Lola

When my brother and I were in our early teens, one of us (I forget which) bought a Kinks album.

I met her in a club down in old Soho
Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Cherry Cola C-O-L-A Cola

We played it so often we learned all the words by heart, and LOLA was one of our favorite songs.

She walked up to me and she asked me to dance.
I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said, "Lola"
L-O-L-A Lola, lo lo lo Lola

Isn't that a great line? In a dark brown voice she said, "Lola". Gorgeous.

Well, I'm not the world's most physical guy,
but when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine
Oh my Lola, lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola

We thought she squeezed his spine that hard because she was so enthusiastic about meeting him. Sweet.

Well, I'm not dumb but I can't understand
why she walks like a woman and talks like a man
Oh my Lola, lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola

We surmised that Lola sounded like a man because she was talking loudly. They were in a club and she needed to speak above the music.

Well, we drank champagne and danced all night,
under electric candlelight,
she picked me up and sat me on her knee
She said, "Little boy won't you come home with me?"

This was an age of women's lib, right? So why wouldn't she invite him home. Sounded perfectly normal to us.

Well, I'm not the world's most passionate guy,
but when I looked in her eyes,
I almost fell for my Lola Lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola

We sang along with the lyrics nearly every day for months on end.

I pushed her away.
I walked to the door.
I fell to the floor.
I got down on my knees.
I looked at her, and she at me.

We had heard about transsexuals and transvestites, we had even seen at least one in person one before, but we didn't connect it with sexuality at all. We probably thought it was just about odd fashion sense.

Well that's the way that I want it to stay.
I always want it to be that way for my Lola.
Lo lo lo Lola.

At this age I think we would have been a bit more savvy. We were city kids, we had friends that knew stuff. Why didn't we know anything?

Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls.
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world,
except for Lola.
Lo lo lo Lola. Lo lo lo Lola.

We really thought at the time we understood what these lyrics meant.

Well I left home just a week ago,
and I never ever kissed a woman before
Lola smiled and took me by the hand
She said, "Little boy, gonna make you a man."

I wonder if other teenagers were just as clueless, or if it was pretty much just us.

Well I'm not the world's most masculine man,
but I know what I am and that I'm a man
So is Lola.
Lo lo lo Lola. Lo lo lo Lola.

I wonder if that level of naivete still exists today.

Stalked

There is a bird stalking me.

OK, I realize that sounds more than a little paranoid. But I swear, this bird is one determined fowl.

It started 2 summers ago. I heard peck-peck-pecking in my laundry room. When I opened the door, I saw a bird hanging on to the top of the window frame with one foot, pecking at the window pane with his little beak. At the time I thought it was kind of cute. Awww...look, the widdle birdie wants to say hello. Hello, birdie.

This went on all summer. Only the widdle birdie was now pecking at several different windows in my house - all the windows that do not have screens in them. Peck-peck-peck.

He (she?) went away by the start of autumn, but has returned each summer to annoy the hell out of me. What on earth does this bird want? Is it the same bird, or maybe it's the 2nd or 3rd generation of the first bird? Aren't there other people to stalk? Why would a bird want to get in a house anyway?

It isn't the pecking that annoys me. It's the poop. It's really gross.

Nature really is for the birds.

Lost

I've forsaken my evening blogging by watching back epidsodes of Lost of DVD.

Love this show! Great acting and dialog, interesting plot, awesome character development. Good stuff. My husband and I are totally hooked. Well, I'm off to wash the kids, put them to bed, and watch the 4th DVD of Season 1.

Oh, and I also joined the Busted Can of Buscuits community blog to help me lose some of the pounds I've gained over the past few months. Twice I wrote the first two paragraphs in this post and published in that blog. See how excited I am about seeing that show tonight?

Stranger Danger

My little girl is the friendliest person I have ever known. It's amazing to see her approach nearly everyone in her path, whether they be a haggard old homeless person or a child her own age with the same thrill and enthusiasm. I'm a bit shy by nature, and so is my son, so it's almost comical to see us nearly bow our heads in embarrassment and feign polite smiles while my daughter fearlessly introduces the entire family and tells her life story. It's also very scary.

I can't begin to count the number of times she has invited people over to our house. I tell her afterward, "You can't invite people over!" She says, "Why?" in a most perplexed voice. I say, "Because we don't even know their names. They are strangers." This means nothing to my little girl.

