Indian Summer, Premonition, and Forward Thinking

Hippo still loves tractors. Until this weekend he has been able to either ride a tractor or inspect one thoroughly nearly every day through the spring, summer, and fall. Our Indian Summer is officially over, it snowed two inches this weekend.

How can you resist a pile of leaves like this one?

Each year, since 2001, November 1st hits and L wakes me up at the crack of dawn rummaging around in the basement to find a shotgun to clean to prepare for the pheasant hunt. Unfortunately, this year he got one.

Unfortunately, this is not the end of this unfortunate story. That morning, November 1, 2009, I awoke to L madly rummaging around for a shotgun, and piling on layers of warm clothing. He excitedly reminded me he was off to hunt. I rolled my eyes, and rolled over back to sleep. I then dreamed a disturbing dream: L shot his first pheasant in more than eight years, he called me up to exclaim the exciting news to the only person in the State of Utah who abhors hunting (except the ones in Sugarhouse) and to tell me that he is not coming home right away because he was stopping off at the local taxidermists for a consultation over his recently shot game. Then, I dreamed he displayed the stuffed bird on our mantle for everyone who entered into our home to exclaim over as I looked on in horror.

I woke up and quickly forgot the dream. I began my daily routine and at about 11:00 am L called to say that he had shot his first bird in more than eight years and he wouldn't be home right away because he was stopping off at the local taxidermist for a consultation.

If you think you know where this is going...

I told him that I would divorce him if he came home with a stuffed bird. OR, he could spend his Christmas money on the project just to have it burned, by me, the second he left the stuffed bird unattended.

Needless to say, a stuffed bird has not been placed on our mantle.

What will we do when we no longer have a farm to roam? We met with a real estate broker this week. Selling our home is a large bite to swallow and warrants its own post, to come.

Therapeutic Thursday: Fear

Who says therapy has to be all talk?

This was very validating to me.

I've written about my extraordinarily wise mentor in the past. After a 30 minute soliloquy about feeling afraid she responded to my long non-inclusive speech by saying, "You can't be brave without being afraid." I've spent a lot of time and energy thinking about that since. Maybe Legacy can relate...

The Dancing Monkey Goes Trunk-or-Treating

One of the lamest things about Utah is "trunk or treat." This is where, instead of the traditional trick-or-treating, church/community members gather in a large parking lot and hand out candy out of their trunks. Popular thinking, around these parts, is that trick-or-treating is dangerous. It's rather curious that the entire neighborhood, that knows each other well, shows up to participate. It makes no logical sense to me.

Being the chronically annoyed folks we are, L came up with a gory alternative to the "trunk."

We really stole the show. As you can tell it was a smash hit (har, har) that had everyone coming back to our parking spot several times over--hence, why we ran out of candy within 10 minutes of arriving.

You may be wondering why we would participate if we think trunk or treating is so lame. Because what is the point of going trick-or-treating with a 19 month-old? We will definitely be trick-or-treating when he is old enough to be as excited about candy as Jerry Seinfeld (seriously, if you haven't heard this bit you are not experiencing all Halloween can be). For more go here.

This is a picture taken while we were driving the tractor home, with our dead guy on the hood. We couldn't resist driving around the neighborhood, though, and to see unsuspecting stranger's faces...priceless.

The following picture is from our city's Halloween bash last weekend. It was super fun until I saw an old, very dangerous, client and I grabbed Hippo/Monkey and got out of there as soon as I could. He got his face painted--a snake.

Is There Anything Cuter Than A Dancing Monkey?

Therapeutic Thursday: Healing, One Type Of

In eight years, working with a particular dangerous clientele, I have heard some disturbing things. I understand it comes with the territory and I am not naive enough to say, "I've heard it all," or even, "Nothing shocks me anymore." I hope that I will never say things like that. I hope for my sense of humanity and sanity I will not hear it all. I hope to always be shocked by the shocking; to not lose a sense of horror when something is horrifying. To do so, I believe, would be a level of acceptance and we, as the world, cannot be accepting of some things--the things that hurt others.

Every once in awhile, despite the experiences I have had, I hear something that revolts me so thoroughly I have difficulty maintaining composure. Maintaining composure during therapy is quite important. It is most important during the first therapy encounter (or intake) as the therapist must build a sense of rapport and trust with the presenting client in order for the therapy that will follow to be effective at all.

Yesterday I found myself in one such appointment. I met with a young women who believes her child (under the age of 12) needs counseling. When asked why she believes her child needs counseling she related an appalling story where her child had hurt another child. I usually type, verbatim what the parent says, while they talk and I found myself so stunned I couldn't type. I could feel my eyes bugging out and wondering if, the details of the story continued as graphically as they had started, I would lose my lunch.

