Happy 2012
Happy 2012 everyone!~ I know that many people at the first of every new year feverishly write down resolutions for the year.. Personally I am not a resolution person, I look at the new year with huge excitement as an opportunity for change!
So here is my DAMN question: What opportunities for change are in your 2012 Future???
Occupy Movement From a Mothers Perspective
I have very mixed emotions about the whole occupy movement. A lot I totally agree with and some I do not – But whatever your political affiliation or feeling on the movement this article and perspective was and is like no other one that I had heard. My friend sent this too me and it really stuck with me and I wanted to pass it along and get your opinion not only on the article but on the whole movement???
WOW~~~~~~ Hitting The Nail On The Head
Article written by Marybeth Hicks.
Call it an occupational hazard, but I can’t look at the Occupy Wall Street protesters without thinking, “Who parented these people?”
As a culture columnist, I’ve commented on the social and political ramifications of the “movement” – now known as “OWS” – whose fairyland agenda can be summarized by one of their placards: “Everything for everybody.”
Thanks to their pipe-dream platform, it’s clear there are people with serious designs on “transformational” change in America who are using the protesters like bedsprings in a brothel.
Yet it’s not my role as a commentator that prompts my parenting question, but rather the fact that I’m the mother of four teens and young adults. There are some crucial life lessons that the protesters’ moms clearly have not passed along.
Here, then, are five things the OWS protesters’ mothers should have taught their children but obviously didn’t, so I will:
* Life isn’t fair.The concept of justice – that everyone should be treated fairly – is a worthy and worthwhile moral imperative on which our nation was founded. But justice and economic equality are not the same. Or, as Mick Jagger said, “You can’t always get what you want.”
No matter how you try to “level the playing field,” some people have better luck, skills, talents or connections that land them in better places. Some seem to have all the advantages in life but squander them, others play the modest hand they’re dealt and make up the difference in hard work and perseverance, and some find jobs on Wall Street and eventually buy houses in the Hamptons. Is it fair? Stupid question.
* Nothing is “free.” Protesting with signs that seek “free” college degrees and “free” health care make you look like idiots, because colleges and hospitals don’t operate on rainbows and sunshine. There is no magic money machine to tap for your meandering educational careers and “slow paths” to adulthood, and the 53 percent of taxpaying Americans owe you neither a degree nor an annual physical.
While I’m pointing out this obvious fact, here are a few other things that are not free: overtime for police officers and municipal workers, trash hauling, repairs to fixtures and property, condoms, Band-Aids and the food that inexplicably appears on the tables in your makeshift protest kitchens. Real people with real dollars are underwriting your civic temper tantrum.
* Your word is your bond. When you demonstrate to eliminate student loan debt, you are advocating precisely the lack of integrity you decry in others. Loans are made based on solemn promises to repay them. No one forces you to borrow money; you are free to choose educational pursuits that don’t require loans, or to seek technical or vocational training that allows you to support yourself and your ongoing educational goals. Also, for the record, being a college student is not a state of victimization. It’s a privilege that billions of young people around the globe would die for - literally.
* A protest is not a party. On Saturday in New York, while making a mad dash from my cab to the door of my hotel to avoid you, I saw what isn’t evident in the newsreel footage of your demonstrations: Most of you are doing this only for attention and fun. Serious people in a sober pursuit of social and political change don’t dance jigs down Sixth Avenue like attendees of a Renaissance festival. You look foolish, you smell gross, you are clearly high and you don’t seem to realize that all around you are people who deem you irrelevant.
* There are reasons you haven’t found jobs. The truth? Your tattooed necks, gauged ears, facial piercings and dirty dreadlocks are off-putting. Nonconformity for the sake of nonconformity isn’t a virtue. Occupy reality: Only 4 percent of college graduates are out of work. If you are among that 4 percent, find a mirror and face the problem. It’s not them. It’s you.
What’s the backstory, dude?
Gosh, how time flies, right? ToughGuy has officially been home six months and sometimes it feels like he’s always been here, always been a part of our family. Other times I wonder how this alien being took a wrong turn and wandered into my house.
