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The kid corner!

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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.

Student Athlete Branding – The Internet … a blessing and a curse

Zac - High School BasketballIt’s no secret that Ron and I have a talented student athlete. Our son plays basketball and is driven like nobody I’ve ever known.

Being a student athlete is no joke. When I was a kid, it meant that you were good at sports and that maybe, just maybe, you could play at the next level. Grades were not really that big of a deal if you were a student athlete … and I even met a baseball player one time in college that couldn’t even read.

Those days are LONG gone though.

As early as middle school, these kids are vying for a spot on one team or another, attending camps, clinics, workshops, etc. It is very important to further the growth as an athlete, but today, to truly play at the next level, you must also excel in the classroom. The term, “Student Athlete” has “Student” at the beginning for a reason. If you can’t make it in the classroom, you will not be in serious contention for college scholarships.

A lot of athletes learn that it will take a lot of sweat to get where they want to go. They know that grades have to be a big part of the equation and they hear it from coaches all the time that like it or not, people are always watching … but there is one lesson that I feel they are not getting on the field (or floor) and it’s a very important piece for them to master.

Branding!

Yes … I know you are reading this thinking … branding? That’s what “I” have to worry about with my business … now I have to worry about it with my kid too? You do if your child wants to play competitively in college and sometimes beyond. College and professional sports is a business and therefore, branding of their incoming players is important to them as well.

With things like Facebook, Twitter, Myspace (although that’s less relevant these days), Instagram, Flickrr and other social media sites, it’s harder for these student athletes to “keep their noses clean.”

I have personally seen some kids get into serious trouble with Facebook this year. I’ve seen bullying, I’ve seen kids impersonating others in a hurtful way and I’ve seen photos that make kids “appear” to be doing something that they aren’t with a simple click of a cell phone camera.

I don’t think that kids understand the true ramifications that come with being THAT exposed. Especially when they are student athletes with a bright future ahead of them.

I think that the best way to control the environment for our student athletes is to create one from the ground up. An area where they can interact with friends, share photos, put up schedules, videos, etc. A space that they can call their own, but one where they can control what is shown and shared a little easier.

Having the experiences that we are with Zac made us realize that we could help other student athletes as well.  Through RKN Studio we can help them develop a place that they can call home online. A place that will allow them to start managing their own brand – their name!  If you want to check out some more info on that, you can GO HERE.

We created a website for Zac that showcases his resume to coaches, sports writers, scouts, etc.  If you’d like to check out the finished product of Zac’s site, you can CLICK HERE.  Before we truly launched it, we sought out advice from college coaches that we know, AAU coaches, parents and players.  It allowed us to get a good combination of athletics and academics.  We also had Zac design it so that it has “his” spin on it.  In fact .. the student athlete packages that we’re selling are all designs that Zac created with the sole intent of helping other student athletes.

We also got Zac set up on Twitter – which has honestly been a ton of fun for him … and for me.  I like seeing him interact with everyone like this.  His friends are all asking him how his Mom has so many followers … and then ask how did YOU get 45 followers in 4 days – hahah.  Twitter allows him to show a little of his character where photos on a website sometimes can’t truly do justice there.

I guess one confirmation that I’m doing the right thing by working with the kids is that I was asked to speak at a local high school to their football team about the dos and don’ts of social media when it comes to trying to be a college athlete.

… and apparently that was a success because they are now asking if I’ll do the same thing for ALL of their programs :D .  That makes me happy.  If I can help one kid realize their dreams … why not help more?

BRANDING … IT’S NOT JUST FOR BUSINESS ANYMORE!

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.

How you know I’m not Hungarian

The three readers we still have left on this blog may know that Hubunit and I have been trying to adopt a child for over a year now.  I submitted our first applications on February 1st of 2010.  We ended up deciding on an International adoption of a toddler aged child from Hungary.  I actually had to find Hungary on a map and it took me more than 30 seconds.  That is your first clue.