I told her I was more concerned than I have ever been about a child, on the first appointment. I didn't get the sense that she was as concerned, which heightened my concern, and horror, tremendously.

Thank goodness, when the appointment was over, my boss with 25 years of experience treating the same clientele was in her office and I spilled my guts blinking rapidly back tears which felt like skewers on the back of my eyes. She gave me needed direction and told me what I had already done was exactly right. When a crisis arises it is human to need reassurance and wisdom's guidance.

Then, she asked, "You saw Hippo during the story didn't you?" She was wrong and right. I didn't see him as the victim, per se, but I had a primal rage I had never experienced before in my life--a mother's rage.

Further, I am extraordinarily frustrated at the lack of consequences the perpetrator will experience due to his age, and hence, the lack of justice the victim will receive.

***

Tuesday, in my private practice, I had an intake with a deeply depressed woman. Though the circumstances surrounding her depression are very different from the circumstances that have surrounded my past depression, I was reminded. Throughout that 90 minutes I battled my old demons to listen to hers. I went home feeling exhausted and worried for her...and for me.

***

Needless to say, it has been a troubling week. Driving home yesterday, just hours after the safe and secure facade I had built around myself had been shattered like a broken tempered windshield, I figured I should pray. In the seclusion of the car ride home I allowed the tears to come and pondered my conversation with God. I came up with no words--just feelings, worries. I wondered, how do I have a conversation with God when I have no words to say?

Later, after Hippo was in bed and I pulled up my favorite show, Bravo's Top Chef, I tried to relax and clear my thoughts.

Suddenly, Hippo began screaming from his crib, I looked over and begged L, with a desperate look, to check on him. L reminded me that since he has coddled Hippo so much that if he was the one to lay him back down then Hippo would want to get up and play. So, reluctantly I paused TiVo, climbed up 32 stairs, two flights, and was slapped across the face by the pungent smell of bile as I opened the door to Hippo's room. It didn't occur to me until I put my hand in a wet, warm, and chunky pile that Hippo had vomited for the first time in his life. I screamed. L came rushing in and snatched Hippo out of the crib and ran him to the bathroom and began cleaning him up. "I don't know what to do" I repeated hundreds of times while alternating between pacing up and down the hall and rocking back and forth in the fetal position.

Soon enough I was able to snap out of my panic attack and yell instead, "OH MY GOSH, HE HAS THE SWINE FLU!" repeatedly.

Soon after that, I was able to snap out of the swine flu panic and remove Hippo's sheets, blankets, and mattress pad and disinfect the mattress, crib rails, and carpet. I didn't even dry heave. I replaced the soiled sheets with crisp new ones and retrieved, for L, new pajamas and a clean diaper. We put him back to bed after determining he had no temperature and no other symptoms.

L and I descended 32 stairs, two flights, back to the basement and played Top Chef again, as I snuggled deeply into my Snuggie.

Ten minutes later, Hippo began screaming. We raced, together this time, up 32 stairs, two flights and through one door to discover Hippo vomiting large quantities. We repeated everything we had done merely ten minute before--except this time I did not panic. This time, however, the barf was much more extensive and all over the carpet. After Hippo was cleaned off again I held him against my chest while sitting on the top stair. L cleaned the carpet in the bedroom and in the hall. Hippo leaned his head back to look at me and asked me to rock him. So I did.

And then...

It wasn't a voice, it wasn't a blazing feeling but a thought, an answer to a wordless prayer: IT IS FINE. And, I realized I can and will protect my family. And, by chance if someone is wounded physically, emotionally, or spiritually along life's journey they will be healed. Just like I just was.

Vomit and healing. I would have never guessed. It's been 24 hours and Hippo and I continue to be healed.

***

As to what caused the vomiting? Food poisoning? We threw away several things he ate yesterday this morning and so hopefully there won't be any ralphing tonight. Because I'm healed, and I really don't want to clean anymore puke up (all by myself since L is at work).

Jenny, This One Is For You

Freud says there is no such thing as 'accidents.'

SO, when I analyzed why I kept forgetting your question, "How did L do in Michigan?" I figured I was too afraid to talk about it because I was afraid I'd jinx him.

Well, whether I was right or wrong I was definitely wrong to blow you off, on multiple occasions. You are a good friend and you deserve better.

Soooooooooooo, here's the answer: Apparently it went really well because....

LUKE WAS ACCEPTED TO OAKLAND UNIVERSITY (IN MICHIGAN) TODAY!He will be studying to become a Certified Nurse Anesthetist.