But tonight, I find myself physically aching over the loss of his first five years. The years that make him feel alien. Because I don’t know my ToughGuy’s story. The story of all his other days. His other steps, his other falls, his other excitements and his other tears. Kids need to hear their story, they crave it and ask for the stories over and over.
Because I’ve been so focused on the all consuming task of assimilating a new little dude into our home, I haven’t had time to even think about the years that we’ve missed. It’s a part of adopting an older child that I knew about with my head, but hadn’t felt with my heart.
I’ve been able to dismiss it with hardly a thought up to this point because we’ve been working on, ya know, important stuff like chewing with your mouth closed and that all the glue should really stay in the bottle. Oh, and learning a new language and starting school and not wiping my kisses off his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then, tonight while snuggling in bed with Monkey and ToughGuy on either side of me, we read a story about a little girl who hurt her leg and had to go to the hospital. I know, but I like a little light reading before I send my kids off to sleep and perchance have a nightmare or two. Monkey said ‘I don’t ever want to go to the hospital.’ Which brought up the story about how he’s already had to go to the hospital to get stitches in his chin when he was two years old and how the doctor had to strap him down to a papoose board, which made him look at Hubunit and I and scream at the top of his lungs (a considerable amount of lung power, that kid) ‘I’M STUCK DADDY, I’M STUCKI’MSTUCKSTUCKSTUCKSTUCKSTUCKSTUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!‘ At which point the doctor frowned at the noise I was making so I had to leave the room because I was crying so hard. But telling him that story tonight was cute and funny and he loved hearing it.
Then ToughGuy quietly said ‘I’ve been in the hospital Mom.‘ And I stopped laughing and remembered reading in his medical history that he had been in the hospital for bronchitis at some point in his four years without me and I didn’t have any of the details, I couldn’t share that story with him and even though I asked him about it, he wasn’t really able to tell me much because he’s already forgotten so much of his history and I felt like someone had gut punched me. My little dude was in the hospital alone, without me. It hit Monkey pretty hard too. As it slowly sank in that ToughGuy had been in the hospital without us, he immediately got tears in his eyes and crawled over me to give his brother a hug and tell him that he has us and he’ll never be alone again.
Yeah.
About a month ago, while brushing his teeth before going to bed, ToughGuy and I had this conversation:
ToughGuy: I don’t want to go live back over there, Mommy. (waving his finger and pointing in a direction to indicate that other continent which includes the country of Hungary)
Me: Does that mean you like living here with us, ToughGuy?
ToughGuy: Oh yes Mom. I very much like being part of your family. If someone came and took me back there, I would be sad. But if you came and found me and brought me back here, I would be happy.
Me: No one is EVER going to take you away ToughGuy. This is home forever and ever and ever. Until you go to college. Then your little ass is out of here.
Kiss the ground? You mean THAT ground?
Nothing amazing, just wanted to let everyone know we are HOME!!!
I was told that I would probably be kissing the ground, but the ground was at JFK and I couldn’t put my lips on it because I don’t know where it’s been.
But I did kiss my washing machine and now I have to go mack out with my car.
No energy left after two solid days of travel, a missed connecting flight and a night spent at the last smelly $300 hotel room in New York City, with no luggage and two kids.
But now we are home and all the strange and amazing things we’ve seen and done and eaten will have to wait for a post on another day.
Wanted everyone to know we are all safe, healthy and ToughGuy is truly amazing. Monkey kept walking around yesterday beaming from ear to ear while repeating ‘This is the best day, EVER.’
Ditto.
Just Killin’ Time at the Tesco
I’ve long said there should be a country western song titled ‘Just Killin’ Time at the Walmart.‘ Tesco is the hungarian version. We spent quite a bit of time at that store the first week, when we would go to buy gifts for ToughGuy’s foster family, or take him there for lunch, because there really wasn’t anyplace else to go in the small town he lived in.
