Woo hoo!
There isn't a font cool enough or big enough or bold enough to express my excitement. There aren't enough exclamation points!!!!!!!!
We are officially approved to adopt a baby.
Yes!
(Can you guess what we're going to say we're thankful for tomorrow?)
Now. . . On to being matched with a birthmom. That could happen next Monday, it could happen in three months. I'm going to assume since tomorrow is Thanksgiving that we won't hear from our Adoption Coordinator until next week. Though babies are born every day, even holidays, I don't want to get my hopes up too high. So once we talk to her more next week I'll post what I know.
Have a fabulous Thanksgiving!
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Vanity, Vanity
I had a weird hair-day yesterday. It was particularly puffy on top, but then the ends flipped out. Just a bit odd. I tried fixing it a little, but decided I was only making it worse. No problem.
Until I went to the grocery store.
As I was getting ready to check out I saw my hairstylist in the next lane. Oh no! I glanced over a couple of times to make sure he hadn't seen me. Other than that, I found many a reason to keep my head down or my back turned so that he wouldn't recognize me. I'm so glad my son didn't see him, otherwise I'm certain he would have bellowed his name. My weird hair day suddenly became a horrible hair day. There is no way I wanted my hairstylist to see what I had done with my head.
How silly is that?
Am I the only one?
Would you duck your hairstylist on a bad/weird hair day also?
Until I went to the grocery store.
As I was getting ready to check out I saw my hairstylist in the next lane. Oh no! I glanced over a couple of times to make sure he hadn't seen me. Other than that, I found many a reason to keep my head down or my back turned so that he wouldn't recognize me. I'm so glad my son didn't see him, otherwise I'm certain he would have bellowed his name. My weird hair day suddenly became a horrible hair day. There is no way I wanted my hairstylist to see what I had done with my head.
How silly is that?
Am I the only one?
Would you duck your hairstylist on a bad/weird hair day also?
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Snoopy Snooperton
My husband at times loves, then hates, my intense curiosity. He is pretty sure it's going to get me hurt or pull him into a fight someday. But he also loves the childlike wonder at discovering something new.
Last week police lights danced through our bathroom window during my son's shower. The red, blue and transient purple hues looked festive through our frosty-can't-see-me-naked-semi-opaque window. Once N finished brushing his teeth (aka - chewing his toothbrush) the lights still bounced around cheerfully. So we decided to investigate. It seems the snooping gene is a dominant one. My son and I both dashed for my clear bedroom windows, leaving my husband slowly following, shaking his lovely head.
Ah! Two police cars! (an educational opportunity - counting! See, snooping really does pay off) We got to the window in time to see the police officers doing a pat-down on the driver. That was immediately followed by the police holding something up in front of the man.
What is that? It can't be mace, there's no way he would stand still for pepper spray.
Perhaps it is a breath-alizer?
Oh! I think so. Our suspicions were confirmed when the police officer demonstrated to the driver how to stand in a heel-toe position.
Oh look! He's doing so good! Maybe he's not drunk. He's standing perfectly still.
Yikes! Where's his coat? It's freezing outside and he only has on a t-shirt. Next the driver walked in a heel-toe pattern. Turns out standing is a lot easier than walking. Every wobbly step was met with us groaning or holding our breath for him.
Look at those shoes. Those aren't helping any. I'm pretty sure I couldn't walk in a heel-toe pattern with my clogs on. Oh look, they're letting him take his shoes off.
Never mind. It wasn't the shoes.
Brrrr. Put the shoes back on. And are those shorts? The man is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and it's 40 degrees outside. Hopefully he is drunk so he won't feel the cold so much.
The last straw: the police officer demonstrated how the driver needed to lift one foot off the ground and stay balanced with it extended in front of him. It was ugly. The police helped him stay standing, his balance was so distorted. It was quite heart-breaking, actually. From our second floor bedroom the flashlight gave enough illumination to diagnose his impairment.
Turns out snooping tonight made me sad. Seeing a man surrendering all his dignity; watching as he lost everything, was hard. He was escorted to the back of the warm police car. His car was towed. He went to jail. And that's the way it should have been. He needed to be off the street. Perhaps this arrest will alter his life for the better. But it was still a bit crushing to witness a man declare destruction for himself by wobbling along our cold street in a t-shirt and shorts.
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
Last week police lights danced through our bathroom window during my son's shower. The red, blue and transient purple hues looked festive through our frosty-can't-see-me-naked-semi-opaque window. Once N finished brushing his teeth (aka - chewing his toothbrush) the lights still bounced around cheerfully. So we decided to investigate. It seems the snooping gene is a dominant one. My son and I both dashed for my clear bedroom windows, leaving my husband slowly following, shaking his lovely head.
Ah! Two police cars! (an educational opportunity - counting! See, snooping really does pay off) We got to the window in time to see the police officers doing a pat-down on the driver. That was immediately followed by the police holding something up in front of the man.
What is that? It can't be mace, there's no way he would stand still for pepper spray.