Oakland University made a personal call to tell him the news, isn't that nice? And, when the lady called him do you want to know what she said to him? She said, "We thought you were so great we wanted to offer your acceptance right after your interview!"

Since the Saturday before he left for Michigan I kept questioning whether spending $50 on a Donald Trump brand necktie was really a good idea. It turns out it was a very good idea. AND, do you want to know another good idea I had while aiding L in the application process? It was that he would owe me Manolo Blahniks for all my efforts (and patience). The only problem is, I have to wait until he graduates.

Lastly, I do not want to live in Michigan, so maybe he should owe me the Manolo Blahniks AND Jimmy Choos for being willing to move to Michigan.

CRNA to be!

Click on photo to see Beaumont's main hospital

Finally after seven years of working toward my goal I have made it. In 2003 I decided to leave farming and look for a new career path. I soon chose nursing and found out about CRNA . I had many hoops to jump through to make it.

I had to first become a CNA (nurse assistant). This job usually includes a lot of wiping ASS. However, I was able to avoid this until I actually was in nursing school (To be continued). I started as an CNA in the operating room. Great place to not have to clean feces. Then I moved into an anesthesia technician position which was an amazing college job and gave me a great insiders view into the world of anesthesia. Then I was accepted into the U's nursing program on my first shot. Unlike other bachelor degrees nursing school offers many humbling experiences. I remember one experience like it was yesterday. The nurse I was working with told me to give the patient milk of magnesia (Diarrhea causing medication). Anyways, it was about 5 min. before I was going to leave and the call light went off. As I walked in to the room the aroma was powerful. Stinging to the nostrils. I help the guy get into the bathroom and on the toilet. I then realized I had nothing to clean him with. I told him that I would be right back with something to clean him up with. Imagine wipes for adults. When I made it back he was standing. He told me he was trying to get his prostatic bladder open. The valve was in his nut sack and he had to unlock it to urinate. Him telling me this was all a blur. All I could see was the crap oozing out his but down his clothes and his leg on to the ground. I thought OH SHIT! Yes that is right. And a lot of it. I began to clean him up. To get to all the poop I had to have him lean forward to. And that is when I saw these huge balls with crap all over them. It was and is the biggest non-edemic scrot that I have ever seen in my life. It took me 5 min. just to get the poo off of his sack. Ever since this epic moment in my life I have been cleaning up crapola on a regular basis.

After nursing school I was admitted to the Critical Care Internship. This was good and bad. Good because I needed ICU experience to go to CRNA school. Bad because I had to sign a two year contract which I will be opting out of and paying the U back about 5g's. Oh well. During the internship I wanted to work in the Surgical ICU. However, due to my honesty with the manager that I would be leaving after two years to go to CRNA school I was not admitted (along with a lot of other drama). I went to Neuro ICU which was my last choice to work in of all the ICU's. I was bent. Yet, it has turned out to be a blessing. My manager really took a liking to me and wrote me excellent letters of recommendation. She is also supportive, unlike the other ICU's managers. I have also been able recently to split my time between the Neuro ICU and the Burn trauma ICU.

Finally the application process. This was a huge pain in the nalgas. Every school had different requirements, different deadlines, different application forms, and the websites were most difficult to read. Not to mention when I called certain places they were so bothered that I took their time away from them to answer some questions that was "on the website". All I was asking is for them to do their job. I actually found one school's website contradicted itself several times.

Now let me talk about the ESSAY. If you haven't figured out yet by reading this post, I am one of the worst english writing people Myndi has ever met (This is why I have stayed married to her for so long. I knew I would need her essay expertise to get into CRNA school). After begging, pleading, fighting, bitting, and bribing her to re-write my essay's, I finally got things submitted.

After several weeks of waiting I received a call for an interview from Oakland. CRNA interviews run the spectrum for pain staking interviews. Mine for example. 90 min. long. I flew out to Michigan the day before so that I would be rested and have plenty of time to find where I needed to go the day before. On monday I arrived at 1100 for my 1130 interview. There was 2 others waiting to interview with me. Both from Michigan. We started promptly at 1130 with some first year students answering questions about the program and trying to relax us. Then we each went into a separate room for 15 min. and rotating between the rooms. Each had 5 people in it asking all kinds of questions. Questions ranged from what was the last peer reviewed article that I had read and what was it about, to name three of your greatest weaknesses. After the 45 min of questions we were put in a room with a simulation dummy with a two way mirror. Behind the mirror was the admissions committee evaluating how we (the three interviewees) could work together to save a dying patient. Then we had to write an essay. I thought well there goes my changes. Not only did I not have my wife to correct everything. I did not even have spell check.

