes, family. But we're not the kind of family that fits in a drop-down menu. So I waffled all week about what to put, because somehow it means something how you categorize that relationship. Cousin is different than brother. Nephew is different than uncle. And I just don't know because those labels don't fit our world or our family relationship.

And now the request has disappeared. Ultimately, I don't really care whether Facebook recognizes us as a family. I do. And Paulie does. And that's what really matters.

damn you iPhone

Of all the things I thought might blow up our adoption – this fragile, verbal commitment between you and a virtual stranger who is practically just a child herself – my cell phone service was not on the list. Not even way down there at the bottom. At the top of the list? We’d say something uncool, stupid, or hokey. We’d root for the wrong sports teams, go to the wrong church, like the wrong foods, enjoy the wrong music, movie and TV shows, drive the wrong car, wear the wrong clothes, have the wrong jobs, the wrong family, the wrong hobbies, fail the home study because there was a little dust on the bookshelf and we forgot to clean the glass doors in the back, and worst of all, pick the wrong name for the baby. The baby would scream every time I held her at the hospital, or wouldn’t take a bottle from me, or I’d do something unbelievably stupid like put the diaper on her head (that did not actually happen, although sometimes at 2 in the morning you really think it might).

Needless to say, my paranoia was running a little high during the whole entire process, especially those last few days at the hospital and yet, never ever did I think my cell service would be the thing that almost cost us our family.

I’m not going to pretend like I’m the world’s greatest cell phone person. I’m a little challenged. I never seem to know where it is, I don’t always answer when it rings if I don’t know the number, I often have it on mute when I didn’t mean to…and frankly, I’m kind of okay with that. I’m one of those old fashioned people who prefers to have face to face conversations with people and thinks that my phone is for my convenience not necessarily everyone elses. So I get it. I can be a frustrating other-end-of-the-call person. The weekend Sloane was born was not – I swear - that weekend for me.

That weekend the call came early, at like 5am and the second it rang I knew what was up. We were on the phone on and off for the whole 2-ish hour drive, with sporadic rural cell service instigating a lot of “Can you hear me now?” moments right up until just before and after Sloane’s birth, which we missed by about 15 minutes. Crazy.

Fast forward three days later after we’ve had this incredibly unbelievable bonding moment with Sloane, her birth parents (Bella and Jacob), and their friends and family. As we packed her into the car for the drive home, we promised we’d call or text when we got home and promised for the ump-teenth time that we’d be in touch. Hugs, tears, shock…and off we went, trying to absorb the reality that this perfect little baby girl was really ours. Unlike most Utah adoptions which can be finalized any time 24 hours after the birth and are virtually irreversible, ours had a little more flux. Sloane’s baby daddy is half Native American so the law requires that we all wait two weeks before the final relinquishment signing happens. So we were kind of on a test run. A legally required emotionally petrifying test run as parents.

Sloane on her first car ride home. So itty bitty!
Where are her hands?!

As soon as we arrived at Scott’s parents’ house 2 hours later, I sent a text message to Bella letting her know we were safe and sound and thinking of them, put my phone in my purse and dove headfirst into being a new mom helping Tagg adjust to the reality of being a big brother and basking in the glow of our good fortune. Who in the world is lucky enough to have these beautiful children and their amazing birth parents melding into the already fabulous families we already have? No one. Nothing is this utterly perfect.

The next day I was driving to meet my sister to introduce her to baby Sloane, and my phone starts ringing. In the trunk. In the new diaper bag. Can’t stop. So I’ll get it when I get there, I think. Bad idea. It was Bella and I missed it. I called back as soon as I pulled in but it was already too late. She hadn’t gotten the text from the night before (bad service at the grandparents’ house and I hadn’t noticed the error message) and then the 20 minute delay answering call #2? Bad news. Pretty soon I was getting calls from our adoption coordinator letting me know they were rethinking their decision. We were about to lose our baby. That is the worst call ever. EVER.

