Par1s H1lton, Adopt My Children, Please

Edit #2:  The original post has been fully removed.  Those of us concerned about ethics have been by-and-large lumped together as instruments of Satan and anti-adoption.  The blog in question is not one I am interested in reading.  I hope the child ends up in a safe and loving home.

I also hope those of us concerned about ethics will continue to find ways, both big and small to raise our voices, to work together to let people, agencies, governments know that all kids matter and that most adoptive families stand beside first families.  We understand the world is not necessarily a kind, fair or easy place.  We understand that not every home is a worthy home.  But we know that cutting corners in an adoption process is never acceptable.

EDIT: I talked SAG into reading my post.  Which meant talking him into reading the offending post.  Guess what?  They have removed SOME of the offensive language.  The grandmother no longer has the title (again and again) of “Grandmother from the Slums.”  I am sure we didn’t convince them that they are wrong – but we may have taught them about writing in a more pc manner.

Today an unnerving “adoption” post was brought to my attention by The Scooper.

I took a minute to check out the blog she referred me to and was immediately overwhelmed.

When I read the comments there was only ONE that said, “Hey, wait a minute.  Please, think about what you are doing.”  I was proud to see that comment was posted by my friend, Meg.  She is an adoptive mother of one from Ethiopia and just this week got her positive ruling from the courts in Uganda so that she can bring home her second son.  (Since I first read the comments, other comments with the same tone have been posted – and promptly removed.)

There is so much that can be said about this  black-mail you into giving up your baby “adoption” post.  And others will say it better than I.  For example, you can read this.

But I have FOUR THOUGHTS that I must get out.

1)  If having more money than someone means you will be a better parent than them, I should give my kids to Par1s H1lton.  I am SURE if Paris saw my home she could comfortably call me, “the grandmother from the slums.”  If the criteria for parenthood is not just money but also religion and experience with many children, I guess Little Dude and PJ will be going to live with Kate G0sslin.

2)  Things are really bad in northern Uganda.  Bad enough that I might do something unethical to “save” a child from there if that child was clearly at risk.  But the blog A Place Called Simplicity has condescension written all over it.  From the opening paragraph describing why she blogs to the disgusting, judgmental, possibly racist and incredibly depressing way this woman keeps describing the grandmother “from the slums.”

3)  If you really want something, you can sit around and think deeply about it.  You can even add some religious words to your deep thoughts and aim that at your deity.  When you are done you might still want that same thing.  You might want it even more.  You might have come up with a creative plan for getting it.  Believing that this proves GOD agrees with you is, at best, egotistical.  At worst, it is a little crazy.  People have been doing unethical, evil, violent things in the name of GOD since time began.  Every single time, they have believed GOD agreed with them.

4)  I have not found many opportunities to address the unethical things that happen in international “adoption.”  Here is a situation where it was easy.  I wrote a respectful comment on the blog expressing my concerns and asking the blogger to pray with an open heart about her actions.  My comment was eventually removed.  The blogger is now reviewing all comments before they post.  Doesn’t matter to me.  I think the more heartfelt, comments she gets from the world saying, “Wait a minute.  You might want to rethink your approach”  the more chance there is that she WILL actually rethink her actions.

I hope you will join me in telling her that the actions she is taking are unacceptable.

Now, I have to go talk to my husband.  We need to make a plan about where we will hide the children should Paris or Kate ever show up.

Got My Burrito Goggles On

My burrito goggles are like beer goggles, only it is lunch time and I am not drinking.  And burrito goggles don’t make people better looking, they make them look like they might be Ethiopian.

The longer I sit in this restaurant eating my burrito and stealing furtive looks at the guy at the table across from me the more I am convinced he is from the Horn of Africa.

Problem is he is too hot to just, “Selam.”

After my experience “Selaming” a very NOT hot man two weeks ago I am a bit more cautious.  I “Selamed” him.  He said, “Why did you say that to me?”  I said, “Oh, sorry, I thought you might be Ethiopian.”  He raised his eyebrows and said, “I could be Ethiopian.”  Yeah.  Incredibly uncomfortable.  By the way, if I ever do decide to pick up guys at 4 pm on a Friday, I will wear mascara, oh, and I will SHOWER.

Anyhow.

I keep looking and I am thinking thoughts like, “He eats like a North American.”

And, “I wish someone would talk to him so I know if he has an accent.”

And, “I don’t know many young Ethiopians who shave their heads.”

Um, reality check.  The vast majority of young Ethiopians I know are five and under.  Their mothers don’t let them use razors.