Yet, after waiting 11 days for a phone call (talk about an anxious moment every time the phone rang), being one of the eighty out of 200 applicants selected to interview and one of the 20 out of eighty selected to be admitted. I am finally on my way!

Except I have to bag all of my crap and move to Michigan.

And yes I do have one other offer so far. Well, to interview that is. North Dakota wants me to interview. However, Oakland is a far better and bigger facility so I am going to forfeit that one. Upenn was a bust (Long story about that one). I am still waiting to hear from Mayo, Westminster and I am going to apply to Kaiser in California in November.

After Seven Years This Is How I Know L Still Loves Me

He was willing to take me seriously about what I REALLY wanted to celebrate our seven years of marriage. Sure, there was eye rolling and a few comments like, "I can't believe you're serious." But, his anniversary gift to me, today, my very own, as seen on TV, Snuggie in royal blue. It even came with a handy book light, for no extra cost.

When I first saw the annoying commercials for a blanket with sleeves I thought, 'How stupid." But then winter hit and I was cold. Really cold. Really, really cold. I was cold while watching television, while reading, while blogging, while surfing the net, while traveling. A Snuggie was the answer to all of my problems, seemingly. So, I warmed up to the Snuggie and eventually got the guts to tell L. It has taken me months to convince him I was/am serious, but the fruits of my labors were delivered today, purchased from the local Kroeger for a much better price than even Bed, Bath, and Beyond (even with the coupon).

Happy anniversary to me.

There Is A Little Bit of Genius in Everyone...

And every once in awhile it comes out of me.

This blog isn't a food blog, but what better is a personal blog than for self-promotion and bragging? This plum, bartlett pear, and walnut tart I made this evening just hit the top five best things I've ever made. And I make some fabulous things. Like:

-my conference cinnamon rolls. We love them so much I make 24, which are gone within 48 hours.

-my roast turkey, which is better than any other roast turkey I have ever tasted (and that includes Marie Calendar's).

-my neighborhood famous peach cobbler (impressive, eh?).

-my strawberry cream cake.

-my cheese fondue.

-my macaroni and cheese.

-my pesto.

-my stuffed pork chops, stuffing made of cornbread and cranberries.

-my summer berry and lime triffle.

-my chocolate tier cake.

But, this tart was AMAZING!

The rest of the meal wasn't half bad either: pot roast with braised carrots and fingerling potatoes with butter and home-grown herbs (the combination of parsley, rosemary, thyme, chives, fennel fronds, and kosher salt was so delightful I can't even tell you).

Don't you wish you lived with me?

Don't you think my cake/tart stand is perfect?

Cookie Decorating & Harvest Festival

Hippo was so excited about this animal train he got into this really serious mode where we could not get his attention and when it would stop he would scream hysterically, "MORE, MORE, MORE!" The second round I rode in the pig behind him and he, periodically, would burst out in excited cheers.

Tales of a Yellowstone Nothing

Last weekend we took a road trip to Jackson, Wyoming. Since I've never been to Yellowstone National Park and have always wanted to, and live closer in proximity to it than I likely ever will, we thought it was good timing.

The drive to Jackson was made bearable to Hippo by the fact that we discovered he loves the song, "99 bottles of beer on the wall." Unfortunately, this song made it unbearable to L and I.

We got up early the next morning, put on our warm snow gear and stopped off at the local K-mart to get Hippo some snow boots. Unfortunately, the cheapest toddler snow boots were ugly, and $30. If I'm going to spend $30 it better be on something good looking that I won't mind him growing out of them in five months. We passed on the boots figuring we can carry Hippo or push him in a bundled up stroller.

Off we were, in near blizzard conditions. We reasoned we would be okay because 1) we drive a 4-wheel drive vehicle with anti-skid technology 2) we're from Utah and drive in near blizzard conditions on a regular enough basis 3) we didn't have anything better to do since we were in Jackson, Wyoming in the winterish time 4) we figured the geysers in Yellowstone would be particularly amazing in such weather 5) we had a GPS to guide us 6) there was enough traffic to suggest we weren't complete morons (or at least the only morons).

Eventually we arrived at a Ranger Station about 15 miles from the south entrance to the park. The ranger was stopping cars and having a lengthy conversation with each one. "How friendly," I thought. Until he stopped us and informed us that the south entrance to the park was CLOSED! due to snow. We then had a length conversation with the ranger about when the south entrance would open. He didn't know. What were we supposed to do? Hang out on the side of the road in a blizzard and wait around?

So, here's what we did instead:

Went bear watching, from the hotel hallways

Walked around town where we bought these totally awesome moccasins for Hippo (pictured below).

