We have been matched with a birthmother - the baby is due Nov 2 and she's already having contractions so nobody thinks it will be that long. The baby is a boy - the birthmother is biracial and the father is either biracial or white (there's more than one candidate).
We are keeping this news a little quiet until we have the baby actually in our hands ... I can't help feeling a little superstitious and I don't want to jinx anything. But the birthmother appears to be fully committed to adoption, her family is supporting that decision, and the birthfather candidates are uninterested in parenting. So far, everything looks good - no health concerns, she's had all her prenatal care, etc.
Keep us in your prayers and I will keep you posted!
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Julep: All you can do is laugh...
I had a nice chat with Mr-Sister yesterday, trying to come up with ideas for Mr-Mama's impending birthday. I am truly awfully fond of her. But when I heard that she's been spending most of her free time with the horse she just bought ... well, re-read the "impartiality" post below. Sometimes a sense of humor is all I can muster.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Julep: Really?
Let me put forth a hypothetical.
If one of you girls - hypothetically speaking of course, as you would never - were to get quite tipsy at someone's post-Big Race party back in May, and were to stumble into the wall and knock into someone's lovely framed triptych of family wedding photos, breaking the frame into several pieces ...
... and you gave many drunken apologies and promises to pay for said frame ...
... and then failed to remember it once you sobered up ...
... and then several months later, your hosts delicately inquired if you might be willing to have this frame repaired ...
... would you think it was appropriate to go to Kohl's and buy a budget three-photo frame to replace the one you broke? And when it turned out that the 4x6 cut-outs in the budget frame were just a bit too large for the photos, since they are wedding photograper prints and an odd size, and your hosts gently explained that in fact, the only way to replace the item you broke was to take the whole thing to a frame shop where the wooden frame could be replaced (and fortunately, the mat and glass were undamaged)...
... what would you do next? Would you take your @$$ back to Kohl's and find another budget frame that isn't even the same color wood as the frame you broke, of totally different dimensions, with a cheap-looking mat with 3 1/2x5 cut-outs that are ever so slightly too small for the photos; put the photos in it; leave it on your hosts' doorstep; and keep all of the pieces that your hosts might have taken to the frame shop themselves if they didn't like your budget alternative?
You wouldn't? Really? Imagine that.
If one of you girls - hypothetically speaking of course, as you would never - were to get quite tipsy at someone's post-Big Race party back in May, and were to stumble into the wall and knock into someone's lovely framed triptych of family wedding photos, breaking the frame into several pieces ...
... and you gave many drunken apologies and promises to pay for said frame ...
... and then failed to remember it once you sobered up ...
... and then several months later, your hosts delicately inquired if you might be willing to have this frame repaired ...
... would you think it was appropriate to go to Kohl's and buy a budget three-photo frame to replace the one you broke? And when it turned out that the 4x6 cut-outs in the budget frame were just a bit too large for the photos, since they are wedding photograper prints and an odd size, and your hosts gently explained that in fact, the only way to replace the item you broke was to take the whole thing to a frame shop where the wooden frame could be replaced (and fortunately, the mat and glass were undamaged)...
... what would you do next? Would you take your @$$ back to Kohl's and find another budget frame that isn't even the same color wood as the frame you broke, of totally different dimensions, with a cheap-looking mat with 3 1/2x5 cut-outs that are ever so slightly too small for the photos; put the photos in it; leave it on your hosts' doorstep; and keep all of the pieces that your hosts might have taken to the frame shop themselves if they didn't like your budget alternative?
You wouldn't? Really? Imagine that.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Julep: Impartiality
Sometimes the Mr-Family is a real mystery to me. Mr. J and his sister are both kind, warm, fun, smart, attractive, hard-working, lovely people. They have a really nice relationship with each other, and I think either of them would say that he or she also has a really nice relationship with the Mr-parents. However. The inequitable treatment of these two Mr-progeny is really astounding. Here's the most recent example.
