Chookooloonks

Top Ten Annoying Things People Say To Adoptive Parents That, Even Though They Mean Well, Drive Adoptive Parents Up A Tree

Okay, people, listen up: I know adoption is not an issue you run into every day. I know this. But this should not be an excuse to keep you from educating yourselves on how to behave when you come face-to-face with a real live adoptive family. ‘Cause some of you, and you know who you are, just ain’t right.

Now, don’t get me wrong: we adoptive parents have no problem with being asked about adoption – frankly, sometimes it’s our favourite topic of conversation. It’s how you ask these questions and make these comments that make us twitch. So, ever the giver, for today’s public service announcement I thought I’d present to you the Top Ten Annoying Things People Say to Adoptive Parents That, Even Though They Mean Well, Drive Adoptive Parents Up a Tree. When appropriate, I’ll even present the right way to say these things – if even (with all due respect) it’s not your place to say these things at all. Please pay close attention. Feel free to take notes if you have to. But, on behalf of adoptive families everywhere, the boneheadedness must stop.

To wit:

10. “You look like you could be her real mother.” Newsflash, people: I am her real mother. Not only that, in about 6 weeks I’m going to have in my hot little hands actual real-live, no-foolin’ court papers that say so. Nonetheless, the phrase I believe you’re looking for is “biological mother” or “birthmother.” And to respond to your comment – yes, I agree – I think she looks like Marcus and me as well.

9. “Did you get to meet her father?” Yup. In fact, I married him.

Please see Number 10, above, and re-word your question appropriately.

8. “That’s such a kind, charitable thing you did, adopting Alex.” Well, that’s sweet that you think Marcus and I are such angels (and funny you should mention it, we’re having our wings dry-cleaned as I type), but make no mistake: the primary reason we adopted Alex is because we wanted a child. It was not an act of charity.

So, now that we’ve admitted this, you think we’re selfish little pigs, don’t you?

7. “Oh, you had your baby the easy way.” Well, if by “easy way” you mean filling out enough paperwork to make “War and Peace” look like a comic book, undergoing background checks, home checks and some very personal interview questions in the hope that the social worker will actually fall for the ruse that Marcus and I are sane enough to raise a family, nervously meeting the birthmother, and then waiting while she gives birth, hoping against hope that she’s taking care of herself well enough so as not to hurt the unborn child, fixing up a nursery and picking out names, but then finally enduring 48 hours from the bowels of hell in complete and abject panic as we fervently expect that since the birthmother has now seen the beautiful little girl who came out of her body, there is no way on God's creation she’s going to place her child with Paranoid Me and My Crazy Husband, rendering Paranoid Me and My Crazy Husband helpless and powerless and back to square one again, then yes, I suppose we did get our daughter the “easy way.”

Don’t get me wrong: I’ve never given birth to a child, so I would never presume to believe that adoption is harder than childbirth. But don’t believe that adoption is “easy” – it was, in fact, the most excruciatingly emotional process that Marcus and I have ever been through in our collective lives, albeit with an unbelievably happy ending. And, relatively speaking, we were pretty lucky – I don’t even want to think of what adoptive families who deal with the nightmare of infertility on top of all of this must endure.

And speaking of birthmothers:

6. “You know the birthmother?! Wow. Aren’t you afraid she’s going to stalk you?” Wow indeed – you’ve obviously been watching waaaay too many after-school specials. No, we’re not afraid. Yes, we have a relationship with Alex’s birthmother – we speak on the phone, and I send her family photos of Marcus, Alex and I. And, surprise, surprise, the more we get to know her, the more comfortable she feels about her decision to place Alex with us. And this comfort, you’ll be relieved to know, has been scientifically proven to be one of the main suppressors of the Stalking Reflex. See how that works?

5. “Aren’t you afraid that your daughter may have inherited some of her birthparents’ less desirable traits?” No. Aren’t you afraid yours has?

Sorry, got a little bitter, there. But you get my point.

4. “So what’s wrong with her birthmother? Why did she get pregnant if she wasn’t going to keep her?” This question REALLY fries my egg. I have no idea why Alex’s birthmother makes the life decisions she does, but you know what? It’s SO not my place to judge her, nor is it really any of my business. All I do know is that Alex’s birthmother is a good person, and is trying to make her way through life the best way she knows how – pretty much like the rest of us on this planet are.

And that’s really all I have to say about that.

