No Regrets

I have been emotionally neck-deep in the Amy/Chris saga for six months. That's a long time, particularly when you're an "all in" kind of girl like me. I can prattle on about protecting my heart and not getting my hopes up so I won't get hurt, but it's all talk. I'm not protecting anything. To give you some idea of how badly we wanted to be Chris' parents, when it became clear that only in-state families would be considered for Chris, O and I actually sat down and discussed the logistics of getting an apartment in Chris' county for the long haul. THAT'S how badly we wanted to adopt this child. O and I don't even like to be apart for one night. Cannot stand it. And yet we were actually discussing being in two different states indefinitely.

So, since we got the e-mail from Chris' worker 13 days ago letting us know that we would not be considered for him, I have been trying to make peace with the fact that unless some sort of miracle occurs, we really aren't going to get the opportunity to be Chris' parents. I know that I will eventually be fine and that the pain will fade away, but before I could truly start to let it go, I knew I had to do one final thing.

I wrote the judge a letter. It read as follows:


My name is ___________. My husband O and I are the couple that Amy _______ contacted about adopting her son Chris.

I’ve been friends with Chris’ foster mother for years and my husband and I visit her home and her family often. As such, we’ve known Chris since he was an infant and have been fortunate enough to watch him grow into the darling toddler he’s become.

As you may recall, we are approved foster and adoptive parents in the state of Alabama. When Amy approached us about adopting Chris last winter, we were surprised but did not have a moment’s hesitation – it was an immediate “yes”. At that point, we suspended our adoption search to be available for anything that Chris' County's D*C*F*S might need from us. Being a resource for Chris was and is our very top priority.

On July 14, 2010, I sent Chris' caseworker, ____________, our approved home study and a scrapbook that illustrates our life. Almost a month later, I e-mailed Ms. _________ to confirm that she had, in fact, received the things we’d sent.

I received a reply on August 13, 2010 wherein Ms. _______ informed me that regardless of our existing relationship with him and the fact that we are an approved adoptive home, we will not be considered for Chris. Ms. __________ said that if he is not reunified with Amy, he will be placed on the waiting list for the state of ___________. She went on to say that if no one in-state wants to adopt him, then we might be considered.

This, of course, has broken our hearts. It has also confused us because it’s our understanding that D*C*F*S had, on more than one occasion, begged Amy to find a suitable placement for her son and in choosing us, that is exactly what she did.

It had been our intention to attend the next hearing on Chris' case, and to be present to answer any questions you may have for us. But given the fact that D*C*F*S has said they will not even consider us as a potential placement for Chris, we have elected not to come.

However, we did not want you to mistake our absence for apathy. My husband O and I still care very much for Chris and would be absolutely honored to be his parents. If he were placed with us, we would do everything within our power to make sure he has the opportunity to live a joyful and successful life.

We are more than happy to answer any questions you may have for us, either now or in the future. Our contact information is as follows: _________________________.

Thanks so much for your time and consideration Judge _________ . We truly appreciate it.

Do I believe that this letter will make a difference? No, I don't. This judge has already said he has no jurisdiction to make D*CF*S do anything, and D*C*F*S doesn't want us to have Chris, even if Amy does. Even if the judge does. But I wanted the judge to know that we would have loved and cherished Chris for the rest of our lives. Even if it doesn't make a difference.

Above all, though, I wanted to be able to look back on this situation with no regrets. None. I wanted to be confident that I'd done everything I knew how to do. And now I have.

However, there is one thing that, after lots of soul searching, I can't do. I have a new number for Amy, but I can't bring myself to call her, for several reasons.

First of all, as I've mentioned before, Amy is really shy and awkward and I don't want to catch her off guard with such a question and have her feel backed into a corner.

Secondly, Amy has a history of telling people what they want to hear - whatever gets her out of an uncomfortable situation in the moment. I simply can't trust what she says.

Thirdly, I'm just starting to heal. If I hear Amy say, "Of course I want you to adopt Chris", I will be back in it up to my neck, setting myself up for more heartache because again, D*C*F*S does not care what Amy wants. It would be like ripping open a wound that's just starting to heal.

