it's a comfort thing

Sloane likes to put the tassels of her blanket in her nose and twirl them. It's her little comfort thing. Part gross, part adorable. We've tried to put a stop to it but, in the grand scheme of things, it seems kind of harmless. And, let's face it, sometimes you just need something that makes you happy, no matter how odd, adorable, or cute it is.

One of Tagg's pre-school classmates turned five today and is graduating to the kindergarten class. He was talking about the bus and "real" school and seemed excited about it, but a little sad he was moving on so I thought I'd ask him about it. Here's how that brilliant idea went down...

Me: Tagg, do you like school?

Tagg: No.

Me: Really? Why not?

Tagg: Because I like Nickelodeon.

Me: What?!

Tagg: I'd rather go to Nickelodeon school.

Me: Mayday. No more cartoons in the morning, or he'll be graduating from VH1 high. 

our knitting project

I’m always pleasantly surprised by the ways our family is knitted together. It reminds me of knitting actually. Not that I’ve ever really knitted anything so I guess it’s more like it reminds of what I think knitting would be like. I imagine that we started out thinking we were going to make a sock, and then we kept adding to it and pretty soon it became a scarf and then we added some more in different colors and it started to look like a sweater and the we add more in more colors and it might end up being some kind of poncho thing with a hood right now.

I say that because our old nanny was just in town visiting from her new home and life in California. She loves these kids like a favorite aunt: phone calls and gifts on birthdays and holidays, pictures from her new life as a college graduate. We chat over dinner about Sloane’s potty training, Tagg’s new addiction to Star Wars, her boyfriend’s crazier-than-ever mother, her search for a new house. She always feels like family to me and I hope that no matter what happens in the future, she feels that way too. 

We were blessed to find her at a time when I was really struggling with the fiscal requirements that drove me back to work when I wanted nothing more than to be home with my children. Leaving them in a stranger’s hands was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But she was perfect from the first meeting – she was the only candidate who insisted on meeting at a Starbucks because she was concerned about safety, not paranoid just cautious. I was sold! - and she just got better from there.

I was often jealous that she was leading the life I had dreamed of and planned on – play dates and swimming lessons and craft projects - while I was living meetings and deadlines and office politics. But you do what you have to do to get by, and now I realize that maybe she was brought to us because she was meant to be part of our random, ever-expanding, knitted-together-by-love little family. 

I also think she helped me figure out something that I think most working moms know, or learn: you get as much joy out of the time you have together as you can. You might even appreciate that precious time more because you actually know what you're missing. 

I do have to say that since Nessa left, I have a newfound appreciation for her ability to have EVERYTHING in perfect order when I got home at night. When Scott gets home on Saturdays, it's like Toys R Us exploded in our house and our dishwasher and washing machine are broken. Hey, we all have our strengths. Cleaning may not be one of mine, but I can craft and soccer-mom my ass off!

So who knows where it will end up, this knitted-together family of ours. What shape, size and combination of colors it will end up. The one thing we do know is that no matter what, it keeps us all warm and snuggly.

there's the thread

I went to a baby shower for one of my dear friends recently. She and I were roommates when she got divorced a little over 10 years ago. We were both in advertising, addicted to shopping, liked to hob-nob at clubs and Sundance movie premieres, we were both Pisces, and had a million more things in common. She had a pug who would wake me up before I was ready. I had a cat that liked to pee on her bed. 

We don’t talk a ton since she moved to New York City about 5 years ago, but every time we do it’s like no time has passed. That's the best kind of friend to have, in my opinion. Low maintenance, high value. She’s kind of living the dream – she packed up and moved to Manhattan to pursue a photography career and ended up in design, hopping from fabulous party to famous restaurant to high-profile accounts, always looking gorgeous and free and happy. I quietly coveted her footloose, glamorous, Sex In The City life on those days when Utah felt too pedestrian and stifling, or when marriage and a house payment seemed too grown-up and stressful, or when my job seemed boring and unsatisfying.

And then one day last summer she called me and asked about adoption. She was turning 40 soon and had decided that what she really wanted was a baby. And since the dating scene had been less than productive (even in New York…who would have thought that!) she was going to become a parent on her own. And, in typical Jen fashion, she wasn’t exactly doing it the “conventional” way.

