Check out this article, titled "Why Exercise Won't Make You Thin."
Guess who is feeling pretty darn justified in giving up on boot camp.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Julep: Adoption progress
Thought I would give everyone an update on where we stand. Things have actually moved along pretty darn fast to this point! Now comes the time to cross our fingers that the rest of it goes quickly too.
We've turned in our application ... such a simple word for a stack of paper two inches high, including three letters of personal reference (thanks, Dibbs!); three letters of credit reference; forms signed off by our doctor, the veterinarian, and the marriage counselor we saw 3 years ago that everyone in the house is physically and emotionally sound; last year's tax return; copies of our birth certificates, marriage certificate and drivers licenses; and clearances from the State Police, the court system, and the child abuse registry. That's in addition to the ten pages we each had to fill out about ourselves and our family history and our relationship and how we plan to parent, and the joint application about our house, mortgage, bank accounts, life insurance, investments, and monthly budget. And there was the Discipline Form (which is actually horrifying, it lists all these things you promise not to do to your child, and the idea that anyone would do these things to a child is heartbreaking, Mr. J made me stop reading it to just let him sign it), and the Care Plan, stating who will take care of your adopted child if you are both hit by a bus - and we not only have to sign it, the proposed guardians have to sign it too.
(In case you're wondering, we named Little Sis and her husband. Although Little Sis is borderline certifiable, she is a really good mom. And while I'm sure she would be absolutely insufferable going on and on about how tragic it all is and how busy she is now that she's raising our child too but what else could she do after all -- if it happens, we won't be here to listen to it!)
We've also had our home study with the social worker: she went through all of the paperwork, interviewed us for a few hours, and physically inspected the house. Even though we don't have the baby yet, and he or she won't be mobile for quite some time, we had to put child locks on all the cabinets with medication, cleaning supplies, firearms, hazardous substances or alcohol. Since our alcohol usually resides behind the basement bar, it spent the day in the trunk of Dibbs's car. (Thanks again, Dibbs!) While I certainly see the need to secure said alcohol by the time our child's age reaches double-digits, I just don't feel concerned about a toddler getting the cork out of a bottle of wine.
We've also done the first 8 hours of our 20 hours of training - that will qualify us as foster parents with the state, so when the baby is born, we can bring him or her directly home from the hospital even though the adoption won't be finalized yet for a month or two.
Last but not least, we've finished our scrapbook - ahem, the "adoptive family profile." We did it on Snapfish - apparently that's what all the adopting parents do these days - as we needed five copies; the agency will distribute them to its social workers around the state who work with birth parents. The social worker reviewed our first effort and gently suggested that I needed to use bigger pictures, fewer words. The second effort looks great, for a child's picture book. Such a sad commentary.
Once the hard copies of the scrapbook arrive - and I write the next $4000 check - we're ready to be matched. We filled out a bunch of forms about what we are willing to consider in a child (race, gender, age, family medical history, substance use history, how far along in the pregnancy, contact after the adoption). The birth mothers do the same - maybe they tell the agency they only want married couples who are Catholic and don't have other children. So the social worker would pull our profile along with any other profiles of adoptive parents who meet those criteria, and check to see that we are open to the birth mother (i.e., her child will be biracial and we are OK with that). Then the birth mother looks at all those profiles and she ... picks.
Presumably, eventually, someone will pick us. I don't expect that will happen before the summer at the very earliest. It could be a year or more. But we'll see.
We are feeling good about it all. As we've gone through the process, it seems more and more real, and that is healing - and exciting. No more crying in church, which is a good thing.
We've turned in our application ... such a simple word for a stack of paper two inches high, including three letters of personal reference (thanks, Dibbs!); three letters of credit reference; forms signed off by our doctor, the veterinarian, and the marriage counselor we saw 3 years ago that everyone in the house is physically and emotionally sound; last year's tax return; copies of our birth certificates, marriage certificate and drivers licenses; and clearances from the State Police, the court system, and the child abuse registry. That's in addition to the ten pages we each had to fill out about ourselves and our family history and our relationship and how we plan to parent, and the joint application about our house, mortgage, bank accounts, life insurance, investments, and monthly budget. And there was the Discipline Form (which is actually horrifying, it lists all these things you promise not to do to your child, and the idea that anyone would do these things to a child is heartbreaking, Mr. J made me stop reading it to just let him sign it), and the Care Plan, stating who will take care of your adopted child if you are both hit by a bus - and we not only have to sign it, the proposed guardians have to sign it too.