Unfortunately we couldn't afford the $120 Stetson I wanted or the $625 cowboy boots L wanted or the $10,000 geode neither of us wanted and were shocked to think that someone would spend that kind of money on something so ugly.

Threw temper tantrums or jumped on the bed, however you see this picture.

Played with fruit snacks. Hippo was running through Albertson's when he stopped on a dime when he saw these fruit snacks with a tractor on the box. He just HAD to have them, and we could afford the $2.35.

And took a picture next to a sign.

Riddle: Who Am I?

Hint #1: A woman.

Hint #2: A woman who is reported upon by popular media, often.

Hint #3: A woman who is reported upon by popular media, often, due her recent divorce announcement.

Hint #4: A woman who is reported upon by popular media, often, due her recent divorce announcement from a man with whom she has had 8 children.

Hint #5: A woman whom is reported upon by popular media, often, due her recent divorce announcement from a man with whom she has had 8 children, six of which were from the SAME pregnancy.

Hint #6: A woman whom is reported upon by popular media, often, due her recent divorce announcement from a man with whom she has had 8 children, six of which were from the SAME pregnancy. Half of the star power of a popular show on TLC.

Scroll down for the answer

If you guessed Kate Gosselin, you are correct.

P.S. Don't you think the resemblance is uncanny?

Therapeutic Thursday: Sitting on the Toilet and Other Relaxation Strategies

I hated my senior year AP English teacher, Mr. D-Bag. He was pompous, arrogant, and tried too hard to be “cool.” I guess he didn’t realize that trying to hard to be cool never works to get teenagers to like you.

Case in point: The first day of class he played Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in The Wall.” This from a man who wore tweed blazers with faux leather patches on the elbows, wore knock-off Salvatore Ferragamo loafers, and groomed his facial hair impeccably daily. And to think, I liked Vintage music and I liked that song (up until that day).

Mr. D-Bag gave us an assignment to keep a journal throughout the school year. Despite my loathsome thoughts and feelings about the guy, I was excited about this project. Why? No so much because I liked journaling, but because I loved shocking teachers, it was sort of a pastime for me.

I faithfully wrote in this journal for months. I would spend too much time most journal entries thinking of the most awful things I could to write about. There were a few days, however, the exhaustion of being 17 overcame me and I wrote whatever was really on my mind.

Imagine that scene in “The Christmas Story” when Ralphie turns in his Theme about the “Red Rider BB Gun with a compass in the stock” he wants for Christmas. Remember how he fantasizes, when he turns it into Miss Shields, about her being awe-struck by his writing ability and originality? That was I, when I excitedly turned my journal into Mr. D-Bag. Except I was imagining Mr. D-Bag would be overcome by horror and as a result, of all the horror, he would die some gruesome death.

Well, that didn’t happen. And my graded journal was returned to me a few weeks later (another case in point: who grades a journal?) with tons of his commentary tarnishing the pages.

“Every teenager feels like the world is against them. What mask do you wear?” is what he wrote next to the entry where I used the “mask” metaphor to criticized as many students in my graduating class that I could.

I did not care to be compared to those I hated nor did I care to be invalidated by a teacher I disliked.

“So true! A very original thought…I’m still laughing” is what he wrote next to the entry where I spoke about the only time I could relax in a day: on the toilet. I reasoned, in the journal entry, that one HAS to go to the bathroom everyday. And since you HAVE to go to the bathroom you can take a few minutes, all to yourself, and relax.

Do you see what I mean? Don’t you hate him now too?

This blog post really isn’t about Mr. D-Bag, however. It is about relaxation.

This morning Hippo and I completed my favorite of weekly chores: grocery shopping (I’m being serious). We love to go together. He rides shotgun and plays with produce bags and other non-breakable/perishable items while greeting strangers and store employees with a genuinely happy, “HIIIII!” while I gather the things we will eat over the next week. The produce section is our favorite section and always comes first on our route through the store. I love the produce section because the vibrant colors that come from nature are gorgeous to behold. I love the fresh aromas, all different as you pass the cilantro, the onions and garlic, the oranges and other citrus fruit, the melons, and then the apples. I love the inspiration that comes from walking through the in-season produce. After all, it’s hard to be inspired by Pasta Roni.

Today “Yukon Gold” potatoes were on the list. Why? Because they are the best. As I fingered through the assortment of Yukon Gold potatoes, being careful to choose the very best of the best, out of the corner of my eye I saw something I have never seen in a produce section before; something rare, interesting, and precious (as the cost will suggest): purple potatoes! I scrambled over to the nearest sack rack and began rapidly filling the bag with as many purple potatoes as would fit, all while reviewing the many things my family and I can enjoy with purple potatoes this week. Being curious I scanned my eyes over the prices listed above the produce beds until I found: Purple Potatoes $4.99/Lb. AHHHHHHHH! I had two pounds and there was no way I was coming home with two pounds of potatoes having spent more than $10 (after tax). So I put one pound back.