Nope. One of her very dear gay friends had offered to serve as a sperm donor, and they were literally using a turkey baster – yes, an actual Thanksgiving-like-your-mom-uses turkey baster – to do the deed. As it turns out, that did not work for them and they had to go pro (ka-ching) but still, success! She’s pregnant and is officially staring single motherhood square in the face. We had a chance to chat when I visited her in New York and it was interesting to see that she struggles with a lot of the same issues we do with our adopted children: What is the baby daddy's role going to be? How much will he be involved? What if he wants to be more involved than she’s prepared for? Do his parents get to act like real grandparents? What does she tell this baby about how he or she was born and who all of these people are?

After a long discussion about the pros and cons of this option or that strategy, expressing our fears and uncertainties, and admitting that we really have no freaking clue what we’re doing, we settled on the one thing we both do know 100% and without question. We love these children and they can’t ever have enough people to love them, so as long as we make decisions with love and trust in our hearts, we’ll be doing the right thing. Well, actually there were two things we figured that we do know. The other? We’re probably going to screw a lot of things up along the way and that’s okay too. And just like that we’re back to having something in common. I’m excited for her and I look forward to a lot of those sporadic future phone calls and emails, and hopefully some visits, where we can prop each other up and share our unique stories just like the good old days. Maybe we'll get to do some shopping and have a martini while we're at it.

When Tagg was born, someone gave us this lovely book called The Red Thread, An Adoption Fairy Tale. It's about people following this thread that tugs at their hearts till they embark on a journey to find their family and their joy. I kind of think that's how a lot of families are made these days. And a lot of friendships. I know that Jen and I have a "thread" connection, just like Scott and I have a thread that unites us with our birth families. And Jen will have that same bond with her baby-family, I think; sometimes it may wear thin or get a little twisted but you're still joined together by love. And that's what makes it all work.

soccer mom

 Tagg's first soccer game was Saturday. I am officially a soccer mom. His team is called the Ladybugs. I don't know why. It's a mix of boys and girls under 4. After one practice and one game, I am already learning a lot.

One, just be happy if your kid runs around on the field for some or all of the game, poses for at least one cute picture, does not hit, kick or push any other kids, and does not yell a swear word - especially not the really bad one.

Two, you need some stuff. A lot of stuff. Just when I thought I was done with diaper bag nonsense, I now have camping chairs, a first aid kit, snacks, a blanket, sweatshirts (for me and both kids), drinks, spare clothes including a long sleeve shirt, a port-o-potty for Sloane because there are no bathrooms, and an extra ball for Sloane to play with — all in my car. I suspect that summer soccer may also involve a sunshade of some sort, maybe some spray bottles. And I need to make sure the iPad is in the bag and charged up just in case #4 (see below) doesn't happen.

Three, Saturdays are no longer my day. Or even "our" day. We have to get up early for 8am soccer games, or juggle our usual Saturday plans around 11am or noon games. I'm actually pretty happy about that. How we're going to handle it when Sloane gets in on the soccer/dance action, I have no idea. But I'm pretty sure there are not going to be any Saturday pedicures in my near future.

Four, enlisting a cheering section (aka, aunts, uncles, grandparents) is critical. Otherwise, you will not be in any photos with your little superstar. Your non-playing child will be a screaming mess or trying to run into the parking lot or onto the field while you're trying to get your little soccer star to get up off the ground (the team has decided it's "nap time" so they are all laying down at mid-field while the opposite team is scoring goal. Plus, there may not be anything better than having a huge cheering section when your son gets his first goal in a soccer game. Even better when he proceeds to get three more goals for the other team. And then lays down in the middle of the field because he's tired. And it's nap time.

Five, this is what it's all about. I have never been more proud that Tagg was the first and only kid on his team to score a goal. That he's really good at dribbling, even if it's not always toward the right goal. That his super-giant soccer shorts stayed up. That he scores the most, if not the only goals for his team. That he now loves his shin guards that make him look like a Transformer so much he won't keep his socks tucked over them. That he almost always listens to Coach and tries really hard to play. Watching him clap his hands with excitement about getting to practice kicking a goal. The big hug when the game is over. That's everything it was cracked up to be and more.