Some strangers great my daughter's friendliness with cheer in return, some ignore her, and others really don't know what to make of it. I notice that as she gets older (she's 4 but pretty tall for her age), many people, especially other mothers, shoot me a look of concern. I understand the look to mean, "This is dangerous."

Yes, it is very dangerous. I have nightmares right in the middle of the day of my daughter slipping away from me, only to be quickly lured by promises of candy or puppies, or simply a bit of friendship. Right now my biggest concern is how to create a little fear into my innocent little girl. I feel like a big ol' meanie, a Mr. Grinch, but I don't see any way around it. I've got to make her a little bit afraid of people. I just don't know how, or even it that is very wise.

I've spoken to other mothers, friends of mine who have children, and they say to do it, instill the fear, make them afraid. Exactly how healthy is this? I don't know. I'm confused.

Reflections

There was a time I drank to drown my sorrows. I drank during the day, every single day. I would finish my chores, then pour myself a couple of very tall, stiff drinks. I ruefully called this time of day my happy hour, and I actually looked forward to it. It makes me sick to think of that.

It was sad, self-pitying, lonely time. I had left my job in the anticipation of an adoption that never happened - we were ready to receive a brother and sister, 1 and 3 years old, overseas.
When that fell through I found myself very depressed with a lot of time on my hands.

I am a person who has trouble sharing my pain, and with the exception of my mother and my husband, no one knew how messed up I really was. I was angry and hurting deep, and I turned to the bottle to numb myself. Dumb.

At that time I had no supports, however that was my own fault. My friends knew what I was going through, but not what was happening inside of me. They didn't know about he dank, ugly mess that was my soul. I think they would have turned from me to avoid seeing a person who had become a black hole.

I didn't know about adoption message boards at that time. I didn't find them until after we had adopted our children. I wonder if it would have helped. On the other hand, with so many trolls and anti-adoption voices, maybe I was better off. I was way too fragile to know about the existence of birthmothers and adult adoptees who choose to view adoption negatively.

During the time when we waited for our children I developed many deep wounds that I thought would never heal. I lost myself completely. I thought I'd never return from such an lightless place, but my children saved me. Those adoption boards who repeatedly claim "adoption doesn't cure infertility" really do not know of which they speak. I needed children in my life. I needed a family of my own. The fact is that I have what I am looking for. I finally have the purpose I waited so long for.

I can't say that it doesn't matter that my children have biological parents other than my husband and me. Of course it matters. They matter. The kids' biological parents are an addition to our lives - they do not subtract what we have as a family. I wish I knew that during that difficult time when I very mistakenly viewed adoption as the alternative to a "real" family. I wish I knew. It would have saved a lot of wear and tear on my heart and my soul.

Very slowly, very surely, I am regaining myself. I am coming back to that place where I feel secure in the world, where I feel that pain does not lurk around every corner. I am feeling a bit of self confidence coming back to me.

The positive side to all those experiences is that my scars have made me a much stronger person. As they heal, I can feel the pain in every stitch. The memories of all those experiences have become physical entities sewn right into my body. These scars have made me tougher - so much tougher, but more importantly, I can see the silver lining where I never really did in the past. I finally understand the sayings Everything Happens for a Reason, God Has a Plan, and This Too Shall Pass.

I thank God for my infertility, for the years of heartbreak and sorrow. Without them I wouldn't have my children, these gifts from God, and without them I wouldn't have the new and improved me. Thank God.

Yogi Soldiers

Loved this!

Yoga catching on with soldiers

My evil thought of the day

When I read this headline...

Hooters chairman Brooks found dead

I thought, "Good!"

Yes, I know that is totally evil, but the idea of exploiting young women's bodies to sell chicken wings really pisses me off.

Meme!!!

I lifted this from Joy.

In My Purse
Diapers, baby wipes, inhaler, a pen, a pad of paper, crayons, keys, sunglasses, several lipsticks, bandaids, wallet, cell phone, Purell.

In My Refrigerator
Milk, yogurt, sliced pineapple, leftover chicken, green beans, a couple of beers, garlic, onions, orange juice, lemonade, apples, eggs, cheese, butter, and about 2 dozen assorted condiments.

In My Closet
Lots of shoes, a case of my daughter's dress-up clothes, ironing board and iron, my clothes and my husband's clothes, belts and ties.