Sometime after graduating Mr. D-Bag’s AP English class I discovered a new pastime: eating. I’ve mentioned it before. I realized, quickly, that part of eating was cooking. It’s a good thing I LOVE to cook. I realized, quickly, that part of cooking was produce shopping and gardening. It’s a good think I LOVE to shop and to garden.

Eating, cooking, shopping, and gardening are extremely relaxing for me. It goes back to the same philosophy of going potty—you have to eat, therefore you have to cook, therefore you have to shop, therefore gardening is optional unless your local grocer doesn’t carry all of the things you want to eat (e.g. fennel, leaks, purple potatoes—until today—, arugula, basil—by the bundles—, farm fresh tomatoes, lemon cucumbers, etc.). Since I have to do these things, I might as well get some R&R while doing them, right?

Something else I’ve noticed, in connection with eating, is that the very most relaxing and happy parts of the day are the parts I am eating with my family—my very two favorite things in the world. It’s a time when we put down our projects, turn the television off, turn down the music, step away from our computers, leave the phones in the other room, put the toys away, and come together and enjoy good food, like purple potatoes.

We eat, occasionally, with my in-laws and I’ve noticed that their usually contention-filled home stops abruptly during family dinner. There may be fighting before dinner or after dinner, but I have never, in eight years, seen a fight erupt during dinner. This phenomenon is likely a combination of the neuro-transmitters responsible for mood stabilizing scientists know are released during eating and being distracted by eating that keeps the peace.

Isn’t that useful? Having chemical-induced happiness and innate distraction can make for some of the best and most relaxing of times with the people that matter most. Moreover, the moral of the above stories is: if you are in need of some relaxation go poop and take as much time as you want. Or, have a family dinner. Your children will thank you for it, probably much too late, but they will. Adults often forget that the very nature of childhood can be extraordinarily stressful, give your children the gift of daily relief—family dinner.

I guess I owe Mr. D-Bag gratitude for creating such defiance in me, which would lead to coming up with one of the best ideas of my life. I’ve always been paranoid he would plagiarize that idea, though.

Adoption. It's About...

A lot of things.

But mostly, adoption is about families: all the joys and heartaches, the gains and losses, the victories and defeats, the peace and war, the love and anger that happens in families. All of that, that makes families worth being FOREVER.

I've been following the story of a fellow blogger, and a giant adoption advocate, who is fighting for her baby. Her baby that she adopted from birth about year ago. The judges decision (who is deciding the fate of many people), through the first rounds of court, was delivered today.

I can't say this story has got me thinking about adoption. I've been thinking about adoption since I was a little girl. When I was old enough to understand, a woman in my childhood church congregation was in the throws of infertility. I will always remember her intense desire to have children in her family. Then, when my sister was in high school and competing in speech/dialogue competitions I will always remember the National Champion's speech about adoption--I was deeply moved by the account of of adoption, and its profound positive impact on family. When I was in college I worked with a woman who desperatly wanted to have children but was struggling with infertility. I will always remember, with a lump in my throat, the day she miscarried at work. Then, there was the friend that helped me pass Biology 130H whose deepest desire was to have a career solving fertility challenges as a doctor. I still remember when she said to me, "I believe in eternal families more than I believe in anything else in the world...this way I can help people do the most important thing in the world." And then there is my sister. An eternal family with children occurred for her through adoption. Finally, I became a therapist and found powerful healing through adoption. Yes, I've been thinking about adoption for a long time now.

Hippo with his oldest cousin, Buddy, who is adopted

Whatever the decision--win or loss--is a win or loss for:

14 of my clients (of a caseload of 27) (I just counted) who have been adopted

and their parents, who have adopted

Hundreds of past clients who have been adopted

and of course, their parents who have adopted

Many clients, current and past, who have adopted siblings

More than you can imagine past clients whose children have been adopted into another family

2 co-workers, who have been adopted

3 close friends who have been adopted

2 close friends who have adopted

2 friends who have placed their children through adoption

3 close friends who have siblings who have been adopted

4 neighbors who have adopted

1 special family member who placed their child through adoption

3 special family members who have adopted

4 special family members who have been adopted

31 family members whose lives have been touched and blessed by adoption

Adoption matters to me. Adoption matters to the people I know and love the most.