Finally, I am someone who is pretty focused on doing the things I have to do to reach my goals. Maybe it's the only child in me - the "I want it when I want it how I want it and I'm going to MAKE it happen" syndrome. As such, it is very easy for me to lose perspective and continue trying to push forward to get what I want (in this case, to be able to nurture and spoil that little man for the next 20 years or so) when it might just be over. I have to get better at that - at knowing when it's time to congratulate myself for fighting the good fight and get on with my life.

(I also get caught up in the principle of things - I should continue to fight Chris' state's D*F*C*S because what they are doing is flat out wrong. It is. And on principle , I should battle it out with them. But I have learned one thing very clearly in the last 3 years. The foster care system is fraught with injustice. With outrageous situations. With abuse of power. With heartache. And truly, there is nothing I can do about it. I can fight D*C*F*S with every cent I have and with every breath in my body and I will lose, because as a hopeful foster/adoptive parent I have absolutely no power in this situation. Whatsoever.)

Am I open to a miracle? You bet I am. I believe that miracles happen every day. My marriage is evidence of that. If I get even a slight indication that there is any hope whatsoever, I am back on board. 100%. But right now, I simply don't see any hope. None at all.

Amy is going to have a new baby one of these months. She mentioned maybe doing a placement plan with us when the child is born. I did write her a letter telling her we'd be honored to raise her baby. I wanted her to know. I wanted her to remember. I wanted there to be no confusion about where we stand on the subject. Again, do I think that letter will make a difference? No, I guess I don't. Not really. But it's all about having no regrets.

So tonight I'm going to hit the "publish post" button, go take a nice long bath, climb into bed with my husband, and instead of thinking about Chris' beautiful eyes and his boat paddle feet, I am going to instead try and congratulate myself on a fight well fought, and try . . . try . . . try to move on with my life with no regrets. I guess that's all I can do . . . try.

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?

It’s amazing how just getting away from the house and spending some time with my husband fills up my soul’s depleted reserves.

This weekend we went to a nearby state, visiting a beautiful old (still open) country store and a mill set high on a bluff with water cascading down to the river below. I think it was one of the prettiest mill sites we’ve ever been to. On the way home, we stopped to see the new addition to our college team's football stadium and had a picnic across the street.

When we are off together driving whatever highways and byways we happen to find ourselves on, I am never sad or frustrated about our foster/adoption journey. Ever. In fact, I rarely even think about it during those times. Occasionally one or the other of us might bring up a particular child or situation we are involved with at the time, but for the most part we just enjoy being together. So much.

Something kind of startling has happened to me twice in the past month when we are off on our adventures. Both times I’ve been riding along with O, listening to the radio with nothing in particular on my mind, and the very clear thought has popped into my head:

“There is nothing missing from our lives. Not one thing. I’m so glad it’s just the two of us.”

?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!??!?!?!?

Let me tell you, that’s a pretty shocking thought for a girl who has chosen to put her and her husband through hell for 4 years trying to add a child to their family.

Looks like I have some thinking to do, huh???

Autumnal

I love the fall. I love everything about it. Sometimes during the long summer months I crave fall deep down in my soul. Sweaters and leaves swirling and apple cider and acorns hitting the roof. Just writing those words makes me smile.

So imagine how big my grin was when earlier this week, my darling husband came home with the prettiest, orangest pumpkin you'd ever want to lay eyes on. Yes, it's 90+ degrees with 90+ percent humidity outside, but in my house it's beginning to look a lot like autumn. And that's a good thing. Our cute kitty cat thinks so too.

Brain Dump

Emotionally depleted. That best describes how I’m feeling this afternoon. This has been such a long, brutal journey trying to add to our family, and I’m definitely feeling the effects at the moment.

For the first time in ages, I’ve been scanning through heart galleries and state’s “waiting children” websites. I’ve even inquired on several, knowing that if the kids made it onto those websites, they most likely have issues greater than O and I feel equipped to take on.