Well, to catch y’all up to speed, since I’ve already discussed the finer points of the adoptionoscopy and how long and well, long the wait was, in previous posts, we are now in Hungary (thank god the pilot knew where it was) and have immersed ourselves into daily life in a foreign country.  Here is a quick rundown of the top 10 reasons why Hungarians know I am not one of them:

10.  Cleavage is a valuable accessory here and I forgot to pack mine.

9.  My pants are neither sweats nor painted on my body.

8.  I am squeamish about showing my stomach in public.

7.  There are many beautiful women here and I am not one of them.

6.  I threw away all my acid washed jeans.

5.  I actually play with my kids at the park instead of standing outside, looking over the fence while I smoke a cigarette.

4.  No matter how many times I tell myself I’m not going to do it again, I still smile at everyone I pass on the street.  

3.  I speak at a decible louder than 1.  More like 11.

2.  I am too weak to wear high heels, painted on pants, all the makeup the store sold, dangle a cig from my lips and still carry 2 heavy bags of groceries to my apartment.

But the number one reason Hungarians know I am not one of them, is when my new, tough guy child runs up to me at the park and yells:  ”Hey crazy American Lady, I’m thirsty so I’d like something to drink now.  Oh and after I have something to drink I’d like to have a nature pee on that tree over there.  You know, the one by the really busy street and packed sidewalk.”  And I just smile and say:  “Sure tough guy, whatever you just said in a language that I don’t understand is fine with me.”

So yeah, we are now the proud temporary parents of a beautiful and audacious four year old boy, whom I call Tough Guy.  Because Gangster was already taken.  The temporary part is only temporary.  In another month or so, it will be permanent. 

This is a family adventure and we are all here for oh, six weeks or so.  Two of those weeks are now behind us and the other four streeeeeeetch in front of us.  The first week was spent mostly in a van, traveling to various appointments and to visit Tough Guy every day at his foster home. 

Oh, oh, here’s a tip about hurtling along, in a van being driven by a nice young man whom you don’t know, while sitting in seats that have no seat belts:  Make it a point not to look out any window.  Especially the front one.  In the first five minutes you will be convinced, at least ten times, that you are going to die.  Or someone else is going to die.  Or everyone is going to die.  Then, after it occurs to you that maybe you shouldn’t look out the front window anymore,  you glance out a side window, only to be greeted by the sight of a man driving another van at a high rate of speed while casually reading an entire newspaper.  Just get dark sunglasses, or a paper bag large enough to fit your head into, and leave the driving to the nice guy you don’t know.  He’s actually really good.

After five days of visits, Tough Guy was able to come stay with us in our apartment.  Thankfully he and Monkey are becoming fast friends on the road to brotherhood.  Because they are roughly the same size, Monkey is having a hard time computing that Tough Guy is actually 18 months younger than he is and also grew up on a farm, not in a Lego store.  There have been some tense  moments between the two of them, a few tears, mostly on Monkey’s side and yet, somehow, throwing pillows into a pile and jumping on them transcends language and those pesky 18 months. 

Oh yeah, and guess what my new son’s favorite thing in the whole, entire world is?  (dangling thingy there, i know, move on)  Templom.  Yep.  CHURCH.  AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

I’d like my light to turn green now, please.

The road to happily ever after is a long one.  Think Harrison Ford looking at Anne Heche in Six Days, Seven Nights and breaking it to her that they are likely to be stranded on a desert island for, ya know, a LONG time. 

Along the way, in amongst the easy, no potholed roads that wend their way thru fields of flowers, there are some treacherous, mountainy (probably not a word, but forgive me anyway), sheer drop off kind of roads.  Some roads have lots of turns, mostly U turns as my Navigation system enjoys reminding me because I’m an idiot and keep forgetting how to shut that floozy up.  Possibly a fender bender where you cause SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS worth of damage to your car without even spilling your cup of coffee, or a fullblown multiple vehicle incident that can change your life forever.  But, that’s a post for another time. 

Currently, Hubunit and I are at the adoption mile marker on our road.  And the adoption thing is like that road in San Francisco that is impossibly bent.  I know.  That road seems an improbable route to happily ever after, but still, we are on it.  Mostly because it’s worked for us before.  Which, to a sane person, would seem to imply that we should count our lucky stars and leave well enough alone.  But, never having been accused of being sane before, why start now . . . 