Hippo with his cousin, who is just three months older than Hippo, Sambo...who is also adopted

Here are two beautiful stories about adoption:

#1: A friend who was adopted from another country when she was three years-old lost her brother this year (who was also adopted). Through her tears of grief she answered my question if, at the time of his death, he felt close to his family membes (as he had separated himself from them by his life choices), "He told me I was the best friend he ever had."

#2: When one of my clients, of several years, was struggling with whether or not he wanted to be adopted I said to him, "I think you need them (his potential adoptive parents). But, I think they need you." A year later he said to me with a glint in his eye and a smile on his lips, "I need [them]. But they REALLY need me!"

I hope adoption matters to you.

A Day In Numbers

2 hour workout

615 calories burned

1 rose planted

26 weeds pulled

1 car vacuumed

25 quarters, to wash car

5 minutes to madly wash/rinse car

3 times mail checked

7 telephone conversations

6 telephone conversations with L who is in Michigan

1 bathroom cleaned

1 level of house vacuumed

2 poopy diapers changed

1 trip to Ogden

3 old clients I saw during trip to Ogden

3 stops in Ogden

1 fruitless stop at the post office

9 hours it took me to realize it is Columbus Day and the US Postal Service is on vacation

7 strangers admiring Hippo

3 onions and bell peppers, each, chopped

5 chicken breasts roasted

8 text messages

5 text messages with L who was stuck on a plane on a Detroit runway

3 times kitchen cleaned

4 times putting Hippo's shoes on

22 pills taken (I'm taking fiber)

1 house decorated for fall

1 toddler Halloween costume purchased

8 conversations with non-family members

1 family home evening

2 people bathed

1 toddler cared for despite...

7,463,890 times Hippo told me "NO!" today

1 tired mommy

Saving It For The Office

The other day I read this blog post: http://www.theamazingtrips.com/2009/10/funny-thing-happened-on-way-to-south.html

It's long but worth it. If you don't have time to read it right away than the following will suffice for now (but promise to go back and read it when you have more time): The author, in a shuttle on the way to the airport, engages in a very meaningful conversation with the shuttle driver. I was extremely touched by the woman's attentiveness, listening, empathizing, caring for and validation of this man's life experience. I listen for a living and her account motivated me to be better at it. It also made me motivated to be more interested in and caring about my fellow man.

Each Tuesday I have a lunch meeting at assorted Ogden restaurants with a colleague to discuss practice matters. I was the first to arrive to the old-school cafe, where malted french toast is served all day and the servers are ALL middle aged women wearing matching black dresses (which zip up the back), white aprons, tan stockings with worn tennis shoes, and tightly wound buns atop their greying permanents. As I made my way past the 75 year-old patrons at the bar it struck me, as it always does when I am in this particular cafe, that I am the youngest one in the place. I like being in the company of wisdom and I had a warm feeling come over me. As I neared my usual table to set down my things a very elderly gentlemen caught my attention by essentially flagging me down and gesturing for me to go over to him. When I neared him he said slowly, shaking (Parkinson's Disease perhaps), "You...are...beautiful."

"Thanks!" I said enthusiastically, remembering the blog entry I read the other day.

"Don't stop smiling because you've got a beautiful one, " he continued.

Sure, I was uncomfortable. But he was old. And I was doing my best to be interested and validating. "Thanks again, have a nice lunch," I said as I turned back to my table.

A few minutes later my colleague had not arrived and the elderly gentleman who thinks I am beautiful came over to my table and began telling me that "...men these days are tools...after just one thing (wink, wink)...they don't take enough time to appreciate real beauty when they see it." By this time I was REALLY uncomfortable and I was cursing my good listening skills.

Five minutes went by and the gentleman continued and my colleague still had not arrived. I pulled out my laptop and some paperwork to make the man think I was really busy and interested in getting some work done. He didn't notice or didn't care. He continued, "...I like making women's day by telling them they are gorgeous...I haven't lived here in more than 50 years and I can't believe the men around here. I'll tell you what, these men around here are tools..." By this time I was cursing my VERY late colleague.

Unfortunately, my colleague did not arrive in time to spare me the following, "I have been in a room of 300 men and asked them all, 'How long does it take a man to get his goal in bed?'" He held up seven fingers--five on his right hand and the thumb and pointer on the left. "Seven minutes, on average," he continued despite me madly scribbling nonsense on my paperwork. "And women? Fourteen!" He declared a little too loudly. "Men are such tools they don't even take the time to learn how to match up his goal with hers, in bed."

I was on the verge of grabbing up my things, screaming "PERV!" and rushing out when my colleague showed up. The man quickly left after I thanked him for his valuable information. Apparently sarcasm is lost on the elderly?

If this is the type of conversation I am destined to have when I try to be genuinely interested than forget it. I'll save it for the office.