I’ve gotten quick responses to most to the inquiries and some interest, which is heartening. Our information has been plugged into the state website for 16 months and we’ve never received a call from them. We’ve inquired on probably 10 separate in-state kids’ cases and have received a response only one time. No “thank you for your interest but you’re not a match”. Nothing. So to talk to the out-of-state workers (actually TALK to them), and to have them seem interested in us being a possible match for one of their kids – it’s what’s keeping us moving forward at this point.

We’ve mostly hit dead ends with our inquiries thus far. The kids need to be adopted in-state, are too troubled, are already matched with another family, or are no longer available for one reason or another. That’s okay. I expect that. It’s like sending out resumes. For every 50 you send out, 2 or 3 of them might turn into “something”. Most go nowhere.

As for the Amy/Chris situation . . . . ugh . . . . I’m not even sure I want to think about it at the moment. We are in limbo, trying to gather information to see if we should even go to the court hearing.

If Amy still wants us to raise Chris, and if the judge has any questions for us, we should be there. BUT, the judge has already said that he ultimately can’t order D@F@C@S to place Chris anywhere. He can only order them to investigate us, and it’s been made clear that they have no interest in even considering us for him.

Unless every waiting family in their state doesn’t want him.

Then we “might” be considered.

Every time I even THINK about those words, well, I can’t even explain how angry it makes me. Who the hell do they think they are? (All powerful – that’s who they think they are. Know why? 'Cause they ARE!) We have put our lives on hold for six months because THEY begged Amy to find a family for her son. She did. We would walk through fire for him. And they don’t give a shit. Unless they can’t place him as easily as they anticipate and THEN we MIGHT be considered. Do you know how badly I’d love to call and tell them exactly where to go? Oh my. It would not be pretty.

So the point of that rambling was to say that I don’t think being in the court would make a difference. Even if the judge loves and adores us and would like to deliver Chris to our doorstep with a big bow tied around his neck, he can’t give him to us. D@FC@S decides, and they don’t want us to have him. Period.

There is a slight possibility that if it’s presented to the judge that D@FCS begged Amy to find a placement and told her that Chris could and would be placed there if it was appropriate, he might be able to intervene – or to at least make the workers very uncomfortable as they have to answer why Amy was either mislead, lied to, or given incorrect information. He just might MAKE THEM go forward because that’s what they told Amy they would do. But that would require an attorney who 1. had any idea whatsoever about the case and 2. gave a shit. Hers does not.

The other “if” in this equation is if Amy even still wants us to adopt Chris, or if we were contacted as a desperation measure when she was in the midst of crisis and thought D@FC@S was about to file for TPR at any moment. I truly don’t know. It was suggested that we call her and simply find out, particularly since the next court date is right around the corner. But I just don’t want to call her out of the blue. (She has no voicemail so I can’t leave her a message.)

Amy is very shy and nervous and I don’t want to catch her off guard with such a question. (It's not like I'm calling to find out if she'll sell us her car, for heaven's sake!!!) I’m afraid that if she is having second thoughts, or if she has changed her mind, she will feel pressured to tell me what she thinks I want to hear and not necessarily what’s in her heart.

So I am hopeful that I can get a note to her asking her to get in touch with us if it’s still her wish for us to raise Chris. That way, she can call if she’s still on board and if not, she has an easy, graceful way to deliver that message without causing her any fear or discomfort. I really do like her and don’t want to make life any harder for her than it already is, or to appear like I'm intimidating her in any way.

Today I want to walk away. I want to call our caseworker and tell her to shred our file, and then invite her out for lunch. I think we could really be good friends if we hadn’t met under these insane circumstances. I want to gather the contents of the entire filing cabinet drawer devoted to adoption and take it out to our burn pile and watch it go up in flames. I want to get rid of every single thing that we joyfully bought in anticipation of the child we’d soon call our own. I want to repaint our “kid’s room” and put up my farm table and my antique paintings and use it for a crafting/sewing/computer room. I want to call the adoption worker in Other State and let her know just how much agony her flippant “Oh Chris is still considered an infant and has no problems – he’ll be simple to place so we’ll keep him in-state” decision has caused – a decision that was made without knowing one single thing about us. I want to find Mark’s mother and tell her just what I think of her – of the things she exposed her child to – of the lie she told. I want to remind her that karma is a bitch.