(In case you're wondering, we named Little Sis and her husband. Although Little Sis is borderline certifiable, she is a really good mom. And while I'm sure she would be absolutely insufferable going on and on about how tragic it all is and how busy she is now that she's raising our child too but what else could she do after all -- if it happens, we won't be here to listen to it!)
We've also had our home study with the social worker: she went through all of the paperwork, interviewed us for a few hours, and physically inspected the house. Even though we don't have the baby yet, and he or she won't be mobile for quite some time, we had to put child locks on all the cabinets with medication, cleaning supplies, firearms, hazardous substances or alcohol. Since our alcohol usually resides behind the basement bar, it spent the day in the trunk of Dibbs's car. (Thanks again, Dibbs!) While I certainly see the need to secure said alcohol by the time our child's age reaches double-digits, I just don't feel concerned about a toddler getting the cork out of a bottle of wine.
We've also done the first 8 hours of our 20 hours of training - that will qualify us as foster parents with the state, so when the baby is born, we can bring him or her directly home from the hospital even though the adoption won't be finalized yet for a month or two.
Last but not least, we've finished our scrapbook - ahem, the "adoptive family profile." We did it on Snapfish - apparently that's what all the adopting parents do these days - as we needed five copies; the agency will distribute them to its social workers around the state who work with birth parents. The social worker reviewed our first effort and gently suggested that I needed to use bigger pictures, fewer words. The second effort looks great, for a child's picture book. Such a sad commentary.
Once the hard copies of the scrapbook arrive - and I write the next $4000 check - we're ready to be matched. We filled out a bunch of forms about what we are willing to consider in a child (race, gender, age, family medical history, substance use history, how far along in the pregnancy, contact after the adoption). The birth mothers do the same - maybe they tell the agency they only want married couples who are Catholic and don't have other children. So the social worker would pull our profile along with any other profiles of adoptive parents who meet those criteria, and check to see that we are open to the birth mother (i.e., her child will be biracial and we are OK with that). Then the birth mother looks at all those profiles and she ... picks.
Presumably, eventually, someone will pick us. I don't expect that will happen before the summer at the very earliest. It could be a year or more. But we'll see.
We are feeling good about it all. As we've gone through the process, it seems more and more real, and that is healing - and exciting. No more crying in church, which is a good thing.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Julep: Enthusiasm Gap
This morning I got blessed out by the boot camp instructor - whom some of y'all know socially, as do I - for my bad attitude, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. I am trying to avoid my knee-jerk reaction to criticism and engage in a little introspection.
Let me first say, I fully respect her fitness. She's got biceps that would make a scrawny teenage boy weep in envy, and you could bounce a quarter off her behind. I also respect her dedication. You don't get her physique without putting in some serious time. And she has done a great job of shaping me up, even with my bad attitude for baggage.
But she is not interested in complaints, even joking ones (and she isn't much one for positive reinforcement, either). By golly, we are supposed to be there at 6 am to exercise with enthusiasm.
I have dragged myself out of bed for boot camp for a good six weeks now, even when I was sick or really tired or had some other halfway-decent excuse not to go. To me, that felt like a victory. But she says I am not giving it my all. And you know, I see her point. I do not have said enthusiasm, and maybe if I were she, it would be frustrating me too.
Here's the bottom line: I don't really want to exercise, I just feel like I ought to do it. I'm not sure I want to achieve my fitness potential. I might be OK with being just fit enough to fend off the diabetes.
I don't know how this is going to pan out. I am going to try attending the rest of the session (3 more classes) with a positive attitude. But she's just so serious about it. If I can't make smart-ass comments while exercising, will there be any fun in it at all?