To make matters worse I am staring straight at him.  He is sitting in a normal…

Wait, he is getting up, oh, his shoes look Ethiopian.  DAMN – HE JUST LEFT.  DAMN!  Missed opportunity.

Well, back to why that was super uncomfortable.  He was sitting the “normal” way in this restaurant; facing the windows so you can watch life go by on the street.  I am facing the OPPOSITE way – so I can plug in my laptop.  There was no-one in between us.  So basically it was almost like we were sharing a table.  We were about seven feet away from each other and looking directly at each other.  EXCEPT – after he caught me staring I never looked up from my keyboard again.

I intentionally choose this restaurant because it is on campus.  The number of colors and cultures represented at any point in time is fantastic.  Also, I can sit here and eat a burrito while stealing WiFi from the Starbucks next door.  Part of the reason I come here is with the secret hope of running into Ethiopians.  The reason I bring my kids here is so they can see the many “Shades of People.”

Lesson learned, I need to get back to being bold.  If someone thinks I am trying to pick them up, so be it.  I actually ended up having an interesting conversation with that guy a couple weeks ago after it became VERY clear to him that I wasn’t hitting on him.

For the sake of my son, I will force myself to talk to strangers, even if they are hot.  (The sacrifices of a mother never end.)

And, I will remember to always check the shoes.  Because when it comes to stereo-typing people the shoes are as good a place to start as any.

An Open Letter

Dear Car Interior Engineers,

Do you have a car?

Do you eat french fries?

What about change?  Do you carry change?  Need change?  Use Change?

The car is not a new invention – nor is the coin – nor is the drive-through.

You have had years to fix this problem.

Maybe your punishment should be that you are forced to get all of your meals from the cracks between the seats of cars until you figure out how to design the interior of cars better.

The first couple meals will be easy, especially if you have long, skinny fingers.  But then you will sit and look and you will see french fries, pretzels, other yummy goodness.  And you will see money, lots and lots of coinage.  And you will be thinking, “I can get those salty snacks out of there.”  And you will be thinking, “I think there is enough money down there that I could buy a soda to go with the salty snacks.”

But YOU CAN’T.  You can never, ever, ever get all of the snacks and money out.  Not with a vacuum, not with a straw you found under the seat, and not even with a chop-stick you went into the house to get thinking, “This has to work.”

Your efforts won’t be for naught.  You will force a few of the coins into crevices that you didn’t know existed.  They will disappear.  You will move the seat forward, backward.  You will lay on your stomach, arms outstretched trying to figure out where that dime just went.  You will never find out.  Your car will look a little cleaner and the dimes won’t be taunting you every time you put your seat-belt on.  But they will also still be there, somewhere.

And you will think, “Who designed this?  Where did they go to school?  Don’t they have a car?  Don’t they ever eat french fries?”

It is my deepest wish that all engineers around the world would stop what they are working on right now and go to work on one of two projects:  1)  a car with no crevices 2) personal jet packs.

I think we have all waited long enough.

Sincerely,

Semi-Feral Mama

Wordless Wednesday

Reading Again: Adoption Nation

I guess I burnt out on reading trying to reach my goal of 44 books, because I haven’t been able to dive into anything lately.  I have been buying books.  And I have been going to the library and returning home with back-breakingly large stacks of books.  But I haven’t actually been reading any of the books.  Until last week.  Because I finally opened a book that was compelling enough to keep me motivated, thanks to Adam Pertman who updated and revised his important and very readable book Adoption Nation.

Pertman is the Executive Director of the Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute and the adoptive father of two children.  Clearly he has a vested interest in the adoption topic and is likely to be pro-adoption.  However, this book is not just a cheerleading manual for all things adoption.  In fact, it very clearly outlines many of the historical problems in adoption and also many of the current challenges.

The bottom-line, I learned a lot reading this book, and I enjoyed reading this book.  What else could a reader want?  Oh, would a reader want an author to help her understand things she has struggled with comprehending?  Yes!  And that was certainly the case with this book.  For example last fall I talked about my conflicted feelings regarding the documentary Adopted: For The Life Of Me which concerns domestic adoptions and the opening of sealed birth records.  In Pertman’s book he takes these topics on.  In fact I am pretty sure he specifically talks about some of the same cases the film studies.  I don’t know if it is Pertman’s particular style, or my opinions naturally evolving, but I believe I am starting to “get” where the adoptees are coming from.

While the books primary focus seems to be domestic adoption, there is loads of information on adoption in general as well as international adoption specifically.  Beyond the facts and figures – which I have actually never seen in print before – the universal nature of what all members of the triad experience is highlighted and explored regardless of whether an adoption is open or closed, domestic, private, international or public.