Now that we are in the thriving thoroughfare of Miskolc, we have a TescoExpress within walking distance of our teeny, tiny one bedroom apartment. It just stocks groceries and Hubunit spends lots of time there because the refrigerator in our teeny, tiny one bedroom apartment is, yep, teeny tiny and it only holds enough for one day. One day’s worth of beer that is. Food be damned, Hubunit has been enjoying taste testing all the different kinds of hungarian beer.
And mostly Hubunit has to go on the shopping excursions sans family because ToughGuy has a hard time in any kind of store. Poor sweet kid. Too much STUFF in them thar stores. And he has to touch ALL of it. Especially the chocolate stuff. I’ve learned that the first thing I have to find is some kind of yogurt container to put into his free hand, while keeping the other firmly within my grasp. And if we go into a larger store, like we had to the other day to find some new socks for the boys and a hungarian T-Shirt with the word Newport on it for Hubunit, I found that it helped to pick ToughGuy up and hold him close. His poor little heart was beating super fast and his breathing was coming in little hitches and his body was practically channelling electricity. Can you say sensory overload? Hubunit is happy about what this means for my extended Target store tours once we get home . . .
We went back to the Cave Baths today – BarlangFurdo in hungarian – and it was a mostly successful day, other than the fact that evidently school is now out in Miskolc and all the children in this part of the country were at the baths too. Mostly teenagers. My favorite. And between the teenage girl shrieks echoing thru the cave tunnels and the sixty five year old man wearing the banana sling speedo that passed MUCH too close to my face when he was going down stairs and I was heading up, I must have been completely crazy to have this conversation with Hubunit:
Me: I wish we knew someone who would be interested in adopting the seven year old boy that was living in the same foster home with ToughGuy. I really have a soft spot in my heart for that kid. He reminds me of the little Italian boy in the Sophia Loren/Clark Gable movie It Happened in Naples. You know, the little kid who smoked cigarettes and swore like a sailor? Ahhh. My kind of kid.
Hubunit: Let’s Just Be Clear Here. WE”RE DONE. IF YOU EVER GET BORED AGAIN, YOU CAN FIND A JOB OR JOIN THE PEACE CORPS.
Or kill time at the Walmart, I’m guessin’. The good news is, if I do some last minute clothes shopping before we head home, I’ll look good for Divorce Court. I’m talkin’ street walker good.
Come to think of it, I wonder if there are any, ah, working girls here in Miscolc. I’m not sure how their customers would recognize them, since their outfits would hardly stand out from the local traffic. For example, the other morning we got to the mall first thing in the morning and while I was waiting for Hubunit to pick out an english book at the bookstore, I glanced over and up the escalator came a very attractive young woman wearing a black spandex micro tube top, a denim micro mini skirt, bare legs and high heeled neon green pumps. That was the outfit that screamed ‘wear me, wearmewearme’ when she opened her closet at 8am. And hers wasn’t even close to being the most interesting one I saw that day. So, I’m axin’ ya – how do the customers know who is and who isn’t???
Yeah, as I asked another friend earlier today – pray for us, huh? Or sacrifice a chicken. Do something to ask the universe to get us thru the next two weeks without one of us (me) being arrested.
He’s Cute. It’s Official.
We all know this adoption has been a tough process. Some of us know that more clearly than others. And by that, I mean me. And Hubunit. And Monkey. And ToughGuy.
So instead of focusing on the part of the process that is hard, today I’m happy to report, we had a GREAT day. Not because we went someplace super cool or did something super fun, but because today it really felt good to be a family of four.
Adopting an older child is not the same as adopting an infant. Infants are cute and cuddly. They coo and they babble and they don’t bend over and kiss the floor while asking you in hungarian to wipe their butts. As a very wise adoptive mother of a six year old just informed me, adults are genetically conditioned to fall in love with a baby, whereas it’s an older child’s job to bug the stuffing out of you.
After three weeks, I had very little stuffing left. And on Monday, I thought I had none and there was no store open to sell me some stuffing. So I did what any self respecting shell of a woman would do and I sat in the bathtub and cried. And somehow, thru those tears, I found stuffing. Lot’s of it. Don’t ask me how. It was a miracle. A truly genuine stuffing miracle.