3. “Are you going to let Alex meet her birthmother?” Alex is adopted, she’s not in prison. We wouldn’t think of keeping Alex from learning anything about her life, including meeting her birthmother, if that’s what she wants.

2. “Are you going to tell Alex she’s adopted?” Nah, we thought we’d keep it a secret.

Of COURSE, we’re going to tell her. We’re going to tell her that we chose to adopt because we knew that her little soul was out there waiting for us to be her parents. And that we were there in the delivery room, desperately waiting to welcome her to the world and our family on the day she was born. And because she has the undying love that she has from Marcus, me and her birthmother, she’s a pretty extra-special kid.

Besides, if we weren’t going to tell her, why would we tell you?

And the Number One Annoying Thing People Say to Adoptive Parents:

1. “She’s so lucky.” Please. Not a day goes by when I don’t thank the Lord above for my amazing husband and our incredible daughter. Marcus and I are so-very-much-more the lucky ones.

And I bet if you ask her that when she’s about 13, she’ll agree.

Mama Get The Hammer (There's a Fly on Papa's Head)

I may have mentioned this before (and with all due respect to those with a differing opinion): I really loathe country western music. Great titles notwithstanding (my favourite: "Dropkick Me, Jesus, Through the Goalposts of Life"), nothing drives me up a tree faster than hearing the twangy whines of some poor sap who lost his woman, dog, pick-up truck, and is inevitably on his way to jail. Now don't get me wrong: of course, as a music lover, there are a few artists whose talents I can appreciate -- Patsy Cline and Lyle Lovett, for example. And even I have to admit that some of the music which crosses over into blues (like Stevie Ray Vaughn or The Fabulous Thunderbirds) can sometimes cause my feet to involuntarily tap to the rhythm. Nevertheless, I can still pretty much guarantee that my boots won't be scootin' to any boogies anytime soon.

Of course, this makes living in Texas a bit of a challenge. And, given the near certainty that most children will find the one thing that drives their parents to drink and then cling to it like Grim Death, I did have a passing thought that raising Alex here in the South was a bit of a risk. However, I didn't expect her to rebel quite so soon.

The other morning, I caught her kicking and waving excitedly when the Hank Williams song "Hey, Good Lookin', Whatcha Got Cookin'" came on the television. I couldn't change the channel fast enough. And as if that wasn't enough, check out what I caught her parading around in a couple of days later:

I'm afraid. I'm very afraid.

Exhibit A

As you may know, I have mentioned once or twice Alex's propensity to scream at the top of her lungs, totally pleased with herself, for no apparent reason at all. A few friends have approached me after these postings:

"Oh, come on, Karen, is it really that bad? You know how you are..." (as if I had a tendency toward hyperbole. I mean, really.)

One faithful reader even posted a challenge, asking me to tape the little perp to prove to the world that her screaming actually occurs.

Well, I have to say, this challenge appealed to the lawyer to me. Never wanting to disappoint, I submit for your review a 2-minute Quicktime video of Alex doing her little call of the wild. As you listen to it, please note the following:

1) I have modified the volume so as to protect you, dear listener, from bleeding out of your ears (read: "the author of this blog, her relatives, successors and assigns, accept no liability for any injuries which may result from the listening of this video." Hey, I'm an attorney -- I worry about liability like that). Consider yourself warned. If, however, you find yourself thinking, "Oh, that's not so bad," please wire your computer through your stereo, turn the volume way up, close your eyes, and imagine you're in church. Or a quiet restaurant. Or your brother's bar mitzvah. You'll get the point.

2) The woman in the background going "You're funny! You're funny!" is my mother. Therefore, this video serves the additional purpose of proving that grandparents will be charmed by anything.

As always with these videos, please give it a couple of minutes to download, and longer if you have a slow connection. I'm thinking this video won't take as long to download as the previous post, since I didn't add any music...not wanting to muffle the screams, don'tcha know.

Enjoy. God help you.

Download screech.mov

How do you get to the Athens Games?

Practice, practice, practice!

And, thanks to the state-of-the-art training facilities at Alex's disposal (read: my parents' backyard pool), I'm thinking that Alex should be ready to join the U.S. Synchronized Swimming Team this summer.

No, really.

See for yourself. Click on the link below to see Alex's 2-minute Quicktime training video. This video, incidentally, is brought to you courtesy of Marcus' Canon ZR85 digital camcorder, my parents' place, and the smooth vocal stylings of Deee-Lite. As is always the case with these, give it a few minutes to download, and longer if you have a slower connection.