Mr. J has been driving his 1998 Ford Ranger pickup for a long time now, and although he loves that truck, it is on the verge of being impractical. Most importantly, it won't accommodate two adults and a child seat. We knew this day was coming, and we've been scrupulously saving for a new vehicle for the past four years. He moved into an active-shopping mode last month. Although Mr. J has never had a new new car, and he would have dearly loved a 2011 model with a navigation system and the new Eco-Boost engine, he finally found a three-year-old Ford F-150 with a crew cab (so it has a back seat) that after taxes came in just over our budget. So we wrote the check.
Meanwhile, Mr-Sister has been driving a shiny new little BMW since 2005, a gift from her parents when she graduated college. She carts around a lot of large equipment around for her sales job at Mr-Company, and she recently decided she needed to trade the little BMW for an SUV. But money was tight as she spent quite a bit on her home renovations last year and (sadly) had a lot of vet bills this summer. Instead of trading in that Beemer - blue book value, $10k - for a used SUV, Mr-Sister is happily tooling around in a brand-new top-of-the-line Dodge Durango. Friends, this is a $50,000 car. Even a helluva negotiator couldn't get it for under $40k. Mr-Sister's cost? Free. She got Mr-Papa to buy it for her "as a company car."
Now, none of the rest of the sales force at Mr-Company has a company car. And you can bet your bottom dollar that if Joe Salesman down in Hopkinsville decided his old vehicle really wasn't suitable for the demands of his employment, he'd have to trade in the old one and take out a loan for something bigger. He wouldn't be getting a company car - and if he did it wouldn't cost $50k (what with the all-leather interior, satellite radio and nav), and it wouldn't get 12 mpg to be charged to his company gas card. Mr-Papa didn't buy Mr-Sister that fancy new ride because she is his employee. He bought it because she's his kid - and it's his company, more power to him if he wants to give her special treatment. But you know, he has two kids.
What do you want to bet that Mr-Sister pockets the money when she sells the Beemer? Meanwhile, not only did we buy the used truck we could afford, we are scrimping and saving to pay for an adoption as the Mr-parents are well aware.
I can't complain about this too much with Mr. J - I don't want to taint him. He is truly the best-hearted person I know. When he heard about Mr-Sister's new car, he did need a moment outside by himself with a cigarette. But then when he came back in, he only said that his parents have been good to him all his life and he has no room to complain that they haven't given him enough. And when Mr-Sis came over to show him the new ride, he happily fussed over every inch of it with her.
The Mr-parents have no idea how lucky they are. A less-beautiful soul would have been eaten up by this blatant partiality; he would be full of bitterness and rage at this uneven treatment. It's nearly too much for me, and it's not even my family. Mr-Sister is totally oblivious to the iniquity, and I have gently tried to raise it with her. She knows her parents are good to her, but doesn't even notice how good her brother is. My sisters would have tossed her out the back of the van and left her for dead years ago.
I wouldn't mind the Mr-parents giving Mr. J so much less financially if they valued him otherwise, or even acknowledged that they aren't fair to their kids. But they don't. Mr-Sister is their golden child while they pick at him about not working regular hours and not earning more, like he's some kind of free-loader. They never say they respect him for not asking them for money, or tell him what a wonderful loving person he is. I tell him ... but I would like to knock their heads together.
Mr. J has been driving his 1998 Ford Ranger pickup for a long time now, and although he loves that truck, it is on the verge of being impractical. Most importantly, it won't accommodate two adults and a child seat. We knew this day was coming, and we've been scrupulously saving for a new vehicle for the past four years. He moved into an active-shopping mode last month. Although Mr. J has never had a new new car, and he would have dearly loved a 2011 model with a navigation system and the new Eco-Boost engine, he finally found a three-year-old Ford F-150 with a crew cab (so it has a back seat) that after taxes came in just over our budget. So we wrote the check.