Perhaps it is a breath-alizer?
Oh! I think so. Our suspicions were confirmed when the police officer demonstrated to the driver how to stand in a heel-toe position.
Oh look! He's doing so good! Maybe he's not drunk. He's standing perfectly still.
Yikes! Where's his coat? It's freezing outside and he only has on a t-shirt. Next the driver walked in a heel-toe pattern. Turns out standing is a lot easier than walking. Every wobbly step was met with us groaning or holding our breath for him.
Look at those shoes. Those aren't helping any. I'm pretty sure I couldn't walk in a heel-toe pattern with my clogs on. Oh look, they're letting him take his shoes off.
Never mind. It wasn't the shoes.
Brrrr. Put the shoes back on. And are those shorts? The man is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and it's 40 degrees outside. Hopefully he is drunk so he won't feel the cold so much.
The last straw: the police officer demonstrated how the driver needed to lift one foot off the ground and stay balanced with it extended in front of him. It was ugly. The police helped him stay standing, his balance was so distorted. It was quite heart-breaking, actually. From our second floor bedroom the flashlight gave enough illumination to diagnose his impairment.
Turns out snooping tonight made me sad. Seeing a man surrendering all his dignity; watching as he lost everything, was hard. He was escorted to the back of the warm police car. His car was towed. He went to jail. And that's the way it should have been. He needed to be off the street. Perhaps this arrest will alter his life for the better. But it was still a bit crushing to witness a man declare destruction for himself by wobbling along our cold street in a t-shirt and shorts.
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Home Visit
We had our home visit this morning. Woo hoo!
We are getting close now, it's so exciting. Our next step will be for M and I to have one-on-one visits next Tuesday with our social worker. After we finish our individual interviews, it will take about 1-2 weeks for us to be approved to adopt, pending background checks coming through.
After we are approved, the wait time until we have our baby is anyone's guess. We could be matched with a birthmom the next day, or in 6 months.
Once we are approved, though, we get to begin another step: fundraising! Ugh. I hate, hate, hate asking people for money. Actually, having to ask people to fill out our reference forms for us was a bit brutal. Turns out I don't like having to ask people to help provide for me. A part of me wants to try to sell a kidney on the black market instead of asking for financial help. This is my child, I should be on the one to provide for him/her.
But we *only* have $15,000 available right now. We need about $10,000 in order to adopt from most agencies. So a-asking we will go. Have I mentioned that I hate, hate, hate it? My stomach churns at the thought. If anyone has any creative, legal, ethical ideas on how to get some more money fast, I'm open to suggestions. (Though I've already researched most of them)
Onto the home visit, for those of you who are curious. It lasted about 2 hours. We sat in the kitchen and talked. Pretty much our social worker, Susan, spent the time getting to know us better. N was a perfect ham. It was nice, went fast, and wasn't stressful. She gave us more information about adoption, the purpose, the process, etc.. We're in good hands.
Thanks for your prayers. Keep 'em coming!
p.s. I've been praying that God will have an anonymous donor send us $10,000. If you think of it, could you pester God with that request, too?
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
We are getting close now, it's so exciting. Our next step will be for M and I to have one-on-one visits next Tuesday with our social worker. After we finish our individual interviews, it will take about 1-2 weeks for us to be approved to adopt, pending background checks coming through.
After we are approved, the wait time until we have our baby is anyone's guess. We could be matched with a birthmom the next day, or in 6 months.
Once we are approved, though, we get to begin another step: fundraising! Ugh. I hate, hate, hate asking people for money. Actually, having to ask people to fill out our reference forms for us was a bit brutal. Turns out I don't like having to ask people to help provide for me. A part of me wants to try to sell a kidney on the black market instead of asking for financial help. This is my child, I should be on the one to provide for him/her.
But we *only* have $15,000 available right now. We need about $10,000 in order to adopt from most agencies. So a-asking we will go. Have I mentioned that I hate, hate, hate it? My stomach churns at the thought. If anyone has any creative, legal, ethical ideas on how to get some more money fast, I'm open to suggestions. (Though I've already researched most of them)
Onto the home visit, for those of you who are curious. It lasted about 2 hours. We sat in the kitchen and talked. Pretty much our social worker, Susan, spent the time getting to know us better. N was a perfect ham. It was nice, went fast, and wasn't stressful. She gave us more information about adoption, the purpose, the process, etc.. We're in good hands.
Thanks for your prayers. Keep 'em coming!
p.s. I've been praying that God will have an anonymous donor send us $10,000. If you think of it, could you pester God with that request, too?
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Well-intended, but W-R-O-N-G
That would describe me.
So often when I describe a person as being well-intended it's someone else. My attitude tends to be a wee bit condescending when I say it. But today it is me. So I'm not as arrogant as usual. A small sigh, a little shake of the head. Apparently I'm feeling dramatic as I type, because it's really not that big of a deal.
There are a number of things that I wanted to do as I parent my darling son. My hopes and dreams were well-intended, but boy was I wrong about what life would actually be like.