(By the way, for those of you who were wondering if her little J-Lo thighs would get into her bikini again, you can see that they did, though not without a bit of a struggle. Never mind. I'm thinkin' the little Chunky Wonders must account for her fabulous success in the synchronized swimming genre. Or something.)

Enjoy.

Download swimtastic.mov

Haute Couture

I am not a fashion-plate. Don't get me wrong: of course I do an adequate amount of grooming -- I religiously go to my favourite stylist to get my hair cut just so, I have a closet full of clothes, including a few business suits (the law profession can be so stifling), and my shoe collection is pretty impressive. Truth be told, I clean up pretty well -- in my opinion, anyway. But I've never been one for labels, or brand names, or posh clothing. Gap, The Limited and Banana Republic probably make up 80% of my clothing -- and the rest is just as likely to come from Target.

A few years ago, before Alex and Marcus and the joys thereto, I shared a duplex with a wonderful woman whose name, coincidentally, is also Karen. She and I could NOT be more opposite. As a result, we became fast friends. She often joked that because we got along so well, a sitcom should have been developed for us and our little shared home. She even had the lyrics to the sitcom figured out, and we still sing them to each other to this day:

"One is black, one is white, they're both named Karen, dy-no-mite!"...

... but I digress.

Anyway, Karen is ALWAYS dressed to the nines, and in some of the finest clothes to be had. And though she never said it, I suspect she must have secretly despaired of my fashion sense. This thought never occurred to me until Alex came home to us, and Karen brought her a lovely gift -- by Ralph Lauren. She bought it in a 12-month size (such a smart girl), so of course, it fits my ever-growing 4-month old (aka "Chernobyl Child") now.

So Karen, this one's for you:

It's official: my daughter now dresses better than I do.

Onset of a smile

As luck would have it, the Apple's back early -- and as promised, here are Alex's latest. You wouldn't know she was fussy right before these were taken. It's getting so she sees a camera lens, and turns it on. But I'm not worried.

No, not at all.

Enjoy.

And is it just me, or do you see the outline of her two bottom teeth in the last picture, too?

Cybermute

As a general rule, I try to post something new here about every 3 to 4 days. I do this for a few reasons... okay, well, one reason: people get snippy if it takes me longer to post. Up until now, I've been pretty good at it -- primarily because I have this great Apple Powerbook (turbo-everything,) Adobe Photoshop, a killer Nikon D100 digital camera, iTunes -- the works.

Unfortunately, things have come to a screeching halt since I put the Powerbook in the shop for a tuneup. I am learning that not having my Apple (and all its hyper-connected and networked accoutrements) is the equivalent of having a cybergag over my mouth -- and it's making me (and some loyal loggers-on) crazy. In theory, my computer should be ready by the end of the week -- but no promises. As such, I've been reduced to using my work pc to log on and give a quick update; unfortunately, it means no pictures this time. Never you fear, however -- the Nikon has been busy, and there will be more pictures of the little Miss Madam to come.

In the meantime, here's what's been going on:

1) Alex is back in her crib, for most of the night (she generally comes back into our room around 5:30 a.m. -- as she did before our little setback). This is all due to my tenacious husband's efforts, and occurred, by the way, without the use of the air mattress. I am humbled.

2) Alex is still exercising her lungs -- this time, adding a nice little shrill pitch to the end. And, lucky for us, she tends to enjoy this little pasttime when we're in restaurants. This weekend, we were in a lovely Italian restaurant, and Alex decided to try a particularly difficult little aria, in the high-soprano range -- I immediately grabbed a pacifier, and jammed it in her mouth. Did this stop the little diva? Oh, HAY-ELL no. She just sang around the thing, and when she needed to hit a high note, she'd take the paci out of her mouth, hit the note, and then jam the paci back in her mouth. I'm pretty sure a few wine glasses shattered behind the bar with some of her attempts. While the staff were more than understanding, we hurriedly ate our food and slunk out.

So, if any of you were at Carrabba's on Kirby Drive in Houston on Sunday for lunch, I apologize. It won't happen again.

That's about it, for now. I promise -- more pictures to come. We're going back to the pool this weekend -- stay tuned to see if her little J-Lo thighs can still fit in her bikini.

Wired

See how alert she is? See how bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, wide awake she is?