My one issue with this book is Pertman’s constant referencing of a revolution.  Sure the subtitle of his book is “How the Adoption Revolution is Transforming Our Families – and America”, so I should not have been surprised that this was a reoccurring theme.  And there were times where I did see how the term revolution was incredibly applicable.  But other times I felt like this was a real stretch.

When I worked in non-profit, I ate, drank and slept animal welfare.  At times I was so immersed I was sure the rest of the world was also completely aware of what I considered a revolution.  Alas, I would leave my little bubble and find out there were actually other things happening in the world.  I do not fault Pertman for feeling the way he does.  And I give him props for keeping the theme going throughout his book.  But it didn’t always ring true for me.

Before I started our adoption process I was very clear that I did NOT want to be an expert in adoptions.  Despite my reluctance, I quickly realized by adopting Little Dude I joined a community.  It is important to me to be an engaged and informed member of that community.  “Adoption Nation” is the perfect book for building my knowledge and seeing ways I could become more engaged.

Despite my minor issues with the revolution theme, I am grateful I read this book.

Sunday Slideshow

Keeping my blog alive through pictures.

Wordless Wednesday – More or Less

Okay, everyone look at the camera.

Fool Me Once…

A few months ago a stranger named Frank posted a message on my friend Jenn’s Facebook wall.  He said he was moving to CM (where we live).  I commented on his post, “Hey, Frank, I don’t know you but am a friend of Jenn’s.  We live in CM.  When you get here if you feel like it, look us up.  We’ll have a beer.”

I never heard back from Frank.  Jenn never mentioned the exchange.  Time went by.  I was busy keeping my kids alive and only wondered about the guy once or twice since.

Then, a couple weeks ago, Jenn sent me a message.  “Hey, got this friend Frank, I think you reached out to him through my FB page.  He is moving to CM.  Would it be okay to share your contact info with him?”

“Sure. No problem.”  Pass on contact info.  Don’t hear anything.

Late last week Frank sent me an email.  We exchanged pleasantries and talked about getting together.  I was thrilled because this weekend is the big music festival in CM.  We actually already had a babysitter lined-up and it would be super easy to incorporate a stranger into our plans without it being too weird. (Meaning we wouldn’t just go somewhere and watch our crazy toddlers doing dangerous things with some youngish, single guy who probably isn’t too into toddlers.)

As awkward as meeting this stranger might be I was sort of looking forward to it.  I really miss having friends who either don’t have children or whose kids are much older.  In Oregon we hung out with a group of people who all had kids at the same time.  BUT, we also had a large group of friends who didn’t have kids.  Child-less friends can come to your house and hang out.  You can put your own children to bed and sit around with your child-less friends and eat, drink and be merry for hours.  All of our friends here have toddlers and pre-schoolers.  We are ALL in the hard-core years of parenting where our kids aren’t ever out all night at sleep-overs and are too young to just go in another room and entertain themselves.  While we do a Ladies Night Out once a month, I miss being with my husband and other couples just relaxing and having fun.  I was nurturing fantasies of this stranger, Frank, filling the role of “childless-friend-who-we-want-to-hang-out-with”.

So we made plans to meet at the festival around 6 pm.  We could grab some dinner then see a couple of the concerts.  Easy-going SAG seemed fine with the plan (honestly, he probably had forgotten the plan and was just along for the ride).  The only hitch I identified was having NO IDEA how to describe SAG and myself to this stranger.  I am so used to telling people, “I will be easy to recognize.  I am the mother with a pink daughter and a brown son.”  I guess I figured in the end we would rely on our cell phones to find each other.

On Saturday afternoon we took the kids down to the festival to eat yummy food and listen to some music.  I am used to seeing live music in Oregon where there is always a huge mosh-pit of kids dancing near the front of the stage, a sight that made me want children long before I ever really wanted children.  We were a bit disappointed that the toddler mosh-pit does not seem to exist in Missouri, but Little Dude and PJ did their best to inspire the adults around them.  Finally it was time to take them home and drop them off with the babysitter so we could head back to meet up with Frank and enjoy the rest of the evening.

We were walking back to our mini-van which wasn’t far from the entrance to the stages.  (Have I mentioned that I always get rock-star parking?,  even at crowded music festivals where there are real rock-stars?)  SAG was in front with Little Dude.  I was herding PJ when I saw what I thought was our friend Kevin walking towards me.  Granted, I haven’t seen Kevin in more than 10 years and I am pretty sure he is now working at Yale or Dartmouth or some other East Coast school.  His looks are somewhat distinct and he would definitely standout on Wall Street.  But in a college town at a music festival, he could be any other tall guy with a goatee and overgrown hair.