In this moment, I want to be done. So very badly. I truly truly do.

Family

Today would have been my grandad’s 98th birthday. (And yes, I know it’s spelled “granddad”, but I always spelled it the other way when it came to him.) He was a tall, skinny, wonderful, loving man who would have smiled while giving you the shirt off his back. He worked so hard to care for his family. When my grandmother’s kidneys failed, he got trained to do kidney dialysis and they got a machine and she had treatments at home for years. He also put up with a lot from her. Though I loved her dearly, she was extremely overbearing and he took everything she dished out with grace and dignity. He passed away in 2000 and one of my greatest regrets is that he and O never met. They would have gotten a kick out of each other.

I got a call this morning from my grandfather’s niece who I hadn’t talked to in 10 years. She’d done some family history research and wanted to send me a copy. She didn’t remember that it was Grandad’s b-day, and I think that her getting in touch today of all days was his way of letting me know that he's still around. Sounds silly, but that’s what I think.

Happy birthday Grandad ~ I was so very blessed to be your granddaughter and miss you every day.

On the polar opposite extreme, last night our 20-year-old nephew (think pot-smoking hippie wannabe who fancies himself to be much smarter than he actually is) posted a video on his FB page which purports to show that it was a missile that hit the second Worl*d Trade Cent#er tower – not an airplane. I didn’t think it was physically possible to actually “see red”, but I did. I was and am livid. My response was that my dear friends who lost their only son on that very flight would be ecstatic to learn that he was, indeed alive and did not die in a fireball over NYC, because there was no plane and therefore, there were no passengers. I told him that I thought posting that video was shameful.

He is nothing if not predictable, and responded by saying that the shameful thing was the li*es our government told its’ people about what happened on 9/#11.

I attended the memorial service for our family friend. I heard his mother’s wails and watched as they nearly had to carry her from the chapel after the service was over. I saw his father’s eyes go from sparkling blue and full of life to sad and blank and wounded. I cannot imagine the horror they live with every day of their lives as they imagine their son’s final moments. And for our spoiled, smug, clueless nephew to post something like that feels like an attack on two of the best people I’ve ever known. It’s all I can do not to get in my car and drive to his parents’ house and tell him exactly what I think of him. But I won’t. He’d love the attention. And nothing would change.

Aaaaah family – ya gotta love ‘em.

...blah...blah...blah...

Do you remember the episode of "Friends" where Joey was reading "The Shining" for the first time, and when he'd get really scared he'd put the book in the freezer? (That makes perfect sense to me, by the way.) So as I was reading the e-mail from Chris' caseworker on Friday afternoon, I reached over, plucked the photo I had of Chris from the bulletin board beside my desk and ripped it into 100 pieces. It wasn't a fit of anger or anything. I just knew that I could not look at that photo and keep it together. So I put the pieces in the garbage. And then I took them out of the garbage, put them inside an empty wet wipes container, and put it back into the garbage. Buried at the bottom under a week's worth of paperwork. Because you can never be too careful.

O and I are not *quite* done with the Chris/Amy situation. Our confusion comes from the fact that the judge explicitly told social services to investigate us as a possible placement for Chris, but it was very clear in the caseworker's e-mail that we were never under consideration - that they are "saving him" for an in-state family. I am interested to see how the CW reconciles those two things, so it is possible that O and I and our bright shiny faces will be in the courtroom for the next hearing, in case the judge has any questions for us. That's provided that Amy still wants us to raise her son, of course. Hoping to get some clarification about all that soon.

This was such a blow for us. We were both just so hopeful that finally, FINALLY things were going to go our way. But one of the things I respect so much about O is that he when he gets hurt or upset, he picks himself up and keeps on going pretty quickly. I am more of a "sit and stew for a while" kinda girl.

Overall I think I'm doing pretty well, though. O and I took to the highway Saturday and visited an old mill a couple of hours from home. He has this thing for mills. I have this thing for photographing mills. We had a fun lunch, listened to hours of '70's music on XM, drove through darling little country towns, and enjoyed the beautiful afternoon sunshine (in air conditioned comfort). Sunday O played golf and I straightened up the house and spent some time quilting. Then yesterday I looked at state adoption photo listings and heart galleries for half the morning. And I wasn't so very sad.