Yeah, except I’m tired of waiting.  I’ve done my part.  After all, I convinced Hubunit to jump on board AND we’re still married.  I spent hours, days, weeks, months poring over the internet, researching countries, ages, glimpsed photos of waiting kids and built entire lives for them out of the figment of my imagination.  I returned over and over to the Guatemala government’s adoption page and stared at those spanish words, willing them to miraculously scream, we’re open again.  I slowly adjusted the dream and started to find myself drawn to Hungary.  Well, first I had to find it on the map and then I daydreamed about it alot.  I looked at more photos of kids with medical issues, cleft palate, missing fingers, club feet and knew in my heart that we could accept a child like that into our hearts and our lives.  I filled out reams and reams of forms.  I bared my soul to the social worker, well, and the fingerprint person.  I emailed, photocopied, faxed, scanned and FedEx’d till my head exploded. 

And now?  Now it’s hard for me to understand that Europe takes August off.   Oh yeah.  The whole continent closes up shop and goes on holiday. 

Huh.  Don’t they care that Monkey tells everyone he meets that we are trying to get a new baby brudder or sister?  That he is saving his toys in a pile for them to play with since he’s convinced that even a baby sister will already love Pokemon.  Or that he was saving left over food for the new little one, cuz who doesn’t want half of a three month old PB&J?

Surprisingly, I am not a patient person.  I really need to work on that.  In the meantime, if you have one of those thingymabobbers that can turn a red light green with just a tap of the button – you’re my new best friend.  Seriously, you need to share that thing now.  It’s good for your soul.

It was a tornado. And we almost lost the doublewide.

We had our first 5 year old sleepover last week.  Hubunit was wisely working and I was here on my own.  When I set it up, I thought, Huh, you can handle two kids.  After all, soon you’ll have two kids all the time.

Then the force of nature who is monkey’s friend showed up and I realized, F-A-W-C-K-I-N-H-E-L-L-F-I-R-E, I’m old.  This may not come as a surprise to any of you, but oddly, it shocked me.

Monkey’s friend has, uh, alot of energy.  Not that monkey doesn’t, but mostly it’s controlled, easy going energy.   And monkey’s friend likes to ask questions.  ALOT.  He’s really cute and sweet, with his curly hair and clip-on tie, but OMG, what was I thinking?

After playing with every toy in our house, which is a considerable amount of toys I’m ashamed to admit, he ran into the kitchen where I was making dinner (shhhhhh) and asked me, what are we gonna do now miss linda? I knew he’d gone rogue, like Jack Bauer in 24, because monkey would NEVER, EVER run into the kitchen to talk to me while I was fixing dinner.  But in that sweet breathy boy voice, which now haunts my dreams, he continued, there’s no toys to play with.

Well.  Him’s a liar.  Because when  I looked around, I could see that we don’t need new carpet any more, we now have toy carpet.  Seriously.  I have seen 25 kids play in this house for several hours and not have as many toys on the floor as this charming monster did in about 15 minutes flat.  Truly a talent.

Somewhere in the middle of the evening hubunit called me and before I’d had time to say hello, I had to say goodbye because they were breaking the toilet.  A toilet that monkey has managed to use without incident for the past year and a half.  An innocent toilet, who’s only crime was to be defenseless while having a lid that can be (gasp) lifted off and then dropped back down to create the wonderfully loud noise of ceramic hitting ceramic at a high rate of speed.  Poor toilet.

Then we had to get ready for bed, which involved water and going to the bathroom.  The horror.  But eventually I had them both shoved into their sleeping bags on the floor in monkey’s room, armed with flashlights and every stuffed animal known to childhood.

I crawled downstairs to dial Hubunit at work.

Him:  Hello?

Me (whispering):  Help me.

Him:  Helllllo?

Me (louder):  Seriously, HELP ME. (shouting)

Him:  Who is this?

Me:  We have to stop the adoption.

Me:  I’m not kidding.  We might get a tornado and I DON’T HAVE THE ENERGY.  I’m afraid.

Hubunit:  Ok.  We can kiss the $xx,xxx+ goodbye and I’ll get to keep my Harley.

Me:  Really?  You want to keep your Harley?

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