I stopped fighting the process. I stopped looking thru hawk like eyes for fault. I stopped wondering, in the dark corners of the mind that no one admits to, if we’d made a mistake. I accepted. I gently hugged. I turned those hawk like eyes to the root of the problem rather than focusing on the behaviours the problem generated. It’s so obvious to me now and I am ashamed that it took me this long to see it.
And for the past two days, the only hard part of the process is to stop hugging. To stop laughing. To stop singing. Oh, and to stop staring at all the hooters on prominant display here in the Miskolc Metropolis.
We’ve found our joy. And it was half a world away. Right next to my stuffing.
Week: Three. Day: One Thousand Twenty Seven.
Add a few more zeros to that and you’ll have an idea of how long it feels like we’ve been here.
Hey, bonus – it’s hot here now.
So yeah, this process is geared to make you give up and quit. And if you don’t, you are superparents and deserve some kind of prize. Wait. The prize is sleeping in the other room as I write this. He snores and steals the covers, but he’s a true prize in our book.
My advice to anyone considering International Adoption of an Older Child that Requires You to be Away From Home for More than A Weekend: It takes lots of patience. Then it takes more patience. And when you’re thru with that part of it, break out the patience. And the alchohol. Oops. Did I say that out loud?
ToughGuy is, well, tough. He is a strong little dude who is stubborn, opinionated and always right. Huh. Just what I needed – another one. He is also quite a good little mimic. And to all my friends out there, I’d just like to apologize to each and every one of you. After seeing myself acted out back to myself, I don’t even like me any more.
Every afternoon, Monkey works on his Kindergarten homework which we brought with us because we wanted more reasons to force a child to do something, for the love of all that is holy. During that time I’ve started working on English flashcards with ToughGuy. I will show him the picture of a kitten, ask him what it is, get the answer in Hungarian and then tell him what it is in English. As soon as I say the English word, kitten, he very kindly and patiently explains to me that that is incorrect and repeats it in Hungarian. We do this a few times back and forth until I patiently explain to him that we are all going to get on an airplane and fly to America, where they no speaka da Hungarian. After giving an exasperated sigh, he whispers, kitten. Then we move on to dog and the whole process starts all over again. He can easily count to five, but dissolves into giggles whenever he has to say six. Not sure why that is funny, but evidently it’s a real knee slapper over here.
Without a car, our days are kind of limited to whatever we can walk to and gosh, does Monkey LOVE walking everywhere. No whining about that. No. Then, every once in a while someone mentions a place we can get to by bus or taxi that is fairly local and which we might find more interesting than the three parks we have visited so many times we have assigned seating on the park bench.
Another travel tip: If, while you are asking directions, a Hungarian person says to you ‘Verry, verry easy – you find it, no problem. Is verrrry easy.’ It is now written in stone that you will get lost. 100% for sure.
But someone had told me about a water park here that I knew I wanted to visit. And since this past week has been, ah, quite warm, we decided to do it last Thursday. We finally found a taxi, told the driver where we wanted to go, how much we wanted to pay and off we went. We arrived at the water park and everything that we could see from the outside, including the kids water playground, was empty and there were two guys with an umbrella working on repairing a gazillion little one inch tiles. So I was a tad disgruntled. But there were also rumored to be some other things to do there, so we paid our money, got our super secret laser watches rather than a ticket or a hand stamp, which was the highlight of the day for Monkey, and went inside. I found the changing rooms, which are co-ed, huh, found a locker for our stuff and unknowingly entered the coolest place we have ever been. These are cave baths, which have existed in one form or another for centuries. Benedictine monks used to swim here in the 16th century. And if it’s good enough for them, you know I belong there.
It starts with a really cool building built around the outside of the bottom of the mountain. There is a regular spa there, with lounge chairs, jacuzzi and small pool, as well as six fountains coming out of these stone statues which are surrounded and covered by a layer of natural salt that is probably six feet deep and 100 feet high. Spectacular.