A Few Things About What's Going On In Our Neck Of the Woods

I play a game on my phone while Hippo plays in the bath and when I looked up this evening he had gotten into the Vick's Baby Vapor Rub. I think it's funny, and relieving, he didn't try to eat it; instead he slathered his face in it. It's not surprising he chose this tube amongst the other several tubes of baby creams to get into as he loves Vapor Rub so much that I will often get him to comply by asking him if he wants some Vapor Rub on his chest.

***

I took Hippo to a Children's Play Museum Friday and this is the best picture I could get of him all day, dressed as Robin Hood, because he literally would not stop running. It should be noted he did not know how to run prior to this museum visit. He ran, without stopping, for two hours straight.

The bridge he is standing on was his favorite part of the museum last time we went (in June, I think). He had just barely learned to walk four to five steps and he LOVED this bridge. It caught his attention again and he spent nearly 20 minutes walking, crawling, sliding, falling, and eventually running back and forth over it.

***

Monday night, we new would be the last nice day of the year, we took Hippo to Layton Park which has some fabulous toys including this one. Hippo really likes parks but this toy made his summer. Within a few minutes several boys surrounded L and begged him to play with them. At first I thought it was cute and then I realized it must be a novelty for a dad to be there actually playing with the kids.

Also at Layton park is a very large ponded/river area and walkway. Many varieties of birds live here during the summer months including this impressive black swan. Unfortunately, seconds after these photos were snapped this ornery swan pecked Hippo! He only got shirt (I can't get the stain out) as there was not even a little mark on Hippo's stomach, but Hippo had more hurt feelings than scared I think. He started out quite enamored with the swan and the swan seemed enamored with Hippo. We quickly walked away to feed another group of birds and the swan followed us, so we had to run away making Hippo think we were merely suddenly interested in a jog.

***

It is snowing no less than 10 miles from my house. I guess summer's end is now official. I have a dream that someday I will live nearer to the equator where summer's end does not exist.

Goodbye flowers. Goodbye garden. Goodbye garden-fresh cuisine. Goodbye healthy suntan glow. Goodbye utilizing outside as a fit stopper. Goodbye long days. Goodbye eating al fresca. Goodbye outside swimming. Goodbye bike. Goodbye jogging stroller. Goodbye family BBQs. Goodbye camping. Goodbye driving with the windows down. Goodbye stylish sandals. Goodbye smell of freshly mowed grass. Goodbye park. Goodbye feeling my fingers and toes. Goodbye.

Hello indoors. Hello cold. Hello misery. Hello hibernation.

***

L has his first graduate school interview scheduled for October 12th in Michigan. Cross your fingers.

This, by no means, means I want to live in Michigan.

***

Hippo had his 18 month well baby checkup on Friday. His weight and height are in the 75th percentile.

His pediatrician was impressed by Hippo's large vocabulary. This is saying quite a bit, no pun intended, in that his pediatrician is not impressed by much (including Hippo's hysterics the first three months of his life).

***

An example of Hippo's communication skills:

Today I was singing obnoxiously to him, something he usually adores and will say, "MORE! MORE! MORE!" when I stop, when he turned to me and said "ALL DONE!" including the sign we taught him for "all done." He quickly turned away from me.

I think knowing how to annoy him is valuable nonetheless.

***

Recently my mother-in-law approached me about something very serious. She said she was concerned about my disciplining Hippo when he hits. I was excited for some ideas/insights she might have to help me curb this problem. After all, she has raised six children.

She said, "Well, it's just that his Auntie R (age 14) and him have a rough-housing type of relationship and it is okay for him and her to hit each other...because they are just playing...that's just the relationship they have and I don't want to confuse him."

Speaking of confused, I was surprised she was coming to me for advice on how to teach Auntie R to stop hitting. Since 'simplicity' is my motto for addressing behavior problems I said, simply, "Time out is works like a charm. Since Auntie R is 14 that will mean 14 minutes in time out."

Needless to say, hitting is no longer a problem...for either of them.

***

Hippo has a cold and I'm hoping it doesn't turn out to be the croup. Apparently a kid that goes to the gym daycare came down with it this week. The daycare posted a sign about it and Hippo wasn't there the days the other kid was last week so cross your fingers it's just a cold.

I, on the other hand, continue to be sick. Tomorrow marks three weeks. I did a little research and I am convinced I have walking pneumonia. There's no point in going to the doctor, they don't prescribe anything for it anymore (unless of course you are dying and then they will save your life, if your insurance covers it). And, since yesterday and today are the first consecutive days, in three weeks, I've been able to breath normally through my mouth and nose and I haven't had to use my emergency inhaler at all, what's the point?