She's like that. A lot. ALL NIGHT LONG. And as a result, I've succumbed to one of my set-in-granite rules:

I've been letting her come to bed with us in the middle of the night.

This represents great weakness on my part. When Alex first came home, I was adamant that she not sleep in our bedroom. "It's ridiculous," I exclaimed. "She has a perfectly good crib. And she needs to learn from the beginning that That Other Room is MOMMY & DADDY'S ROOM. Where we do MOMMY AND DADDY THINGS. We are NOT going to begin that bad habit of her coming into our bed. Besides, we have a baby monitor."

Well, as anyone with any newborn experience knows, baby monitors are useless the first few days baby is home. Why? Because with every little noise you hear on the monitor, you're convinced baby is choking. And if she doesn't make any noise, you're convinced she's dead. So that wasn't going to work. But, I really didn't want her into our bed. So what did we do?

We moved an air mattress into HER room. Pretty ingenious, I thought.

Eventually, though, we got used to her noises, and we really missed our king-size, pillow-top bed. So we moved back in our room. And every time she woke during the night, one of us would get up, and go rock her back to sleep in her room.

Well, 4 months later, she's still not sleeping through the night. And getting out of bed and going down the hall began to get a bit old. So little by little, we've creeped into the habit of bringing her to bed with us at around 2 a.m. -- just to get some blessed sleep.

But, the diva is starting to get a bit spoiled. It took Marcus 2 hours tonight to get her to go to sleep in her crib. I looked at him.

"Marcus, my love, I think it's time to get the air mattress out again."

"No, Karen, she has to learn to soothe herself to sleep."

"But Marcus, my king, she's NOT learning to soothe herself to sleep. And I can't keep getting up at night and rocking her to sleep. And she's starting to get too comfortable in our bed. This is getting to be a bad habit."

"No, Karen. It's silly to get the air mattress. It's like a step backwards."

"But Marcus, my life, it's the only way we're going to get any sleep."

And then, he said (and this is important):

"No, Karen. I tell you what. I'll get up during the night and rock her to bed. You don't ever have to get up."

Hmm.

I give it three nights before we get the air mattress out.

Multitasking

Alexis has discovered that she can hold cereal in her mouth AND blow raspberries at the same time ...

...lucky, lucky us.

SuperAlex

Tomorrow, Alex will officially be 4 months old. And now, in addition to leaping tall daddies (6'5") in a single bound, the following are the Top Ten Things Alex Can Do Now That She Couldn't Do Four Months Ago:

10. At night, sleep for 5 hours at a time. Note that I did not say "sleep through the night." I'm actually quite bitter about this. That's why this one is at number 10.

9. Scream. Not cry, scream. At the top of her lungs. At pitches heretofore not previously heard by human ears. And with great pride, by the way -- they're often followed by a smug little smile. Some of her specialties are The Dog Howl, The Fireman's Siren, and the one I'm convinced will send me into therapy, The Call of the Whales.

8. Blow bubbles, raspberries, and general other tricks in the drool area. I particularly like it when she lets a drop of saliva hang there for a moment, before releasing it to hit its selected target. I think her record is, like, 15 seconds.

7. Sit herself upright from a partially reclined position. It's actually quite cool: if she's lying down at a slight angle, she can see her toes. With great force, she heaves herself upright, then forward, and then grabs them.

And then she sits there for a minute, holding on to her feet and confused about what to do next, and invariably falls over. But hey, it's a start.

6. Roll over from her front to her back. But only when she wants to, dammit. What do you think she is, a trained seal?

5. Reach for what she wants, and grab it. And invariably, stick it in her mouth.

4. And speaking of sticking things in her month, she can shove a couple of fingers down her throat and make herself gag. Which apparently, is a fun thing to do for a four-month-old. Go figure.

3. And speaking of gagging, she can eat cereal. Okay, well, she can gum cereal for a moment, swallow some of it, and then spit the rest of it out. But again, baby steps.

2. Truly appreciate and enjoy some of the songs I sing her. Her current favourite is "Copacabana," a little ditty to which, by the way, I know all the words. Nothing excites her more than the lines, "Her name was Lola -- she was a showgirl..." Her little legs kick in excited anticipation. Barry Manilow would be proud.

And the Number 1 Thing SuperAlex can do now that she couldn't do then:

1. Instead of feeling like the babysitters for some cute kid ("who left this child here?"), really make us feel like Mom & Dad. In all of the good ways.