 I'm a soccer mom. I think I scored!

PS...you will notice that I am not in one single picture with my little soccer star. Please refer to tip #4. Must have paparazzi.

happy birthday, nana

Nana with the grandkids and her fabulous birthday cake.

Leave it to my mom. She's 60-uh-something and for her birthday, no spa days or fancy dinners or expensive jewelry. Nope. Let's go camping! And, just because we're all busy, she'll even get all the food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You gotta love her!

Marc and Papa working the grill

The guys barbecued some wonderful chicken, but seriously, how much do you think we eat?!

We got this Pili-Pili hot sauce at a full-on, hippie, green festival
they were having at the lake campground. This stuff is HOT.
Like burn-your-face-off hot. But delicious, and award winning.

Do not ask me about the bangs. It wasn't me.

My little princess. She digs in the dirt. Runs down the rocky dirt trails. Climbs up the slide and hangs with the boys at the playground. But she'll pick up a broom and start cleaning up the campsite, too. Because, you know, she can find all kinds of gross and dirty stuff to put in her pockets - or her mouth - by sweeping.

Tagg found this stick in the water and immediately dubbed it his "Jedi walking stick."
I didn't get it until he said it was like Yoda's. Duh.

You get a little spoiled by Lake Powell boating and camping. The beaches at Jordanelle - where the water is down a ton! - were insanely rocky and muddy and kind of gross. And the water was 10 or 15 degrees colder. Still super fun, but not...Powell. Needless to say, we did not spend a whole lot of time in the lake.

Besides cooking, cleaning, boating, playing, beaching and running around, we also managed to do a cool art project where we painted a bunch of sea shells, and some frames. We ran out of time to glue them to the frame but the shells alone were just cool. Note to self: the best paint for the sea shells is not washable. So when your kid wipes his hands on the baby's special blanket...not so good!

Me and my mom "camping" back in the day. No wonder I love getting all back to nature with my family.

I have to say that I love this trip with my family, and I'm so grateful to celebrate another birthday with my mom. We played cards, games we haven't played in years. Papa made Yoda and Dora shaped pancakes for the kids. We went to the beach, the playground, the hippie festival and introduced my parents to the Chow Truck, Best of all, we got to celebrate my amazing mother. The woman who made us crafty, taught us to love cooking, musicals, reading and basketball, and loves all of us - her grandkids most of all - with a heart so big and forgiving and patient and sweet and strong.

We love you and happy birthday, mom!

boots

Finally, you shall be mine. Serious cowboy (aka cow-LADY) boots. Tried them on at the Buckle. Fell in love. And they had two left feet (literally) not in my size. DAMMIT! I knew they were meant for me because every time I see the photo on my phone, I'm a little sad and I talk about them a little too much and I have dreams about wearing them. Just found a killer online deal and now, finally, I will have my boots. 

Even Scott says, "good for you." I think that's a pretty good hubby validation moment. We will probably be going on a Harley ride with my new boots soon.

the good stuff

I have a friend who is in her early 60s. She's a brilliant, interesting woman and I gather she may have been a bit of a wild flower child back in the day. I also happen to know that she placed a child for adoption when she was a teenager. She shared this very personal story with me when she found out we were adopting our daughter and as much as I appreciated it then, I really treasure it now. Why? 

Sometimes it's hard being so open with your birth parents. There's a lot of anxiety, paranoia and fear that comes along as part of the package. Some of it's justified, most is completely fabricated from dark, icky places in your head and weird stuff people say to you. There are days when you don't want to share the title of "mom," or when you vividly see a day in the future when your dramatic teenager will crush you in the heat of a stupid argument about curfew by saying they want to go live with their "real" parents, or when you tell someone you had lunch with your baby mama and they look at you like you said you sent your baby to the zoo with a kidnapper, or a Catholic priest. There are days when you wonder if you've shared too much, or not enough. And, the worst of all, what if they try to get your baby back. Sure, not realistic, but in crazy-brain town you still worry about it. And bear in mind, our birth families are AMAZING people. Like unbelievably cool, normal, awesome people. And I still play out these internal soap opera moments in my head more often than I care to admit. 