Let me first say, I fully respect her fitness. She's got biceps that would make a scrawny teenage boy weep in envy, and you could bounce a quarter off her behind. I also respect her dedication. You don't get her physique without putting in some serious time. And she has done a great job of shaping me up, even with my bad attitude for baggage.
But she is not interested in complaints, even joking ones (and she isn't much one for positive reinforcement, either). By golly, we are supposed to be there at 6 am to exercise with enthusiasm.
I have dragged myself out of bed for boot camp for a good six weeks now, even when I was sick or really tired or had some other halfway-decent excuse not to go. To me, that felt like a victory. But she says I am not giving it my all. And you know, I see her point. I do not have said enthusiasm, and maybe if I were she, it would be frustrating me too.
Here's the bottom line: I don't really want to exercise, I just feel like I ought to do it. I'm not sure I want to achieve my fitness potential. I might be OK with being just fit enough to fend off the diabetes.
I don't know how this is going to pan out. I am going to try attending the rest of the session (3 more classes) with a positive attitude. But she's just so serious about it. If I can't make smart-ass comments while exercising, will there be any fun in it at all?
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Twinklette: My Sassy Advocate
I knew Twinklette would make a fabulous big sister, and she is an even better one than I expected. She is absolutely in love with her new baby (let's call her Tiny Twinklette), and has never shown a bit of jealousy or resentment, nor has she even shown the slightest notion that her new baby might take attention away from her. She has met Tiny Twinklette with nothing but love, adoration, and goodwill, and I could not be prouder.
I never doubted that she would be just fine with the transition, but I didn't anticipate the way her smart mouth might be of service to me in my new role as Infant Mama 2.0. She is totally the kind of advocate and ally I need: one with a three-year-old sense of sass and absolutely no filter.
I needed to get out of the house today, so in an unprecedented gesture, I suggested to Mr. Twinkle that we drop by the inlaws' house to say hi. (This tells you how desperate I was to see the outside world). We loaded up the family wagon and drove over there...it was so nice to get out, it made them happy, and it was better than having them at our house getting all up in my bidness.
So Tiny Twinklette was wearing this personalized hat with her name on it, and it is a little too big for her head, but I put it on her anyway because it's cute and it does the job. MIL was holding her, and the hat fell off.
Me: Oh, I know that hat is a little big. You can take it off her if you want to.
MIL doesn't take it off, because meddling old matronly types are always obsessed with babies' heads being covered by hats, even in the controlled climate of the modern living room.
Twinklette (authoratatively): You need to listen to my mommy.
In that moment, I felt all the vindication of three years' worth of slights just melt away. Twinklette is the only person on earth who can totally tell off my biggest doubter and critic. Of course I pretended not to hear her, but I was smiling smugly on the inside.
MIL (defensively and with a sourness I'd not seen her use before with Twinklette): Well, I doubt Tiny Twinklette wants to have a cold head. Do you think she wants to have a cold head?
But she took the hat off anyway.
I never doubted that she would be just fine with the transition, but I didn't anticipate the way her smart mouth might be of service to me in my new role as Infant Mama 2.0. She is totally the kind of advocate and ally I need: one with a three-year-old sense of sass and absolutely no filter.
I needed to get out of the house today, so in an unprecedented gesture, I suggested to Mr. Twinkle that we drop by the inlaws' house to say hi. (This tells you how desperate I was to see the outside world). We loaded up the family wagon and drove over there...it was so nice to get out, it made them happy, and it was better than having them at our house getting all up in my bidness.
So Tiny Twinklette was wearing this personalized hat with her name on it, and it is a little too big for her head, but I put it on her anyway because it's cute and it does the job. MIL was holding her, and the hat fell off.
Me: Oh, I know that hat is a little big. You can take it off her if you want to.
MIL doesn't take it off, because meddling old matronly types are always obsessed with babies' heads being covered by hats, even in the controlled climate of the modern living room.
Twinklette (authoratatively): You need to listen to my mommy.
In that moment, I felt all the vindication of three years' worth of slights just melt away. Twinklette is the only person on earth who can totally tell off my biggest doubter and critic. Of course I pretended not to hear her, but I was smiling smugly on the inside.