Of course, it is POSSIBLE that I could have a teensy tiny bit of underlying anger. Like at Friday evening's dinner when I was standing in line at the salad bar behind a man who was choosing each leaf of lettuce one at a time. Literally. It was ridiculous and pronounced enough that I wondered if I was on a hidden camera show. And just for a fleeting moment, I considered grabbing the salad tongs from his hand and thunking him on the head with them. I figured that would get the line moving again. So, there MAY just be a bit of residual anger and pain to work through yet. Just guessing. Ha.

I did contact Faraway State regarding a sibling group on their heart gallery website. I'm not sure if they've contracted out their adoption placement services to a private company or what, but I was floored by the speed of the responses I received. Within two hours of my inquiry, I had spoken to two people, received two e-mails, been given three peoples' office and cell numbers, and had, at the caseworker's request, forwarded our home study to the kids' adoption worker. And my favorite part? The messages on their voicemails that say the following: "You have reached the office of Case Worker. I am unable to take your call but if you will leave a message, I'll contact you within 48 business hours. If I do not contact you within 48 business hours, please call my supervisor Head CaseWorker at 555-555-5555." Are you KIDDING ME????? It was joyful! Anyway, I am now waiting for the adoption worker to get back in touch. I have no idea if we are a fit for these little ones or not, but my goodness it was refreshing to actually get e-mails and phone calls returned in such a timely manner. Who knew?

Not Bad

How can you have a bad weekend when you go beautiful places like this . . .

and spend your Sunday afternoon quilting with the likes of this little monkey?

Gaviscon Take Me Away

I decided that taking up drinking at my age would be a foolish response to my current mini-breakdown. I'd still be devastated, with added drunkenness, weeping, and vomiting.

I was planning instead to dive headfirst into a vat of chocolate peanut buttery frozen goodness and eat my way out, but turned the car around on our way to the ice cream shop. I knew my heart would be all kinds of fluttery with the introduction of that much sugar that quickly, cause honey, I was going to inhale that ice cream.

So what rebellious act did I choose as my big "SCREW YOU" to this hellacious day?

I got french fries with my blackened chicken at dinner tonight, instead of my traditional baked potato with a dab of butter on the side. And I washed it down with actual SPRITE, instead of the healthful water with lemon.

That's right people.

I threw caution to the wind.

I lived dangerously.

I ate every bite of those fries.

I didn't count one single calorie. SCREW YOU TOO WEIGHT WATCHERS, while we're at it.

And you know what?

I'm still heartbroken - now with added reflux.

Dammit.

Boom

Earlier this week I sent the following e-mail to Chris' worker:

Hi Miss Caseworker,

I found your e-mail address online and wanted to quickly touch base with you. O and I hope that you can help us with a couple of questions we have.

First of all, we wanted to make sure that you got our scrapbook and home study and see if you had any questions that we could answer for you.

Secondly, we wanted to see if you would share with us what Your County is thinking in regards to us being a possible placement for Chris.

While we understand that he isn't available for adoption at this point, our concern is this:

We've placed our adoption search on hold for about seven months, since Amy first approached us about raising her son. We were and are happy to do that. We adore Chris and are willing to wait almost forever for the chance to be his parents, if there is a realistic possibility that Your County will consider us for him. However, if we will not be considered for him - because we are out-of-state, or there is another family in mind for him, or for any other reason, we'd like to know that so we can contact our caseworker and restart our adoption search.

We absolutely understand that you can't predict what will ultimately happen with Amy's case, or make us any promises or guarantees of what the future holds. All we're really looking for is some assurance that if TPR is done, we will be seriously considered as an adoptive resource for Chris.

O and I would be so grateful for any light you may be able to shed on this situation or for any advice you may have for us. We look forward to hearing from you.

Thank so much.


Her response arrived just a few minutes ago. The dagger to the heart part???