Then we entered one of the cave passages and it’s the coolest maze inside with openings every so often to pools and little rivers that you can swim in. Some are a little cooler and some are really warm. They have amazing lighing in there and there is even one room that has a spectacular domed ceiling with stars and planets on it. Guess who loved that room? Uh-huh.
After spending the entire morning in the caves, we got dressed and walked to a little arcade area for lunch, the boys played on a really neat playstructure that was four stories high and had big enclosed slides coming down from it and then we went to ride on a bobsled track. In the woods. Another super cool and fun thing to do. We ended up back in the cave baths for the rest of the afternoon and it was a truly spectacular day.
Yesterday was probably our most challenging day yet with ToughGuy, who woke up spicy and just got hotter as the day went on. I was a bit leery of how today would be, especially after Hubunit announced that he was going to be taking the day off from parenting today. All decisions were up to me.
Yippeee!!! Now, Hubunit marches thru life and expects, and usually gets with willing cheerfulness, complete compliance from us probies, otherwise known as his family. Me? I flit thru life. I rarely have a plan. I can fritter away vast amounts of time while accomplishing nothing. I call it thinking outside the box. For my do-er Hubunit, that is kinda like a seat at the table in the fifth ring of hell.
So after frittering thru the morning, we ended up at this little square by the center of town where they have fountains that bubble up from the pavement. It was hot, but I hadn’t brought a change of clothes for the boys, so we had them remove their shoes and socks and t-shirts and off they joyously ran to play in their shorts. I did mention that it was hot, right?
Well, about an hour later when we were getting ready to leave, an old woman came by and started to talk to the kids. I called them over and when she saw they were with us, she came right over too.
Old woman: a bunch of hungarian.
Hubunit: I don’t speak Hungarian. We are american. I’m sorry but I don’t understand you.
Old woman, more animatedly: a bunch of hungarian.
Hubunit: Yeah, lady, I don’t understand you. But we’re good. The boys are good. We’re fine. Thanks. Alot.
Old woman, animatedly waving and trying to pet the boys hair while making cooing sounds because she was convinced that they were COLD: a bunch of hungarian.
Hubunit: Look lady, you know I don’t understand a word you’re saying. You can’t understand a word I’m saying, but that’s not stopping you is it? Nope. You’re just gonna keep right on telling us how to parent our kids aren’t you? Yep. Plus it’s so much more fun when you drink your lunch, isn’t it?
During this heartwarming cultural exchange, I was getting the boys dried off and re-dressed. They were nothing but happy after playing in the water, joyously boylike. ToughGuy kept looking at the woman like she was crazy. Thank goodness, because usually he reserves that look for me.
And finally, tonight, we had some of the best pizza on the planet and are now enjoying the wind generated by the fan we bought this afternoon. Plus I have this really yummy candy bar sitting next to the keyboard. It’s been patiently waiting for the kids to fall asleep and for this post to be done. It’s like a Hungarian Little Debbie peanut bar. But without the peanut. Plus Little Debbie traded in her wholesome pinafore dress and hair kerchief for some painted on acid washed jeans and a tube top. Cause that’s how Hungarian Honey’s roll.
Ahhhh. I think I should be in control of frittering away EVERY day.
One step forward, three steps back . . . in time.
Last Thursday morning, we all piled into what I affectionately call The Death Van and trundled off to Budapest. We had an appointment at the American Embassy to begin the exit visa process for ToughGuy.
Miskolc, where we have been staying for the past two weeks, is about as far away from Budapest as Pluto is from the Sun. And, while I mean that in a figurative way, my not-a-twenty-year-old ass thinks it is literal. Because it’s still over two hours to travel there, even at a high rate of speed. All’s I’m sayin’ is that’s a long time to not look out the window because you don’t want to stare death in the face lest it thinks you, oh, i don’t know, brave.