Meanwhile, Mr-Sister has been driving a shiny new little BMW since 2005, a gift from her parents when she graduated college. She carts around a lot of large equipment around for her sales job at Mr-Company, and she recently decided she needed to trade the little BMW for an SUV. But money was tight as she spent quite a bit on her home renovations last year and (sadly) had a lot of vet bills this summer. Instead of trading in that Beemer - blue book value, $10k - for a used SUV, Mr-Sister is happily tooling around in a brand-new top-of-the-line Dodge Durango. Friends, this is a $50,000 car. Even a helluva negotiator couldn't get it for under $40k. Mr-Sister's cost? Free. She got Mr-Papa to buy it for her "as a company car."
Now, none of the rest of the sales force at Mr-Company has a company car. And you can bet your bottom dollar that if Joe Salesman down in Hopkinsville decided his old vehicle really wasn't suitable for the demands of his employment, he'd have to trade in the old one and take out a loan for something bigger. He wouldn't be getting a company car - and if he did it wouldn't cost $50k (what with the all-leather interior, satellite radio and nav), and it wouldn't get 12 mpg to be charged to his company gas card. Mr-Papa didn't buy Mr-Sister that fancy new ride because she is his employee. He bought it because she's his kid - and it's his company, more power to him if he wants to give her special treatment. But you know, he has two kids.
What do you want to bet that Mr-Sister pockets the money when she sells the Beemer? Meanwhile, not only did we buy the used truck we could afford, we are scrimping and saving to pay for an adoption as the Mr-parents are well aware.
I can't complain about this too much with Mr. J - I don't want to taint him. He is truly the best-hearted person I know. When he heard about Mr-Sister's new car, he did need a moment outside by himself with a cigarette. But then when he came back in, he only said that his parents have been good to him all his life and he has no room to complain that they haven't given him enough. And when Mr-Sis came over to show him the new ride, he happily fussed over every inch of it with her.
The Mr-parents have no idea how lucky they are. A less-beautiful soul would have been eaten up by this blatant partiality; he would be full of bitterness and rage at this uneven treatment. It's nearly too much for me, and it's not even my family. Mr-Sister is totally oblivious to the iniquity, and I have gently tried to raise it with her. She knows her parents are good to her, but doesn't even notice how good her brother is. My sisters would have tossed her out the back of the van and left her for dead years ago.
I wouldn't mind the Mr-parents giving Mr. J so much less financially if they valued him otherwise, or even acknowledged that they aren't fair to their kids. But they don't. Mr-Sister is their golden child while they pick at him about not working regular hours and not earning more, like he's some kind of free-loader. They never say they respect him for not asking them for money, or tell him what a wonderful loving person he is. I tell him ... but I would like to knock their heads together.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Julep: Where have all the bloggers gone?
We have all been laying down on the job here. I don't know about the rest of you but I need the regular pick-me-up of reading a snarky blog post. So I'll go first.
Here's a little fun reading material for you: God's Blog and a little piece from a magazine I have never heard of, called Garden & Gun.
The latter is a manifesto about the endurance of the Southern Belle ... to quote the article: "Fundamentally, no matter what the circumstance, Southern women make the effort. Which is why even the girls in the trailer parks paint their nails. And why overstressed working moms still bake three dozen homemade cookies for the school fund-raiser. And why you will never see Reese Witherspoon wearing sweatpants. Or Oprah take a nap." Let me air my pet theory y'all have probably heard before: to be a real Southern woman, one must be raised in the South, by a Southerner. The one doing the raising doesn't have to be one's own mother - in my case, it was my grandmother. I think this theory explains a lot about people like my mom, who spent her formative years above the Mason-Dixon line and doesn't quite have the same outlook. It also explains those certain friends who occasionally cause us to collectively tip our heads and say, "What on earth is she doing?"
It gives me comfort any time I see those paparazzi photos of Reece taking her kids to church on Sunday in L.A., dressed in their best. But can her daughter really grow up Southern while living in California?
Discuss.
Here's a little fun reading material for you: God's Blog and a little piece from a magazine I have never heard of, called Garden & Gun.