In My Car
Several children's books, 2 Magnadoodles, 2 car seats, 1 stroller, 1 first aid kit, 2 umbrellas, Purell, pens, bank deposit slips, nail file, nail polish, Clorox wipes.

Man oh man, I didn't realize what a high maintenance gal I've become.

It's a Boy!

When we were trying to conceive a baby, then when we were trying to adopt, I secretly wished for a girl. Actually, I'm terrible at keeping secrets from hubby, so I did tell him.

My husband was horrified. "Don't say that! What if we have a boy?" He feared that I wouldn't love the baby as much if it were a boy, which is of course not true. I knew I would love either gender, but if I had to choose, I would want at least one girl to add to the family.

When my daughter was born I was ecstatic. I would have been thrilled with a boy too, but I had the little girl I had hoped and prayed for so many years. When we were ready for adoption #2, I secretly hoped for another girl. I didn't say anything to hubby this time.

I think I wanted a girl again because I knew what to expect. My daughter is a typical girly-girl (I could go into an analysis here on nature vs. nurture creating gender-specific qualities, and I would like to, but I think I'll save that for another post), and I enjoy every part of that. My husband and I are far from being sports inclined and we are definitely not aggressive by nature. I think I was a little nervous about the possibility of a little tasmanian devil-type character. I was happy when we learned that my son's birthmother would be delivering a boy, but I was a little unsure as to how I would fare as the mother of a son.

As Karma would have it, my boy turned out all the rough-and-tumble you could ever expect. He's more boy than I think I've ever even seen at that age. Though our TV has never shown a sporting event (except to channel surf right on by it), at 2 1/2 years of age my son knows how to hold a bat and hit a ball. He's obsessed with wrestling, dinosaurs, and trucks. He is fascinated by anything S-C-A-R-Y. He has brought a whole new world into our home. And it is wonderful.

The most beautiful part of having a son, for me, is the intensity in which he gives his love. As severe as his temper tantrums can be (though thankfully those have declined drastically), the other side of the coin is the depth of emotion contained his kisses and hugs.

I have been blessed to have an abundance of loving people in my life, but nothing holds a candle to the way my son looks at me, the way he hold me face in his hands and presses his lips to me, the way it seems the world would shatter if I looked at him the wrong way or if I leave the house without him.

My son can be a very greedy little boy. Touch the food on his plate, and you'll likely lose a finger. Mess with his blankie, and you'll get what's coming to you. But somehow it's different with Mommy. If I'm laying down, he often runs over with his blanket, tucking me in and making sure I'm comfortable. If I'm sitting down while he's eating, he'll offer me the food on his plate and insist that I try a bite. His Daddy just looks and shakes his head because he does not get near the same treatment.

Yes, my son is little bit of a mamma's boy. He's also a bit of a tasmanian devil. But I wouldn' t have it any other way.

And we're off...

My apologies for not keeping up here. Once we get back from our trip to the Lake next week I will look forward to posting, reading everyone's blogs, and seeing what you all are up to.

This summer has been a busy one so far. And by summer, I'm talking about the period of time since all the rain stopped - about a couple of weeks ago. We're in the yard, we're off to the park, we just can't sit still. I love this warm, sunny weather.

Today we are indoors. I am packing for our getaway. It'll be a family event - my MIL, my parents, and a couple of brothers-in-law will be with us too. It'll be one of those fun but irritating vacations. You know how it gets when you get too many family members in close living quarters for extended periods of time. Hmmm.

Oh well, I'll just try to focus on the fun. Thank God I don't have PMS. Somebody would kill me by the end of the trip.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I finished a fantastic book - The Time Travelers Wife. I couldn't put it down.

Fine Art

The kids spent a good part of the morning painting with water colors. What a mess, but they sure had fun. By the end, they had created pages and pages of beautiful swirls and swooshes, and they also looked like Goldie Hawn on Laugh-In. Now that's body art.

On another note, I have two parties to go to this weekend - one is dressy and one is casual. I used some glue-on nails to see how it would look. Classy, no? Uh...I think no is probably the right answer. What do you think? Should I leave them on or take them off?

Oh, and that's a bandaid I've got on my thumb to cover up the small knife wound incurred as a result of unloading of the dishwasher. My life is just so very glamorous.