For instance: I was planning on my child being 17 years old and asking a friend what a french fry was. Seriously. My goal was to have him not eat french fries and never, ever taste soda. Then we went on a road trip. I underestimated the number of snacks we would need. So we stopped to grab a burger and fries. One bite, and my vocal little boy, with an awesome memory, was hooked. Apparently someone in PR should get a bonus. Because my child who is just now beginning to recognize letters can recognize a burger joint from a half mile away. And since he remembers what they house, he yells for burgers on a regular basis. So, he knows what french fries are. And he loves them. He ate some yesterday. At least he hasn't had soda. . .yet.
Other plan smashed to smithereens: never have the TV babysit my child. We watched that goal blow away in the blistering wind today. We went out to play. The weather pushed us back in. My son was devastated. Since the day had already lasted 126 hours, Mommy was out of ideas. So shocking words rolled out of my mouth, "Do you want to watch a show?" Of course, he did.
Yesterday: fries. Today: television. My son is still standing strong, but I'm hoping his brain and body don't turn to complete mush by the weekend.
How very humbling parenting has been already. I wonder what else I will be wrong about in the coming years?
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
So often when I describe a person as being well-intended it's someone else. My attitude tends to be a wee bit condescending when I say it. But today it is me. So I'm not as arrogant as usual. A small sigh, a little shake of the head. Apparently I'm feeling dramatic as I type, because it's really not that big of a deal.
There are a number of things that I wanted to do as I parent my darling son. My hopes and dreams were well-intended, but boy was I wrong about what life would actually be like.
For instance: I was planning on my child being 17 years old and asking a friend what a french fry was. Seriously. My goal was to have him not eat french fries and never, ever taste soda. Then we went on a road trip. I underestimated the number of snacks we would need. So we stopped to grab a burger and fries. One bite, and my vocal little boy, with an awesome memory, was hooked. Apparently someone in PR should get a bonus. Because my child who is just now beginning to recognize letters can recognize a burger joint from a half mile away. And since he remembers what they house, he yells for burgers on a regular basis. So, he knows what french fries are. And he loves them. He ate some yesterday. At least he hasn't had soda. . .yet.
Other plan smashed to smithereens: never have the TV babysit my child. We watched that goal blow away in the blistering wind today. We went out to play. The weather pushed us back in. My son was devastated. Since the day had already lasted 126 hours, Mommy was out of ideas. So shocking words rolled out of my mouth, "Do you want to watch a show?" Of course, he did.
Yesterday: fries. Today: television. My son is still standing strong, but I'm hoping his brain and body don't turn to complete mush by the weekend.
How very humbling parenting has been already. I wonder what else I will be wrong about in the coming years?
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Hurry Up and Wait
We got our paperwork done for our homestudy. Woo Hoo!
And we got our paperwork done for our family profile. Double Woo Hoo!
Now we get to wait. . . Ugh. Boo Hoo.
The great news, though, is that our adoption agency has already been working on our first wave of papers. So when the second wave gets there (today or tomorrow,) they will already be rolling. I'm hoping we will have our home visit soon. My ambitious goal, and prayer, is that we have our home study done in the next two weeks. Our fingerprints have already been sent to the KBI, and those take 2-3 weeks to process. Our social worker has already begun digging through our papers, and that takes 4-6 weeks. I have heard from most of our family and friend references. Those that haven't sent their forms yet have plans to send them in the next day or two.
I'm excited! We're excited! We are moving forward! After trying to have a baby for 18 months, we are starting to see light at the end of the tunnel. I know approval does not mean we instantly get a baby, but the approval process is a major step. Once we are approved to adopt a baby, we can begin waiting and looking for a birthmom. Once we hear of a baby we would be willing to adopt, our profile will be presented to the birthmom. If she chooses us, then we can either get our baby or wait for him/her to be born.
We might grow from three to four by the holidays. How awesome would that be? (Very)
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
And we got our paperwork done for our family profile. Double Woo Hoo!
Now we get to wait. . . Ugh. Boo Hoo.
The great news, though, is that our adoption agency has already been working on our first wave of papers. So when the second wave gets there (today or tomorrow,) they will already be rolling. I'm hoping we will have our home visit soon. My ambitious goal, and prayer, is that we have our home study done in the next two weeks. Our fingerprints have already been sent to the KBI, and those take 2-3 weeks to process. Our social worker has already begun digging through our papers, and that takes 4-6 weeks. I have heard from most of our family and friend references. Those that haven't sent their forms yet have plans to send them in the next day or two.
I'm excited! We're excited! We are moving forward! After trying to have a baby for 18 months, we are starting to see light at the end of the tunnel. I know approval does not mean we instantly get a baby, but the approval process is a major step. Once we are approved to adopt a baby, we can begin waiting and looking for a birthmom. Once we hear of a baby we would be willing to adopt, our profile will be presented to the birthmom. If she chooses us, then we can either get our baby or wait for him/her to be born.
We might grow from three to four by the holidays. How awesome would that be? (Very)
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
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