I yelled, “Kevin.”  But he kept walking.  So I screeched, “Kevin, Kevin Doe”  (Only I used his real last name – not Doe.)  He sort of slowed down but at this point it was obvious I was screaming at him so anyone would slow down.  As he looked at me I said it again, “Kevin!”

“Umm?”

“Aren’t you Kevin?  Kevin Doe.”  (I will admit, I had Kevin on my mind.  Just that day he had friended SAG on Facebook.  And, even though Kevin was always more SAG’s friend than mine, I really liked the dude.)

So tall guy looked at me and said, “No, I’m not Kevin.  I’m Frank James.”

My brain was struggling to put two-and-two together.  Isn’t Frank James the name of the guy we are supposed to be meeting up with in an hour?  Now this is REALLY weird.  But I don’t know what Frank looks like.  And he doesn’t know what I look like.

So I said, “That is really weird, Frank,” holding out my hand to shake his.  “I am Semi-Feral.  The woman you are supposed to meet later.  You totally look like a friend of ours named Kevin.”

Of course SAG had continued walking despite my screeching.  I needed to holler at him to come back.

My brain just couldn’t get over how much this guy looked like our friend, and the fact that I had randomly hooked up with the guy we were supposed to find later.  Then I realized there is a common denominator.  Kevin is friends with Jenn, and Frank is friends with Jenn.  Hell, they are all Canadians, they must know each other.  And wow, he really looks like Kevin.  So  I said to Frank.  “Do you know Kevin?  He’s friends with Jenn, too.”

While Frank is saying no, SAG has made his way back to us.

“This is my husband, SAG.  This is Frank the guy we were supposed to meet up with later.  Doesn’t he look just like Kevin Doe?”

SAG shook Frank’s hand and muttered something.  (The truth is SAG is not much of a multi-tasker.  He was busy keeping track of the kids on a crowded street and he never paid attention to the fact that I had set up this awkward blind-date for us in the first place.)

A sentence or two of small talk ensued and then Frank said, “It’s me.”

“Huh??”  Now I was confused.

“I’m Kevin.”

“Huh??????”

Wild laughter…. “Jenn and I have been planning this for months.”

Yes, Frank is Kevin.  My brain is not as fried as it seems.  I knew I recognized him!

Jenn and Kevin completely fooled me.  I just kept playing into their hands as I acted like a self-appointed ambassador of the Chamber of Commerce Welcoming Committee.  The chance meeting on the street an hour before the scheduled time, well, no one predicted that so it was just the icing on the cake.

I stood in the street like a fool introducing my husband to someone who used to be his good friend and exclaiming over and over, “Doesn’t he look just like Kevin?”

The fact that Kevin looked me in the eyes, shook my hand and claimed to be someone else, proves he hasn’t changed at all in the last 10 years.

Yep, we are going to love having him here.

Reality Check

I find my inability to get myself and the two kids out of the house in less than 20 minutes one of the most frustrating parts of parenting.  I am sure we are ready to go, we simply need shoes, my purse, phone, keys and we are out the door.  Eighteen minutes later we are still in the house.  At this point there has likely been one, or all, of the following; tears, yelling, threats, muttering, pushing, singing, corrections and general chaos.  (And there is no reason to tell you which human undertakes which action – because we have all engaged in all of them at one point or another.)

By the time we get to the minivan I am usually worn out.  But I have to be on my game or I make the silly mistake of allowing Little Dude to step into the van while I am not holding onto some part of his body.  If that happens – well – game on!  Front seat, back seat, passenger seat, driver’s seat, over the back of a seat, visor down, radio tuned, laughter and giggles as I walk around the outside of the van trying to think of a new tactic that will get him to stop and wishing my arms were six inches longer and my reflexes were more Ninja-esque.

Today was different.  We were simply leaving the house to walk to a playground.  The kids were fairly well-rested and even ate a snack.  I also managed a mid-day mental break so I was feeling creative and energetic.  I used a combination of my newest parenting tricks (the ones that seem to be working this week and probably won’t work at all next) to get us out the door relatively quickly and peacefully.

As we were walking up the driveway I had a little self-congratulatory monologue playing in my head.  We stopped to watch a squirrel, and I felt great.  We walked 10 more feet and I felt something drop from above stinging my neck and splashing on my shoulder.

It is official, I have been shat upon by a squirrel.

Snapshot Sunday

We love G00dwill.