But the beauty of Budapest hit us over the head like a club after spending so much time in non-Budapest parts of Hungary. We’ve had a few glimpses of old world charm here in the Miskolc neck of the woods. Like the most beautiful Greek Orthodox Church I’ve ever seen. Oh, and the (large) girls on bicycles while wearing (tiny) bikinis. That was very old world.
We had a successful appointment at the Embassy. It felt a little James Bondish, with all the security, but everyone was very nice. Even the guys with the guns. The people who helped us, including a woman by the name of Judit (who has generously and patiently answered all my emails asking the same question over and over just using different words) were extremely nice and efficient with us. Although one of the nice ladies did, kinda out of the blue, ask us if ToughGuy had learning disabilities . . . huh? When Hubunit and I talked about that later, the only thing we could come up with was that ToughGuy didn’t immediately say hello to her, the strange lady behind bulletproof glass. But still, she asked that question nicely, along with everything else.
Overall, this has been a grueling two weeks. It’s been emotional, frustrating, exciting, nervewracking and tiring. The battle to reclaim ToughGuy’s soul back from the dark side of wanton destruction and hyperactivity is beyond exhausting.
But Hubunit is the Jedi Master and ToughGuy responds to him instinctively. It’s really something to watch the two of them together. In fact, ToughGuy just asked me (in hungarian) for some more picture books and when I handed them to him, he said thank you for the first time without being prompted – another notch in Hubunit’s Belt Of Respect!!!
So, we decided that since we had to risk our lives driving into Budapest, we may as well stay there for a few days. We were all due for a change of scenery and felt the walls of our small one bedroom apartment closing in. We booked our family of four into a one room, one bed teeny tiny little hotel room for four days. Much better.
But it was a hotel with an indoor pool, which is hard to come by here in Hungary. Since Monkey LOVES to swim, we felt like the sacrifice would be worth it because the two hyper boys could get all their energy out while still having fun in the pool.
What we didn’t know when we booked our teeny tiny little room at the Hotel Helia, is that the average population is aged 75. And has a serious penchant for speedos. Wow.
Turns out splashing is frowned upon in the pools of the Hotel Helia. As well as laughing, giggling, horsing around, speaking, smiling, breathing, moving and any signs of being alive in general. We were frowned upon a lot by people smoking pipes and thinking deep thoughts.
So we’re going to stay there again, the week before we travel home. Because we can.
The Help….
Hello, hello everyone….
Yes, I know it’s been a LOOOOOOONG time since my last post…I apologize but my life has been absolutely insane….another post for another day to fill you in.
I have been reading a lot in my down time as a way to chill and I felt absolutely compelled to share my current find – The Help by Kathryn Stockett – set in Jackson, Mississippi in the early ’60′s. The narrative is basically 3 women, 2 african american and 1 caucasian and how they relate to one another as women as well as the help vs. employer.
It is a wonderfully touching read – funny, informative, eye opening….check it out. I highly recommend it.
There is more though….it leads me to relate a story about my life and how racial tensions have affected my family.
Years ago, my father, a former Golden Gloves boxing champ, trained a young black man Harvey “Candyman” Wilson….Candyman actually came and stayed with me when I was a wee tyke….probably about a year old.
In one of our various moves, cross country – my father packed up, headed to his new town to set up shop, leaving my mother behind to pack up the household and drive cross country to meet him. During this time, my family decided to help Candyman get back to his native Ohio on the same trip.
According to my mother, we packed up the car and headed east….where we, of course stopped along the way, to eat and sleep.
Somewhere in the deep south, we took a break from the road to stop at a diner….my mother, with two little girls in tow, walked into said diner accompanied by a very large, well built black man….and you can imagine the reactions of the patrons and staff.
My mother was told that they would not “serve her kind….” denying us to sit down and eat lunch.
We were turned away and just continued on to Columbus, stopping for fast food and places we didn’t have to go into…
This blows me away….absolute and utter ignorance.
I hadn’t thought about this story in years until I began reading The Help – all the trials and tribulations as it related to segregation.
What a long way we’ve come….








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