I knew almost immediately that the issue wasn’t the missed call. It was the trust. They trusted us with their baby. They trusted our promise to keep them in the loop and stay open with them. They trusted that we would text them when we got home. And thanks to AT&T’s shitty service, we didn’t. Bye-bye, trust. So I spent the next few days proving them wrong. Re-instilling that trust. Re-assuring that we were committed to the open adoption vision we’d all talked about. But also understanding that we all make mistakes and sometimes phones don’t get answered or meetings just don’t work out for longer than you’d think and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean we’re going AWOL or anything. Any of us. It just means that our relationship is evolving and someday, if we’re lucky, we’ll be a that place where you see someone after a few years and it’s like they’re still your best friend from high school with the talking and the sharing and the jokes. You have to establish that trust base to make open adoptions work because they are scary. Maybe one of the scariest things you’ll ever do. But you have to bet big to win big, and in the world of open adoption that means a lot of being scared. And a lot of blind faith. And a lot of trust. And definitely some luck. But no matter what, the risk is more than worth the reward.

This post was inspired by the Open Adoption Roundtable topic of the day - in honor of Halloween: Write about open adoption and being scared. Read other posts here. http://www.productionnotreproduction.com/2011/10/open-adoption-roundtable-31.html

reasons i hate halloween, part two...

So, here we go again. Halloween. Blech.

See, I'm trying.

About a month ago, I started asking Tagg what he wants to be for Halloween. "I want to be Tagg." "I'm just a boy." "NO COSTUME!!!" This goes on for weeks and then one day, the answer is "I want to be a funny bat." Woo-hoo! An actual costume! But wait. What the hell is a funny bat? I look it up online and there's nothing. Apparently he is the first kid in history to request a funny bat costume. 

I can't convince Tagg that any of the Batman costumes are "funny bats" so I'm screwed. Maybe he'll go back to just wanting to be Tagg. He did seem mildly interested in a skeleton costume that showed up on the search so I'm thinking that might, just might be a back-up plan. 

And then one day, he walks in and says, "Mom, I want to be a scuba diver." What?! Great, but what?! Where did THAT come from? So I Google it. In case your kid ever asks for a scuba diver costume, there is no such thing. You can either buy real scuba gear for a bazillion dollars or you can try to fashion one from household-type items in a real artsy-craftsy, do-it-yourself moment. That's the route we took.

Looks so cute right? And easy.
Not so much.

I sent my dad on a Home Depot, craft-store treasure hunt for the gear while I scoured the city's sporting good stores and retail outlets for a cheap-ish diving mask and flippers. (Impossible to find, apparently, once fall sets in). Then we had my mom distract the kids with frosting and decorating Halloween cookies while me and dad spent two hours making air cartridges and the holster out of netting, spray paint, velcro and duct tape (silver spray paint does NOT stick to 2-liter bottles, by the way) and finally, it was kind of okay. Not great but functional. 

So I put our masterpiece on the counter. The next morning Sloane had 30 seconds of unsupervised time and bam! completely trashed the fruits of our labor. She had a piece of velcro in her mouth and duct tape on her head when I found her. Not good.

"Scuba gear de-constructed." - By Sloane

So, back to the great costume search. I ended up ordering the stupid skeleton costume. 20 bucks plus 20 bucks in rush shipping. Really? Really.

Kinda cool, right? IF you can get your kid to wear
the mask and the gloves AND the foot things. Which I cannot.

New costume idea? Skeleton Scuba Steve. A mish-mash of the skeleton costume (he'll only wear the body suit, no mask or gloves) and the scuba outfit (no canisters or air tank, and no scuba mask but tie-dye swim-lesson goggles are okay, flippers but only if they're taped to his feet so they don't trip him). And oddly enough, it kind of works. 

That's an outfit, right?

So after bribing Tagg to get in his new costume with the help of epic-amounts-of-candy-potential bribery, and wrangling Sloane into her sparkly Tinkerbell outfit, off we went to trick-or-treating round 1 at my office. Sloane was not happy. Tagg was not happy. But one candy bar later, they were both down with the magic of Halloween. Sugar.

A Halloween Miracle. In spite of a chocolate bar and a red sucker,
Sloane's darling outfit survived for round 2 of trick or treating.

Cousins It.

"You got any contraband candy under there?"

Trick or treating this year consisted of 20 minutes of pictures, 6 houses of trick-or-treating (after Tagg stripped off the scuba half of his outfit and insisted on riding his scooter from house to house), hauling home half their body weight in candy, beer treats for the adults at our lovely neighbor's house, and then answering the door for about two-dozen trick-or-treaters while we played jumping games with glow-sticks in a completely dark living room.

Hilarious.

Fairy in motion. Some things never change!

I may have to revise my "hate" verdict on Halloween. It's growing on me.

Cute, right? I think we're cute. Even if it
does take suckers to get the kids to sit still for pictures,
and Scott and I just dressed up as parents.