MIL (defensively and with a sourness I'd not seen her use before with Twinklette): Well, I doubt Tiny Twinklette wants to have a cold head. Do you think she wants to have a cold head?
But she took the hat off anyway.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Pure Randomness: Dibbs
A: Love the new design. Who knew Blogger had gotten all fancy. Big ups, Blogger.
B: Let's hope I never try to adopt. I'll never pass the physical. I'll have to pay some young child to impersonate me at the doctor's office. Hell.
C: Is there a way to make your family stop calling you? I want to stop hearing the names of crazy people. And if that means my mother can't call, so be it. Also, she's no longer allowed to text. This, "Dad getting stint going 2 icu" is no good. It led to my infamous facebook warning to fashion a shiv, which could hurt me in the long run.
D: Remember St. Patrick's Day...and Boogie...green test-tube shots...and no parking places because of someone's grandma who shant be named? Now I'll probably just sit home and eat kale or something. #losing.
B: Let's hope I never try to adopt. I'll never pass the physical. I'll have to pay some young child to impersonate me at the doctor's office. Hell.
C: Is there a way to make your family stop calling you? I want to stop hearing the names of crazy people. And if that means my mother can't call, so be it. Also, she's no longer allowed to text. This, "Dad getting stint going 2 icu" is no good. It led to my infamous facebook warning to fashion a shiv, which could hurt me in the long run.
D: Remember St. Patrick's Day...and Boogie...green test-tube shots...and no parking places because of someone's grandma who shant be named? Now I'll probably just sit home and eat kale or something. #losing.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Lola: Core-Shifting
Hello darlings -
I am lost in a combination of Babyland and jury duty, actually. However, I will openly admit that it is my wanderings through Babyland that I have found the most compelling and disorienting as of late. I think I might be addicted to my child. And coming to this realization as someone who heretofore could take-or-leave babies, I find myself addled by it all. I spend too much time thinking about him during the day when I should be concentrating on due process or RFEs. The agitation I feel as I get ready to leave to pick him up from daycare is similar to what I imagine the addict's shakes could be. The complete joy of anticipation as I speed-walk through the halls of the daycare to pick him up are followed by the serene abject joy of his enormous grin at me grabbing him off the floor when I arrive. Pure addiction as I go through this scenario day after day. But this is pretty normal compared to my darker secret...
More disorienting, though, is that just thinking about children in general has more than once caused me to break into a sob at my desk. I never used to be like this. My only thoughts about children were generally that they were so-so, but more often, annoying. Any conversation about children caused my eyes to glaze over and my mind to wander. (You know me well enough to remember that fact, I am sure.) So anyway, imagine my surprise when the below movie trailer seriously caused me to have an emotional meltdown at my desk:
I was a wreck. The little-boy imagery was too much and I lost it. Contemplating all the little-boy things my future holds is absolutely heart-warming and gut-wrenching at the same time. So there you have it. I am in the midst of a serious core-shift the likes I have never experienced in all my life. Fortunately, I was able to find steady ground under my feet when I watched this video, so enjoy.
All my best,
LoLa
I am lost in a combination of Babyland and jury duty, actually. However, I will openly admit that it is my wanderings through Babyland that I have found the most compelling and disorienting as of late. I think I might be addicted to my child. And coming to this realization as someone who heretofore could take-or-leave babies, I find myself addled by it all. I spend too much time thinking about him during the day when I should be concentrating on due process or RFEs. The agitation I feel as I get ready to leave to pick him up from daycare is similar to what I imagine the addict's shakes could be. The complete joy of anticipation as I speed-walk through the halls of the daycare to pick him up are followed by the serene abject joy of his enormous grin at me grabbing him off the floor when I arrive. Pure addiction as I go through this scenario day after day. But this is pretty normal compared to my darker secret...