If Chris does go up for adoption I have been told that we would have to first go to our non-special needs waiting list in our state for any possible families to adopt Chris. If there are none found, then we may be able to consider you as a possibility. This is part of policy that we have to follow.

Seven months of hopes and dreams blown apart with three sentences. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Truly.

Is 42 too late to take up drinking?

Three Years Ago Today

Poor foolish girl. She had no idea.

August 13, 2007

Waiting For the Stars to Fall

Since last we “met” my fingers have been burning up the keyboard as I’ve scoured the Internet looking for everything I can find on the foster-to-adopt process. There’s certainly a lot of information out there which makes a overly-researching, overly-organized girl like me very happy. But I’m sure you can guess the first thing I went in search of . . . foster-to-adopt blogs. There are plenty to be found. In fact, I plan to spend this sweltering afternoon digging in to read some of them from the beginning, following these women from where I am now to that elusive and magical place called “motherhood”.

The main thing I learned this weekend is that we have A LOT to learn, but I already feel more knowledgeable on the topic and am eager to find out more.

Yes, I definitely read some horror stories but there were so many more that had happy endings. I truly believe that we are finally on the right path to our own “happy ending”.

O and I have had several conversations over the weekend about what types of children we feel would fit best into our family. He’s having a hard time with the concept of narrowing it down. He said it feels cold – like deciding what features you want on your new car. I agree, but ultimately we have to make the call. There are definitely certain situations we would be unwilling/unable to accept, so we’re thinking and talking and trying to work it out in our own minds.

I’ve already received our introductory paperwork from the state and have it filled out. The next orientation for the 10-week GPS (Group Preparation and Selection) classes in our county is mid-September. I called the county next to ours and theirs start next Monday, so I left a message hoping that it’s not too late to join that class. I am so ready to get started. As I’ve said in previous posts, I have felt that my life has been on hold for the past year. I am ready, ready, ready to get on with it.

We had such a lovely weekend. My FIL is having his hip replaced tomorrow so I thought it would be fun to get the extended family together for a barbecue on Saturday, since he won’t feel up to a big gathering like that for a while. I turned up the radio in my kitchen and cooked all day, making all sorts of fun things. (Triple Decker Strawberry Cake with Strawberry Buttercream Frosting anyone?!?! Mmmmmm!) We had a great time. I just love when our cute little house is packed to the gills with family and friends, people wandering around visiting, kids racing in and out the back door, and me taking care of all of them.

Then last night, O and I threw a bunch of pillows and blankets into the back of his pickup and drove into one of the pastures behind our house to watch the Perseid meteor shower. It’s so beautiful back there with the heavens spread out above us and the crickets and frogs singing up a storm. As we laid there holding hands, searching the skies and talking, I couldn’t help wondering if next year when the Perseids return, we’ll have a little one tucked safely between us, waiting for the stars to fall.

For the first time in years, I can honestly say that I believe the answer to that question is “yes”, and that makes me smile.

Dreams Come to Life

When I was 15, my father took a promotion with his job and we moved to a suburb of Chicago. For this girl who’d lived her whole life in her hometown, Chicago was a BIG change. Translated: I HATED it! Even though I soon made friends and came to really like my new life, I always hoped that I’d one day walk in the front door to the news that we were moving back home. We did eventually move – to Utah. Sigh. Of course I could have chosen a home-state university and high-tailed it out of there, but my parents were there and I didn’t want to live across the country from them. So I lived in Utah for college and a decade beyond. I had great friends and a career, but I still always longed for home. For seventeen years. That dream came true for me in 2002. I’m here. I can go out into my backyard and listen to the cicadas anytime I want to. I can walk barefoot in the grass and catch lightning bugs. I can eat real barbecue. I can see dogwoods bloom in the spring and fields of white cotton in the fall. I can go anywhere and be surrounded by beautiful accents that remind me I’ve made it home.