So that's where my friend and her story serve as a beacon of light. AKA, a virtual bitch-slap to the face. I see my relationship with my birth parents fast-forwarded 40 years. I see our relationship from their point of view, with a veneer of wisdom and life experience to boot. I hear her talk about how much she struggled with her adoption decision back then. A decision that didn't feel like a choice based on the circumstances and pressures at the time. A choice that opened up a future full of adventure, love and success. But I can tell she still has traces of regret. I see how much she loves the child she gave up all those years ago, and how much she cherishes the precious little time she is able to spend with him and her grandchildren now. She calls him "my son" and speaks about him with an ease so natural that most people never know that of her two sons, she raised one and watched one grow up from afar. My heart aches to hear how hurt she is by his adopted mother's territorial nature which keeps her so very distant and removed from her son and his family. I "ooh" and "ahh" over the family photos she proudly shares and the stories of her grandkids' triumphs in school and sports. All proof that a mother's love doesn't require a formal title, or a typical family tree, or daily conversations. It just is. And when someone asks her how many kids she has, she doesn't hesitate when she answers, "I have two children." 

Seeing that love and conviction, and the joy and pride she has as a mom, reminds me why it's important to invest in this relationship with love, trust, hope and, maybe most importantly, with open hearts and open minds. Because the more you open up, the more room there is for the good stuff. And it's really all about the good stuff.

mom's potato salad

My mom’s potato salad is legendary. I just whipped up a batch for our trip to the Lake. Can you tell this recipe has been used a few times? In case my little index card finally becomes illegible, and because it’s almost criminal not to share this recipe with the world, here’s the recipe. Best. Potato. Salad. Ever. 

Mom's Potato Salad

2 1/2 cups sliced, peeled, cooked potatoes (we usually double, triple or quadruple the potatoes and then adjust the rest of the recipe accordingly. I'm not good at doing math or fractions or I would have done that for you. Sorry.)

1 tsp sugar

1 tbsp pickle juice 

1/2 cup chopped onion (cut them big if people want to pick them out, small if they don't want to know they're there or use the dried stuff in you don't have fresh...it all works but don't leave it out!)

1/2 cup sliced celery (diced if you have lazy veggie eaters like me who will pick out the big stuff but not the small stuff)

1/4 chopped dill pickles (I think the cheap kind are better than the fancy Valassic stuff but either will work. If you get the sandwich slices, they're easier to cut. Or use one of those choppers from Pampered Chef. Shut up...I'm lazy.)

1 1/2 tsp celery seed

3/4 cup mayonnaisse (doesn't seem to matter if you use low fat, olive oil based, whatever...but I think less is more with this recipe. And it's not just calories, it tastes better with a little less.)

4 hard boiled eggs, sliced (I usually do more because I like hard boiled eggs)

2 tbsp Natures Seasoning (best spice EVER. If you haven't tried it, you should. We use it by the case.)

Salt and pepper to taste (I usually find that it's best to let it set for 4 - 8 hours stir it again and then taste and adjust. The flavors really develop over time and if you try to re-season too early you can quickly end up overdoing something.)

graduation day

It was graduation season a couple of months ago (where does the time go?!) and our mailbox was full of white and cream envelopes. A lot of our friends, who got started with their families well before we did, have kids graduating from high school and they proudly send announcements with photos of their smiling kids in caps and gowns.

Among them was an announcement for Tagg’s baby mama’s high school graduation. Amazing. He’s almost 4 years old and she is just graduating from high school. How crazy is that? 

I keep in touch with Juno’s mom and Juno and I are friends on Facebook (weird, right?) so I know that she’s graduating with honors, was the star of her high school basketball and volleyball teams, that she’s going to college to study medicine, and that she’s been to lots of dances and football games and that she's gorgeous, popular and seems really happy. Basically, she's having the perfect high school experience. I’m really proud of her. In what I hope is a non-condescending kind of way. 

That graduation announcement was comforting to me. Like we all did the right thing and it's working out perfectly. I hope she felt the same way. And that Tagg will, too, someday.