More disorienting, though, is that just thinking about children in general has more than once caused me to break into a sob at my desk. I never used to be like this. My only thoughts about children were generally that they were so-so, but more often, annoying. Any conversation about children caused my eyes to glaze over and my mind to wander. (You know me well enough to remember that fact, I am sure.) So anyway, imagine my surprise when the below movie trailer seriously caused me to have an emotional meltdown at my desk:
I was a wreck. The little-boy imagery was too much and I lost it. Contemplating all the little-boy things my future holds is absolutely heart-warming and gut-wrenching at the same time. So there you have it. I am in the midst of a serious core-shift the likes I have never experienced in all my life. Fortunately, I was able to find steady ground under my feet when I watched this video, so enjoy.
All my best,
LoLa
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Julep: You girls need to post more.
I mean, sure, Twinks is about to have a baby and Dibbs had surgery and LoLa seems to be lost in Babyland ... but I need the occasional blog fix! Here are my moments of blog zen for today:
(1) Mr. J is out of town and Mr-Sis was going to stop by on her lunch hour to let the pooches out for a moment. She sent me an email around 11 to say that she was just on the phone with Mr-Mama, who was on her way home from running errands and would stop by our house "if that's OK!"
Fortunately I did not get this message until nearly noon, too late to speak up. Because I would have had to bite my tongue pretty hard not to say, "Actually, since the time we were ten hours away from home and your mother set my dog loose and left her roaming around the neighborhood so as not to be late for her riding lesson - I try not to ask her to interact with my pets."
I don't think that would have done much for family harmony.
(2) I've been feeling a little run-down this week. I've chalked it up to the trial I have coming up plus a lot more on my plate at the office, in addition to all the adoption stuff we are plowing through. No big deal.
One of the adoption forms is something signed off by our doctor that we are healthy enough to raise a child. Mr. J had a physical last week and he took the papers along for both of us. Doc had most of the info for mine already from my last physical in July, but she needed me to come in for a urine test and a chest x-ray. (A chest x-ray, really? Have they updated the regs since Waverly Hills closed?) I stopped in Friday morning and headed off to work.
I got a call today from the doctor's office that everything looks great for the paperwork. But, the nurse said, the urine sample actually tested positive for a low-grade strep infection, so Doc will call in some amoxycillin for you. I told her not to bother. It's been almost a week since I gave the sample, and it hasn't developed into anything. I'm tired, but I am pretty sure a couple good nights' sleep will be just as effective, cheaper, and less hassle at the pharmacy.
But it made me wonder. All of these years I've thought I was never getting sick, have I been fighting off bacterial infections all unawares? Do I only think I am usually quite healthy? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? And now that she's told me I'm sick, will I feel sicker?
(1) Mr. J is out of town and Mr-Sis was going to stop by on her lunch hour to let the pooches out for a moment. She sent me an email around 11 to say that she was just on the phone with Mr-Mama, who was on her way home from running errands and would stop by our house "if that's OK!"
Fortunately I did not get this message until nearly noon, too late to speak up. Because I would have had to bite my tongue pretty hard not to say, "Actually, since the time we were ten hours away from home and your mother set my dog loose and left her roaming around the neighborhood so as not to be late for her riding lesson - I try not to ask her to interact with my pets."
I don't think that would have done much for family harmony.
(2) I've been feeling a little run-down this week. I've chalked it up to the trial I have coming up plus a lot more on my plate at the office, in addition to all the adoption stuff we are plowing through. No big deal.
One of the adoption forms is something signed off by our doctor that we are healthy enough to raise a child. Mr. J had a physical last week and he took the papers along for both of us. Doc had most of the info for mine already from my last physical in July, but she needed me to come in for a urine test and a chest x-ray. (A chest x-ray, really? Have they updated the regs since Waverly Hills closed?) I stopped in Friday morning and headed off to work.
I got a call today from the doctor's office that everything looks great for the paperwork. But, the nurse said, the urine sample actually tested positive for a low-grade strep infection, so Doc will call in some amoxycillin for you. I told her not to bother. It's been almost a week since I gave the sample, and it hasn't developed into anything. I'm tired, but I am pretty sure a couple good nights' sleep will be just as effective, cheaper, and less hassle at the pharmacy.
But it made me wonder. All of these years I've thought I was never getting sick, have I been fighting off bacterial infections all unawares? Do I only think I am usually quite healthy? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? And now that she's told me I'm sick, will I feel sicker?
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