Body and Mind

It's popular belief that positive thinking is a huge factor in preventing illness and recovering from illness. Think happy, cheery thoughts, smile, invite others to share positive vibes, and actually will the sickness from your body. If you do not recover, it's probably because your thoughts just were not sunny enough. Seems like a lot of pressure to me. Plus, I kind of disagree. Though I'm not sure that positive thought is necessary in curing illness, I am however a believer in thought affecting illness.

The idea that we can decide to get better or not was impressed upon me after seeing several of my family members go through major battles with cancer. The ones that really stick out in my mind are my paternal grandfather, my maternal grandmother, and one of my cousins. Unfortunately, there has been more illness in my family than that, but those are the ones I was/am closest to.

My paternal grandfather almost fully recovered from a stroke (of which the doctors said he would never bounce back), then later beat cancer in his late 80s. He was a stubborn old guy (no disrespect here - I am really very proud of him) who did not want to die. He was 96 years old when he finally, very reluctantly, slipped away. Before that time, he was by no means a positive, sunny soul. He was a "glass half-empty" kind of person. However, he knew with all his being that he didn't want to die. I believe that determination easily added an extra 15 years onto his life.

I saw my maternal grandmother get sick and pass on in just a matter of months. She was ready to go to the next life, and she died much sooner than expected. She didn't want to be a burden. I still cry when I think of her. I wish I had more time with her. She was only 72 when she very serenely passed. She knew that she did not want to hang on - and she didn't.

Then my cousin, who is about 10 years older than me, was diagnosed and eventually recovered from an advanced form of Multiple Myeloma cancer. It was around that time I really began think about whether or not positive thinking was truly necessary in order to beat an illness.

My cousin has a very confident, energetic, assertive personality. She doesn't sit still for a second. She's always got plans and ambitions, and she most often gets what she wants. When she got sick, she was pissed off. Big time. She wasn't depressed, but she was really put out by this illness. It was slowing her down, and she was angry. I worried. She already had a very advanced, aggressive sort of cancer. How in the world is she going to recover with that frame of mind?

The wonderful news here is that she did recover. She's been in remission for years now. She has some painful and debilitating bone degeneration from the disease and the chemo, but she is still traveling and still LIVING. My cousin never for a minute expected to die from her disease. I guess if she had felt defeated, she very likely would have been defeated. Even if she didn't have positive thinking, she did have a very strong will to live.

I wondered about the positive thinking theory and how it fit (or rather, didn't fit) with my family's experiences. Were they anomalies? With any situation, there is bound to be the stray story or two that doesn't fit into the norm. Was that the case here?

Then I saw an program on TV about a study that was done on frame of mind and how it affects illness. In this study, they found that focus and determination was the key. Positive thinking is good, but being angry can be even better. People who saw their illness as an enemy and focused that energy actually recovered at a better rate than people who did not have that fire in their belly.

I think that this is important for people to know who are going through an illness. If they are told to "think positive", and fail to muster up that emotion, that person would likely believe that they were responsible for their disease and its progression - that it is their fault if they die. Isn't this a form of blaming the victim? I believe that thoughts are very powerful. It's not necessary that they be green grassy, happy thoughts. They just have to be thoughts of conviction and strength.

Anyway, this is on my mind because I have two people in my life at the moment (both very young) that are battling with cancer. They are both of the mindset that THEY BELIEVE they will beat it, and they only want to be surrounded by people who believe the same thing. This doesn't mean that they have to be cheerful all the time. They are going through some rough medical treatments, they feel awful, and they are not exactly having the time of their lives. But they are focused on the will to live.

When I was going through all those years of infertility, then the early stages of adoption, people always managed to say things that, instead of being helpful as they intended, stung a bit. I don't want to do that to those people in my life going through so much more than I ever went through. I need to think before I speak, say things that won't just serve to make myself feel better, and really support them in their struggle.

Ogunquit, Maine

Today we went on a day trip today to the Maine seacoast. We were accompanied by my cousin and her family, my parents, and my nephews.

Well over half of our party today ranged in age from 2 years old to 10 years old. As my cousin's husband remarked, "It was like herding cats."

We took a long, leisurely walk along the beach, the rocky cliffside paths, and the docks. It was one of those perfect days - that is if you like overcast, low 70s, and slightly humid. To me anyway, it was perfect.