The latter is a manifesto about the endurance of the Southern Belle ... to quote the article: "Fundamentally, no matter what the circumstance, Southern women make the effort. Which is why even the girls in the trailer parks paint their nails. And why overstressed working moms still bake three dozen homemade cookies for the school fund-raiser. And why you will never see Reese Witherspoon wearing sweatpants. Or Oprah take a nap." Let me air my pet theory y'all have probably heard before: to be a real Southern woman, one must be raised in the South, by a Southerner. The one doing the raising doesn't have to be one's own mother - in my case, it was my grandmother. I think this theory explains a lot about people like my mom, who spent her formative years above the Mason-Dixon line and doesn't quite have the same outlook. It also explains those certain friends who occasionally cause us to collectively tip our heads and say, "What on earth is she doing?"
It gives me comfort any time I see those paparazzi photos of Reece taking her kids to church on Sunday in L.A., dressed in their best. But can her daughter really grow up Southern while living in California?
Discuss.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
I Don't Do Tacky: Dibbs
Dear Members of the Lifestyles Committee,
I realize that you are, gasp, models. I realize that one of you chooses to forego food and paying her dues so she can be judged "Best Dressed, Best Dressed, Best Dressed!!" by people who care.
Guess what.
I? Am Southern. You need not tell what's tacky. You need not monitor or micromanage my every move. And little model one, let me offer a suggestion: People who carry suede purses in June need not throw stones. Call me when your boobs come in.
I realize that you are, gasp, models. I realize that one of you chooses to forego food and paying her dues so she can be judged "Best Dressed, Best Dressed, Best Dressed!!" by people who care.
Guess what.
I? Am Southern. You need not tell what's tacky. You need not monitor or micromanage my every move. And little model one, let me offer a suggestion: People who carry suede purses in June need not throw stones. Call me when your boobs come in.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Julep: A slightly edited RSVP....
Dear War Bride,
I received your invitation in the mail yesterday. Since there was no contact information given for the "hostesses" of said shower, and your name and address appeared as the return address on the envelope, I'm directing this RSVP to you.
As an aside - Miss Manners would not approve of arranging your own shower, dear. No wonder my aunt didn't sound terribly enthusiastic when she told me about it: I thought maybe it was just that she knew good manners would dictate that she, as your mother-in-law, ought not be hosting. Now I suspect that you asked her to front it while you plan everything yourself. Tacky. Where was I? Oh yes ...
It was very sweet of you to send me an invitation - although I already told my aunt (the putative hostess) that I would not be able to attend, so, when taken with your own name on the return address, it starts to look a bit like gift-grubbing. Very tacky. Where was I? Oh yes ...
I would rather shove bamboo under my fingernails than spend a Saturday afternoon at your baby shower. So although I don't have any scheduling conflicts on the books as of yet, you can be damn sure that I will come up with one between now and July 2.
Hope you have a wonderful time!
Best,
Julep
I received your invitation in the mail yesterday. Since there was no contact information given for the "hostesses" of said shower, and your name and address appeared as the return address on the envelope, I'm directing this RSVP to you.
As an aside - Miss Manners would not approve of arranging your own shower, dear. No wonder my aunt didn't sound terribly enthusiastic when she told me about it: I thought maybe it was just that she knew good manners would dictate that she, as your mother-in-law, ought not be hosting. Now I suspect that you asked her to front it while you plan everything yourself. Tacky. Where was I? Oh yes ...
It was very sweet of you to send me an invitation - although I already told my aunt (the putative hostess) that I would not be able to attend, so, when taken with your own name on the return address, it starts to look a bit like gift-grubbing. Very tacky. Where was I? Oh yes ...
I would rather shove bamboo under my fingernails than spend a Saturday afternoon at your baby shower. So although I don't have any scheduling conflicts on the books as of yet, you can be damn sure that I will come up with one between now and July 2.
Hope you have a wonderful time!
Best,
Julep
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