My grandmother loved to grow things. She loved to TALK ABOUT growing things. When she had to give up her home and move into an apartment, she had windowsills filled with violets that would take your breath away. And when she no longer had those, I’d load her into the car and we’d drive through neighborhoods to see what other people were growing. My dad is the same. So many of my childhood memories are of my dad’s beautiful yards, and the time and love he put into them. And that green thumb rubbed off on me in a big way. When I moved out after college, I must have spent thousands of dollars on flowers, trying to keep them alive in less-than-ideal environments in one apartment or another. I remember so many times wandering around at the nursery and drooling over all the bloomin’ things, wishing so badly that I had a place to plant them. Even a tiny little garden spot. Now I do. I can’t look out a single window in our home without seeing the flowers and trees and bushes we’ve planted, and we have acres of room for more.

From the time I was about fifteen years old, I want to fall in love with a big ole Southern boy. I dated guys in Chicago. I dated guys in Utah. I dated guys during the couple of years I was in Atlanta. But there was a part of me that always hoped and prayed that someday the Southern man of my dreams would come and sweep me off my feet. I guess I never really thought it would happen, though. I had a great career, wonderful friends and family, and always enjoyed living in the homes I created for myself, but at night when I’d crawl into bed, I ached for him. For his love. For the life we could have together. It was a physical ache. And then one day he was there, walking into my apartment, so beautiful to me that I could only glance at him for a moment at a time. It was like looking at the sun. We’ve never looked back since that day. Engaged four months later. Married four months after that. For seven years this coming December. The only thing is, O has so far surpassed every dream I ever had about that big ole Southern boy I’d kept in my heart. I did not know that such a man existed.

There is a quote that I run across from time to time, on Facebook or in a forwarded e-mail. Of course, I can’t find it at the moment so I am about to massacre it, but it’s something along these lines:

Don’t spend your time mourning what you don’t have, because the things you DO have were once your heart’s greatest desires.

I am struck by the sentiment every time I see it.

It reminds me that child or no child, every minute of my life is beautifully touched by my dreams come to life. And I don’t want to ever, ever forget it.

Magic

Proof that at "The World's Largest Yard Sale", there can always be a magical treasure hiding amongst the junk.

And speaking of magic, tonight O and I are loading the pickup truck with blankets and pillows and driving far out into our pasture to watch the Perseid meteor shower. One guess as to what I'll be wishing for on all those "shooting stars".

Seven on Sunday

1. What a wonderful few days I’ve had. O took off work and we drove into Tennessee and Kentucky to attend ******wait for it******** “The World’s Longest Yard Sale”. I’d been once before we were married and had gone alone. Never never go alone. Just a couple of hours into my solo journey and I was a nervous wreck. People popping out of nowhere running across streets, cars pulling out and backing up and slamming on brakes with absolutely no notice, trying to drive slowly by sales to see if you want to stop. Chaos! Then last year O & I went together and it was so much better. He watched the road and I watched the sales and we had a good time. So this year, despite scorching temps we decided to hit the road once more. I am proud to say that there were no heat strokes, no fender benders, no trips or falls, and no use of the porta potties scattered along the route. 100 degree temps + 85 % humidity + thousands of people = NO PORTA POTTIES for this girl. No sirree Robert. I bought one treasure – a 1940’s cast iron painted Santa doorstop. The rest of the time, O and I rode and talked and laughed and were amazed by the sheer amount of crap that people actually thought other people would buy.

2. On Friday morning when we were leaving our hotel in scenic Cave City KY, I happened to see a brochure for Santa Claus Indiana. We were unsure as to our plan for the day until that moment, when I got my heart set on a visit to Santa Claus. Loved it, though we weren’t able to stay long. I did get a good shot of my sainted husband in front of the Christmas store in town, though. I love him so.

3. Yesterday morning by half-brother, sister-in-law and their kids were driving through the area on their way to the beach, so we had brunch with them and my parents. It made me happy to see my beautiful growing nieces. I wish they lived closer.

4. Tomorrow morning, my mommy is having some outpatient surgery to remove a spot on her jawline. There is only a 5% chance that it’s cancer, but this is literally the first time she’s ever been “sick”, so the thought of her being under anesthesia for any length of time has me nervous. She struggles with severe anxiety on a pretty regular basis, too, so this has been really hard on her. O and I are going over to Big City in the morning to meet her and Dad. O will be taking my beloved (but not necessarily doting) father to "guy around" while I take care of the mama. Please keep a good thought for her.

