My Do-Over

Most kids grow up dreaming about being Somebody some day; Somebody Important, Somebody Powerful, Somebody Who Gets Shit Done. I didn't.

I didn't really dream of being anything at all. My mother liked to tell me I'd be a pediatrician because she thought I liked kids. I didn't (and don't) particularly like kids, but I do respect them and believe they should be treated like people (rather than animals). I took a career placement test the summer before my freshman year of college that revealed I would excel at being either a garbage collector, a lawyer, or a teacher. Yes, I see the thread of commonality there.

Despite my test results, I double majored in English and Women's Studies while double minoring in Photography and French. Don't ask me what I thought I'd be doing with any of those degrees. Then I headed off to grad school in Boston for an MFA in Poetry, but wound up with an MA in Publishing because I'd be done faster (single parenthood changes your mind about these things).

Do you sense a trend? I have a bunch of degrees that lead to absolutely nothing concrete. There's no career that automatically translates from all those interdisciplinary studies. So what do I do? I write. That's what I thought I'd do, but it was going to be different. Famous last words, right?

So if I could have a do-over, knowing then what I know now, here's what I would dream of doing with my grown-up life:

-- Psychology or counseling. I struggle with co-dependency, but dude. I'm a great listener and seem to be pretty perceptive. I would love to work with at-risk youth or women from high-risk backgrounds.

-- Advocacy or lobbying. I'm not sure who or what I'd advocate for, but when my passion is targeted in a focused direction, I am a formidable opponent. I think I could be an asset for healthy change at a policy level.

-- Commune dweller. There's a part of me that just doesn't want "it all." That part of me would be a-okay with living off the land with a community of like-minded people.

What about you? If you could do it all over again, where would you wind up?

**This post is part of Girl Talk Thursday**

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(Never) Still Life with Kids

**This post is part of Wordless Wednesday.**

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Academically attired

Recently our town has gone round and round over adopting a uniform policy at the public schools. Currently, only Javi's school requires them -- but his principal was recently named principal of one of our local high schools, so she wanted to bring her academic-attire policy to that school, and another elementary school has tossed around moving to a similar academic-attire policy.


I was shocked by how heated people get over clothes. I can understand not wanting to stifle someone's expression or creativity, but it's just clothes. I look at my little sister's too-low-cut tops and my nephew's skinny jeans hanging off his butt and wonder -- why wouldn't their parents want a dress code for them? With that in mind, I'd like to debunk a few myths about school uniforms:

Myth #1: Kids don't like uniforms. Besides personal preference, dressing according to an academic-attire policy has been a real life saver for us. Our mornings used to be full of arguments and tears over what Javi would wear, why he couldn't wear this or that shirt, why these pants or those pants aren't appropriate, and so on. Now, though, mornings are really painless. Javi has a handful of shirts and pants/shorts and he can choose any combination he wants. That's it.


Myth #2: Uniforms are expensive. I can understand some folks' concern over cost, but we've spent maybe $60 on an entire school year's worth of clothes each year the policy has been in effect. And this year we spent much less than before because we learned the tricks of the trade -- like removing the thread from monogrammed/branded shirts, shopping at thrift stores (where we can find gently used shirts and pants donated by the private school families), and swapping with other families in the same school. Before moving to uniforms, I know we spent at least $150 on clothes as the wear wore on.


I should point out that our policy doesn't require certain brands of clothes. The children must wear black, navy, or beige pants/shorts (add dresses/skirts for girls) without pockets on the legs. They must wear solid-colored shirts. If their pants/shorts have belt loops, they must wear a belt. That's it. Javi has worn polos, tees, and dress shirts -- and none of those violated the policy.

Myth #3: Uniforms stamp out creativity. I am blown away by the interesting ways the kids at Javi's school show their uniqueness. At a recent assembly, I saw a girl with hot-pink high-top converses, a girl with a sparkly belt, and a boy with a faux hawk. I noticed that each and every kid's individuality shined through despite their similar outfits. I'd guess these kids are more creative than the kid wearing head-to-toe camo or the one in skin-tight jeans -- because Javi's peers have to really work at it and find non-traditional ways to express themselves.


So if your school system launches a campaign for support of uniforms or an academic-attire policy, don't immediately demonize it. Uniforms really work for us -- and they would probably work for you, too, if you'd just give them a chance. (And, yes, I totally had to find a way to show off these pictures of my big kid who is both Terrific Kid and on the A/B Honor Roll for third quarter!)

**This post is part of the 30-minute blog challenge, Works for Me Wednesday, and Wordful Wednesday.**

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Gone visitin'

I've hefted my baggage to two other wonderful blogs today.

#1. Anyone raising a child with ADHD or simply interested in hearing about my little inattentive and impulsive (but not very hyper) rugrat should head over to A Mom's View of ADHD where Penny regularly shares her experiences with and positive outlook on ADHD. Her site (and Facebook page) is fast becoming a go-to resource for parents struggling (or learning to love) ADHD.

#2. Over at The Scoop on Poop, I'm talking about those rugged years of the first child and the rigid measuring and comparing that come along with them. But don't worry, the whole point is how fantastic it is when you have your second (or third or fourth) baby and realize that nobody cares how quickly you get them off the pacifier or whether they potty trained before your neighbor's kid. Life won't wait for you to whip out your pen (or pull up your blogging platform) to record the good stuff -- you should just live it instead.

I hope you'll come say hi to me (and them)!