Now the big question…what do you get your baby mama for a graduation present?!

hey baby

I have always wondered what it feels like to be pregnant. To give birth. Once I knew I wouldn't ever have children or experience any of it first-hand, I wondered if I seriously missed out on something, if I should have these pangs of remorse and deprivation by not being able to deliver (pun intended) the one event that makes you a "real woman," or if I should be a little wistful that I missed the pregnancy/birth experience, or if I'm really and truly fulfilled with the birth experience I had as an adoptive parent. I think I found some answers today...

My little brother's wife had her second baby today and I got to be there for the birth of my new, incredibly handsome nephew. She is such a gracious, loving and thoughtful woman that she had invited me for her daughter's birth two years ago because she thought it might be important to me to have that experience. Of course, I was sick. Sick as a dog. Like damn near pneumonia sick. So I missed it. Today I got my do-over.

I made it to the hospital just in time. Like, seriously, one more wrong turn or a pee break and I might have missed it. Saw a little bloody show. Saw the pushing (way less dramatic than on TV but, then again, Becks is a rock star). Saw the baby come out (which reminded me a little of Total Recall...sorry Becky and baby boy, just being real). Managed not to get any inappropriate pictures or video of the vah-jay-jay, per strict instructions. Saw the little guy take his first breath, belt out his first cry, open his eyes the first time, calm at the feel of his mother's breast and heart beat, slap the nurse's hand away. Fell in love. 100% and then some. And ended up in tears.

After some reflection, I think I'm good. I don't feel like I've "missed out" by not being pregnant. Or by not actually giving birth. I have loved my children wholeheartedly from minute one. Second one. Nobody sat on my bladder, gave me heartburn, kicked me in the middle of the night, or made me puke for 9 months, but the second we heard "we want you," we became parents. With less hormones. That is undeniable. The pain points were different. Wondering if you'd walk away with baby, how the relationships would work, that kind of thing. So my takeaways from seeing a baby born are, perhaps, life-changing. Or at least attitude-changing.

• I kind of wish that I had been there in the room when they were born even though the reasons we weren't are completely fine. But there's a little magical bond that got delayed for us, and I would have loved to see the joy and love on their birth family's faces at that moment. Although, maybe that would have been harder. I already ache for them every day. Would those pictures turn a sweet twinge into full-on pain? Or would I continue to adore the fact that pictures we have of our children's birthdays have their birth families and us hugging, smiling, loving? I think that's pretty amazing.
• I kind of wish that our family had been able to join us, in the hospital, to celebrate these children and welcome them to our family like most children are. Kind of like that last scene in Parenthood (always makes me cry because that is SO my family!). Where you have almost too many family members there to welcome them and to love them and to embrace them into your life
• I wish all hospitals knew how to deal with adoptions. They can either make you feel like parents from day one, or awkward intruders.  
• Whoa! When you see that stuff on TV about bowling balls through a straw and "how are you doing that?!?!?!"...all true. Women are pretty fucking amazing. 

When you're in an adoption situation, no matter how secure you are, you are on an island. We spent 3 days in the hospital both times, trying to figure out our role. Balancing hopes of supreme joy with fears of excruciating devastation. Alone. Without our moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, friends and confidants. Loving this baby - our baby - 100 and a gazillion bazillion percent, wanting to share this child with the ones we love...and yet knowing, fearing that there's a good chance something will blow up, minds will be changed, and you will come home with nothing but broken dreams and broken hearts and no baby. Those days in the hospital might be the most joyous, petrifying, insecure, blessed, paranoid days I've ever had in my life. And we did it twice. And no matter what the "norm" is or what I know now or what I "kind of" wish, our babies and the experiences we had are still the most perfect and wonderful moments in my life.

Now that I've seen the birth process, I think the only thing I might truly regret - or maybe the right word is "covet" - from today is a feeling. Security. Knowing for sure, 100 and a gazillion bazillion percent that this child is yours, from the moment he or she takes their first breath, to the first time grandma or favorite aunt or best friend gets to hold the little nugget, to the moment you strap them in their car seat and drive home at 5MPH. All of the other stuff...the love, the connection, the family, the memories. That has never been a question or an issue.

So, hey new baby. Welcome to the family! You are in good company! And thanks for the lesson. I owe you one.