5. I might have made a crack on my last blog post about Mark’s SW - something along the lines of “Mark’s caseworker might just go crazy and actually respond to an e-mail or return a phone call”. Within minutes of hitting the “post” button, I checked my inbox and there was an e-mail from her. No news, of course, except that the next court date is set for mid-September, but she responded – she actually responded.

6. Blog reader (and now friend) Teresa e-mailed and asked if I’d ever made a decision on being a CA*SA volunteer. I asked our SW and she asked her supervisor and the answer was basically this: I am welcomed to do that, but we could not be considered as a foster or adoptive resource for a child whose case I had ever worked on. This is not a huge county, so the “pool” of available children isn’t that large. Since our top priority is adopting, we can’t risk that my involvement with a child’s case could work against us somewhere down the road. So for now, being a CAS*A volunteer has to go onto the back burner.

7. Let me preface this by saying that I am an uncaring ass*ole, but I have zero patience for a family member who has recently started bemoaning what she anticipates will be her secondary infertility. Why don’t you go chase your cherubic toothless toddling bundle of love and get away from me while you’re at it? Mmmkay?!?!

Monday Monday

It wasn’t too long ago that I’d looked forward to Monday morning. Its’ arrival meant a brand new work week where anything could happen. We might hear of a positive development in the Amy/Chris saga. Mark’s caseworker might just go crazy and actually respond to an e-mail or return a phone call. Or we might hear about an entirely new child who is available for adoption somewhere in the state. The new workweek held all kinds of possibility.

Except that most weeks, if there are any developments in the Amy/Chris saga, they aren’t good. And Mark’s caseworker can’t seem to communicate with us to save her life. And we haven’t received a phone call about a child available for adoption since Smiley back in January.

Which makes for a might long week. And month. And year, for that matter.

Ghost In This House

Since I was a little girl, I’ve always loved anything to do with ghosts.

I soaked up every word of the scary stories told around the campfire at Girl Scout camp. I read every one of Kathryn Tucker Wyndham’s books of spooky tales. I saw “Poltergeist” with my mom and cousins at the theater when I was fourteen - scared the crap out of me. I’ve been on ghost walk tours in Gettysburg and Savannah, and have stayed in purportedly haunted inns in several states. If I flip by a ghost-themed “reality” program on TV, I’m probably going to watch it.

Do I truly believe in ghosts? Well, yes I guess I do. But you shouldn’t ever expect to find me prowling through cemeteries or old abandoned buildings looking for things that go bump in the night. Some things are better left alone – by me at least.

But I realized last week that we have a ghost of our own.

Even all these months later, I still get occasional “glimpses” of Mark.

I clean out a closet in our guest room and find never-opened box of learning CDs that arrived after we last saw him.

I pull out one of my cutting boards to chop up some veggies for a salad and his Sesame Street placemat tucked in behind it falls onto the floor.

I go out into the backyard and the empty sandbox I usually don’t see jumps right out at me.

I walk past his room and my eyes go to the chair still sitting beside his bed, waiting for me to tuck him in, read him stories, and sing him to sleep. Oh how I loved singing him to sleep.

I go to change my tablecloth and underneath, the plastic liner protecting the table is stained by paint and markers from our daily art projects.

I drive past the billboard advertising the huge kids’ clothing consignment sale coming up and remember the last one, where I nearly filled the trunk of my car with clothes for him, and how cute he looked in them.

I look at my car’s passenger side window and if the light is just right, I can still see his little grimy fingerprints. I can’t bring myself to clean them off.

I open the desk drawer that’s filled with this year’s photos and quickly slam it shut like there’s a rattlesnake waiting to strike.

And this past Friday as I was cleaning my kitchen floor, I found a teeny tiny bit of orange construction paper, cut months ago by Mark and his brand new safety scissors and hiding somewhere all this time, waiting to steal my breath away for just a moment.

I don’t know how to rid our home of this particular ghost - if I can or if I’d even want to. But I do know that these glimpses of his “presence” aren’t getting any easier.

I wish he was here – flesh and blood. I think I always will.