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Lighter things

My last post was too heavy for such a cool day. I'm featured at The Lady Bloggers Society! To give that honor the esteem it deserves, here are the things making me grateful today:

My big kid learning about the elbow grease method of getting kernels off his corn:

My wolf-girl in her signature upside-down glasses steering a John Deere tractor:

New angel-on-earth Asa (born only 4 days ago) held by his beautiful Mama:

Asa's big brother Wyatt who warmed up to me only after I let him have his way with my camera:

A pup who used to be mine and still has the saddest little hound-dog face:

This has been a really, really good day.

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God's plans

I just read this post at Our Little Tongginator about adoption as God's Plan B when a child cannot remain with his or her biological family. The consensus seems to be that people should fight to keep biological families together and that adoption should come only after all other resources have failed. In this sense, the biological parents are the child's Plan A and the adoptive parents are the child's Plan B. (The actual post is much more nuanced, so go read it.)

One graph of this post states that it "is an absolute TRAGEDY that a child cannot stay with his or her biological family" no matter the cause and that adoption is "bandaid placed on a gaping wound." I agree with this statement, to a point. The graph goes on to reference "the sins of another who held power over the parents (whether familial or societal or political)."

That's where it loses me. This hits so close to home. I agree that in a perfect world, parents would only give birth to children they intend to love and protect, and that the resources for doing that would be available. But if God's plan for a child in this real world is that he stay with his biological family, where does that leave the adoptive parents who have poured their souls into loving a child (or the child who is as cherished by his adoptive family as any biological child) when biological parents come calling months or years after the adoption? Is it a sin to fight reunification with the biological family when sometimes you forget that you didn't push your adopted child from your own womb?

For five long years, I attempted to maintain an open relationship between my son and his biological father, but I had to end it. Why? Because he put our son in danger by taking him to a hotel room with his crack-addicted wife (who'd been cheating on him for months) to reconcile. He was supposed to return Javi to our home at 6 pm on a Friday night and it was 11 pm before we finally found our baby and got him home (after hunting and begging and calls to the police). Four years have passed since then and I continue to deny him any visitation with my son until he hashes out with us what he did and earns back our trust that our son is safe with him. He doesn't think he should have to do that and says he simply made a mistake on the night in question. He says I am a bully, that I over-reacted to the night in question, and that it is wrong to keep him away from his child. Who's right?

Then there's my sister, Javi's biological mother. She has benefited from the same open relationship, until I found out she was sneaking gifts to Javi from his biological father and coaching him to keep it a secret from us. My son doesn't keep secrets well and eventually told us, crying the entire time because he thought it was bad to betray these people. I confronted my sister is a calm sit-down session and she called him a liar and a manipulator. A full month later, Javi broke down and told me the rest of the story. She was also squirreling him away to talk to his biological father on the phone -- all while telling him that if he told us, he'd get them all in trouble. I gave her the opportunity to 'fess up and she threw her barbed-wire lies at the very child she gave to me to love and protect. She had the chance for understanding and she chose selfishness instead. So I've shut the door on her. Is it wrong to keep her biological child away from her?

So you can see why I'm torn. If you'd asked me on December 24, 2000 whether my son should be reunited with his biological parents, I would've said yes. Ask me that question now and I'll give you a million reasons why it's wrong. The #1 reason is that their biological child is our son now. They terminated any rights they had to him. Does that mean I'm using my "power" to keep him away from them? Should I ignore their continuous screw ups in the name of keeping a biological unit together? Is it sinful and selfish to stand my ground? Should I encourage and facilitate their presence in his life simply because of biology? Maybe letting them in won't scar him for life -- but what if it does?

Obviously I have felt strongly that Javi's biological parents have a role in his life (though if I had to do it over again, things would be different), and I'm willing to accept that God has a plan for my son. However, I can't believe that He would want me -- or any other adoptive parent -- to play so fast and loose with an innocent child's heart in the name of biology or our perception of His will. Do you?

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The Wolfses

I can pinpoint the exact moment the obsession began: early October 2009 as the four of us sat around my laptop browsing Ebay for Halloween costumes. I announced that what would be extremely fantastic (and only slightly nerdy) was if the Mountain Man dressed as a man werewolf and Javi dressed as a boy werewolf. A) The werewolf costumes are ridiculously poorly thought out and B) I'm Team Jacob.

They dismissed my idea after a good five minutes of looking at werewolf costumes (and the Mountain Man went on to refuse to be a daddy bumblebee and wound up dressing as absolutely nothing), but a certain then-2-year-old was traumatized. She talked about the where-da-woolds for weeks after: that they're "ebil," that one was hiding in her room, that they were responsible for bad things. She'd routinely come to me and say, with big brown saucer eyes, "Dat where-da-woold gone eat me!"

I did what most parents do when a child develops a fear of something -- that is, I ignored it. Over time, that where-da-woold obsession morphed into a plain ol' wolf obsession. We did an ABC sticker book and the W image was a wolf. We read a book of fairy tales and the bad guy was always the wolf. Slowly, wolves became less scary and more accessible.

So now the wolf is her "bess fwiend." She wakes up in the morning with stories of how the wolf slept in her bed and rubbed her back. When she gets in trouble for something, she turns to her side and says in a stern voice, "Wolf! You bad for that!" And then turns back to me, shrugs, and says, "I gonna hafta spank him." And then stomps away.

Everyone she sees on a somewhat daily basis is familiar with the wolf. Her teachers make room on her cot for him at nap time and send him to the corner right along with her when she's naughty. I have to give him his turn to sing in the car. The Mountain Man washes his hair in the tub every night. He's simply part of our lives at this point.

So when my little girl tells me she has a heart full of wolfses, I am not at all surprised. She's as wild and fierce and protective and instinctual as any wolf I've ever heard of. And if you catch her on a bad day, she's just as dangerous. One day she'll forget she carried a wolf in her heart, but it'll be one of my most cherished memories.

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