Of all the people in our crowd, it was my son that was the most awed and the most appreciative of the gorgeous sights. My mother and I marveled at his ability to appreciate nature's beauty. He was the youngest in our group, yet he was the most aware of his surroundings. He is in love with the sea.

He didn't want to leave, but I promised him that we will be back next week. And we will. We'll go back, as we do every year, for the 4th of July. I can't wait.

Scotty, beam me up

I love Yoga. Love it. I've been practicing on a regular basis for about 6 or 7 years now, and I learn something new every time I go to a class or I use a new DVD.

Yoga keeps my muscles toned and flexible, and it clears my head. Most importantly, it puts me in touch with what is happening with my body - it shows me where all the negative tension is stored, and it gives me a way to eradicate it.

I have gone into yoga classes in the most foul of moods, and have exited serene, yet strong, both mentally and physically. Also, I've got some bad spinal discs, so yoga has become responsible for keeping my aches and pains under control and keeping my body fit (well, not totally fit, but better than it would be without any exercise at all).

So anyway, I start going to a new yoga studio that's a bit...odd. I should have seen the warning signs right of the bat, but sometimes I am quite dense. It takes me a while to figure things out.

The first tip-off is that the woman who owns the studio goes by the title "Yogini". She is Yogini Dolly*. That's how she refers to herself, and that's how she is addressed. All of the yoga teachers who work for her go by the Yogini title as well.

Now, I know this is a valid title. These teachers are great at what they do, and they have gone through all the study and practice to become certified in their field. But no other yoga teachers I know have used their title. It sounds just a little pretentious to me, but honestly, I really don't judge it at first. Who knows? Maybe I would do the same thing in their postion, though I kind of doubt it. Whatever.

The second tip off is that students participating in the classes must wear all white clothing. No color at all - pure white. When I tell my husband this, he asks, "What is this, a cult!?" "No!", I exclaim emphatically. I maintain that the studio is just really into background and beliefs that go into the particular style of yoga they practice, and I explain the theory behind wearing white. I have no problems with it at this point, other than the fact that I have to go out and find white yoga pants. Lovely. I love showing my ample derriere in the most unflattering way imaginable.

The third warning sign has to do with chanting. The chanting is about living peacefully with ourselves, others, and the world around us. It has to do with praising the creator of the universe. I'm OK with this. I choose not to join in, not only because I don't know the words, but because that's simply not me. I'm not uncomfortable hearing it, in fact I rather enjoy it, but I would be very uncomfortable participating. However, I do start to feel uneasy when the teacher keeps handing me printouts of the chants and nudges me to join. Uhhh....no. I don't think so.

Still, at this point I'm fine with the weirdness. The classes themselves are very good, and like I said, I really enjoy yoga.

The fourth and final warning sign, the thing that has really got me thinking, maybe this studio is not for me, is the music they play during the final resting portion of the practice. It goes something like this: Hari Krishna, Hari Krishna, Hari Krishna.

I am so out of there.

*Name changed to protect the Yogini

Quote of the Day

"You know you are the mother of a toddler when your child gets stuck behind the bed and you hesitate before going to free him."

The Test

I took a pregnancy test yesterday morning and it came out negative. I was pretty shocked, considering how my body has been screaming, "Pregnant!" for a couple of weeks now. I encountered another emotion, one that really surprised me. After nearly 10 years of wanting so badly to be pregnant (and to actually sustain a pregnancy), I was actually relieved at the negative result.

I had no idea I would feel that way. Of course, I've known for a while now that my family is complete and that a biological child is no longer something I wish for, especially since it would render my children "different" from a genetic offspring. But I still expected the sting, the harsh reminder of infertility. It wasn't there. Hmmft. Figure that one out.

A few hours later the blood came. I soon realized that it wasn't a regular period. The pressure on my lower back, waves of blood rather than a steady stream, aches in my upper thighs, exhaustion - these things tell me that it is something else. A loss.

As opposed to how I have felt in the past about these things, I am no longer mourning my infertility. Rather, I am simply grieving the loss of this specific life - the child I am unable to sustain.

I need to figure something out. Birth control? I hate the side effects. No more sex? Puh-lease. A complete hysterectomy? Yes, thank you! Wait for menopause? I'm not even sure when that happens.

Hmm...I've really got to think about this one. I don't want to go through this ever again.