Not all adoptive parents are self-centered boobs. Here’s a quote from a an extraordinary adoptive mother in Australia who really, really “gets it”:
1. Deal with your infertility….NOW
2. Do not think adopting a child is the answer to your grief due to your infertility.
3. Stop reading happy adoption blogs. Read blogs by adoptees so you can better understand what your son or daughter will be experiencing.
4. Ask yourself…can I really accept that this child has a real live true mother that will always be a part of her whether I ever have the opportunity to know or meet them during our life together.
5. Ask yourself….can I love my child for who SHE or HE is without trying to make them into a mini me.
6. Ask yourself…..do you understand that the adoption of this child is totally based on LOSS for the first mom and the child.
7. Ask yourself…do you have the empathy and the tools to help navigate your child through their loss’s and grief.
8. Read, read, read, and learn, learn, learn. Do you understand the inner life of an adopted child? Probably not unless you were adopted yourself. It doesn’t matter if you have a second cousin or friend of a friend of a friend who was adopted and they ‘turned out just fine’. What matters is that you are prepared to bless YOUR child by being knowledgeable and prepared for the road ahead. Don’t take adoption lightly. Don’t get caught up in thinking ‘ahhh…we’ve reached the solution to making our family and now we can just relax and enjoy.
The same blog which quoted the mother above has information on a film about women who were coerced into giving up their children called “Gone to a Good Home”.
It’s appalling that the abuse of birthmothers happened in places other than the United States. One wonders if this is because of the influence of the Catholic Church or possibly a common academic source of destructive social engineering theories.
I’m starting to understand why some people are pack rats.
I’ve been cleaning out, and sometimes it feels like suffocating because I’m not letting go of a mess, I’m letting go of my life.
The bad memories are easy to get rid of, but it’s wrenching to “lose” the good ones. Like, when Emme was young enough to enjoy “staying over”, I collected paint sets and other artistic things for her to play with.
She’s a young lady now, and prefers the company of her friend Vickie, so there’s no point in keeping the paints, the brushes, the glitter glue or the rest of it.
I want it back, I want the years back and those days back!
And guess what, it’s no damned consolation that I had those years. They say you regret what you haven’t done, but I regret the fact that I can’t do it again. They were good years, and I want them back.
Just imagine: some people are dumb enough to think that money can buy happiness. Well, it can’t. Money can’t buy any of the things that the heart craves the most.
If you ever find one golden summer day for sale, a day that includes my grandkids running through a sprinkler, buying Sponge Bob pops from the ice cream man, and watching fireworks, please let me know.
The cicadas seem to be dying out here and heading into other neighborhoods, where they still crash into the windshield. Yesterday, I had four of them land on me, including a couple on my neck while I was driving. It takes coordination to yank off a cicada and roll down your window while you’re hanging on to the wheel, listening all the while to the creature’s angry screes.
We just had a cloudburst, it’s still humid and disgusting outside. I slept without the a/c last night and of course, did not sleep well.
Brought several dozen cardboard boxes to the transfer station today, the basement is starting to look better already.
Peter was smart, he finished mowing before the rain, and the yard looks great, with the flower boxes, the day lilies and the rock garden blooming. Even though we don’t have much of a lawn, I think it’s one of the prettiest yards in the development.
The 1800Junk guys did a great job today, removed about 3/4 of the old “stuff” from the basement. They filled their truck, so I booked them for this time next week to finish up.
Another floor person dropped by to take measurements. Meanwhile, I made a quick run to Mahoney’s, to another floor store and to a stone place across town for marble chips to put around the mailbox, started cleaning the basement and planted a couple of evening primrose, the kind with tall stems and bright yellow flowers that look like giant buttercups.
I’m looking forward to a nice dinner with friends this evening to celebrate a birthday and maybe a movie or cards afterwards.
Far be it for me to commit the unseemly act of rejoicing at another’s misfortune, so I will resist the temptation to do so.
Besides, there are people who always manage to emerge, zombie-like, from catastrophe, so celebrating what is no doubt their merely temporary comeuppance would be an exercise in futility.
That being said, I was admittedly ecstatic when I read that the local technology council folded up its tent this week, that its director has been laid off and that its president was referred to as an “empty suit”.
In all charity, let me say instead that the humbling experience of an ignominious public failure should be a valuable character-building exercise for these two particular people, who have potential to be fine human beings if they would learn that their morning ablutions do not and never will include the excretion of ice cream.
Let’s pray that they emerge from this as better, kinder, less ruthless, less arrogant and more generous toward their fellow creatures. If nothing else, I suspect this would make them happier and give them greater peace and personal satisfaction, and bring joy to their families and loved ones.
James had his tonsils out today.
Bis got a good report from her doctor this week.
The truck passed its annual inspection today. And talk about excellent customer service: Gill’s on 6A in Orleans. I stopped there on the way to work, and they told me the best time of day for an inspection was mid-afternoon. I came back around 2:30, they took the truck right away, and I was back in the office before 3.
I think the Heinz mayo ad with the gay couple and their daughter is cool, man, cool.
This week’s User Group meeting, which had been planned months in advance, fell by chance on a clear night, in between a monsoon the night before and showers this evening, both of which I managed to dodge.
Oh, sometimes, it takes very little to make one happy.
I remember the day Carolyn asked me if I wanted her earth boxes. She’d purchased them a couple of years before, they were recommended by one of the Master Gardeners who taught the class we attended at the Fairgrounds.
I loaded the boxes on my truck but felt a little strange about it, telling myself that I was only keeping them until Carolyn got better.
Of course, she never did. She was absolutely right to give away the things that she didn’t absolutely need, and I’m sure that each gift was as carefully selected for her other friends, each in accordance with that person’s interests and hobbies.
At first, I didn’t even want to think about what to plant in the earth boxes. I was upset and even angry about Carolyn’s passing, and they were a reminder of that loss.
I got advice at a couple of nurseries, who recommended that I not try tomatoes or any other plant requiring staking.
Earlier this year, I’d bought some gorgeous seeds, or at least, they were seeds in gorgeous packets. I can’t even remember where I found them, which is a shame.
One of the packets was labeled “Grandmother’s cutting garden”. I filled in the earth boxes with good soil and planted the seeds, much too heavily, but that’s how it goes some times. The seeds quickly sprouted and at this point, some are over a foot high. The carnations look like they’d bloom if we had a couple of sunny days.
Flowers aren’t as practical as vegetables, but I hope Carolyn would be pleased that her earth boxes are being used, and will be used for years to come.
The cicadas are slowing down, and I would guess that by this time next week, they’ll be gone.
The brouhaha about the alleged pregnancy pact at Gloucester High seems to have finally lost its legs, but from the amount of media hubbub, you’d think these 17 kids had conspired to assassinate the President of the United States.
So, 17 girls at the same high school are pregnant. My, my, my, the world will certainly stop turning, the sun will rise in the West and a meteor the size of Rhode Island is sure to hit the earth any day now.
Wouldn’t it be nice if that meteor would land on some of the stupid people who write for the newspapers, radio and TV?
The Gates Foundation doesn’t have to look as far as Africa to find populations suffering from devastating preventable diseases: kids in American inner cities and rural areas like Appalachia are every bit as deserving.
Great article by Glenn Greenwald in Salon.