Drawn from water

When I first adopted Ladybug I decided to make the commitment to do something charitable in Ethiopia each year. The first year I helped a preschool to raise money for the orphanage Ladybug stayed in before her adoption. Since then I have sponsored a child in Ethiopia to attend school. I pay her tuition.

I continually look for other options to support. And I read a lot of blogs -- not something I had planned on. So as a result I have learned about some things that I otherwise would not have heard about. A few years ago I heard about the Mingi. Please visit this website to learn more .... http://www.drawnfromwater.org/

I would never have thought that this mentality exists before learning about it. I am so impressed with the people who read and learn and then get involved. These people make a difference in lives. The least we can do is read and learn. And maybe someone will also get involved.

Mean Mama

You don't have to tell me

That is one of the most commonly used phrases in our house these days.

It is not that I am trying to micromanage her. It is that I hate mornings. I get up when I have to. I don't get up an hour early to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee before Ladybug gets up. Partly this is because I hate coffee. I mean really hate coffee. Not regular coffee. Not flavored coffee. Not even ice cream coffee. I actually worried about my trip to Ethiopia because I didn't want to do anything offensive but I knew I would never make it through a coffee ceremony. Luckily I was never faced with a coffee ceremony while I was there. The other part is that Ladybug gets up so early. I would have to get up at 4am in order to beat her. And that is so not happening.

Ladybug gets up early. She has learned to stay in her room and play. Well, unless she has crawled into my bed for cuddle time. When I get up -- after hitting the snooze several times each morning -- we begin the day.

Please go potty, brush your teeth and get dressed.
Please pick up your room.
Please pack your backpack.
Please get your shoes on.
Please find a jacket.
Please get a wipey and clean your face.
Please get in the car.
Please buckle up.

Incidentally, "please" is Ladybug's least favorite word and actively refuses to use it.

Recently she looked at me one morning and said...

I know. I know.

Completely exasperated. I know she knows. She knows that I know she knows. And yet she doesn't do it.

Why? If she knows (and she does) why not do it? It is not like our morning routine changes. It is very routine. If she has to do the same thing every morning why not do it every morning? Why does she wait until I tell her before she does it?

So I stopped telling her. And then she complained that I didn't tell her what to do.

Ladybug 1
Mean Mama 0

Mean Mama

raised by an atheist

I have been mulling this post over for a while. I fear that it could be offensive to some. Please understand it is not intended to be offensive. It is just a reality.

I was born into a Presbyterian home. I have no idea what that means. I was removed from that home when I was 5 years old. I don't ever remember going to church. I don't remember a religious upbringing. I spent 1 year in a foster home where the parents were Baptist. They had me baptized while I was with them. They got in trouble for that. My understanding is that they believed they were saving my soul. But you are not allowed to change the religion of a foster child.

Eventually I was placed in my adoptive family. The religious aspects of my life did not get easier.

My Maternal Grandmother was raised Catholic but converted to the Episcopal church as an adult when she married my grandfather. My mother was raised Episcopal. Not really religious but they were church goers. And believers. During my childhood my Grandmother insisted on 2 religious things. We had to go to Christmas Eve service and we must celebrate Jesus' birthday after the service with a birthday cake. I went to the Christmas Eve service and tried to stay awake. But that birthday cake was a different issue. It is a raisin, date, carrot type thing with a heavy cream cheese type icing. I hated it. But I ate it every year -- until recently.

My Paternal side of the family is Jewish. My cousins all had Bar Mitzvahs. They attended the temple on a regular basis. The weddings are traditional Jewish weddings and my Grandmother's funeral was performed by a Rabbi. They lived in a community that was largely Jewish and all of their friends were Jewish.

When my parents married -- which was short lived -- they decided that the kids would be raised Jewish. We started attending temple soon after we moved in with them. But I wasn't buying it. And I was 7. And I was a trouble maker (any idea where Ladybug gets it from?). After about 1 year my parent's marriage was in serious trouble and I started refusing to go to Temple. We celebrated Passover and Easter. We celebrated Christmas and Hanukkah. We lit the Sabbath candles every Friday night and I learned the prayer in Hebrew.

But I wasn't buying it. Any of it. All of my family is a believer. In something. I wasn't. I tried. I struggled to believe. But I didn't. I just didn't. Sometime in my teen years I started to identify myself as an agnostic. My parents did not push religions. And they did not really teach religion either. But I am not sure it would have made a difference. There are several times in my life that I wanted to believe but ultimately I did not. Eventually I began to identify myself as an atheist. Many friends have told me they know I believe even if I don't know it.

When I decided to adopt I did worry if this would become an issue. Briefly. But what I did notice as I entered the world of adoptive parents is how many of them are religious. I had never been surrounded by so many people where religion was such a focus in their lives. Even in reading blogs so many of them focus on God and Jesus and their belief. The religion varies but so many of them talk about religion on a regular basis.

When I received Ladybug's referral her religion was listed as Orthodox Christian. This is a common religion in Ethiopia. I worried. Really. She was not going to get a religious upbringing with me. I was not going to start doing nightly prayers or going to church. I had no intention of raising her to be an atheist but how can an atheist teach religion?

About a year ago my mom started attending a church on a regular basis. She asked if she could take Ladybug with her. Sure. I was fine with that. I got Sunday mornings to myself and Ladybug liked it. She liked Sunday school. She liked church. She came home raving about what she learned. I listened. I encouraged. It was hard. Because I don't believe. But it became obvious that she was enjoying it. But when my moved away. So did church. I can not go. I just can't. When we move closer to my mom again she can go with her again. I have no investment in raising her to be an atheist.

This year I enrolled Ladybug in the YMCA after school program. I know there is a religious aspect to the program. But I also know it is a good program. And it was in my budget. She has earned her first bandanna -- purple, which is faith in God. That is the first thing she has learned?

About a month ago I was putting her to bed. I crawled in bed with her to read a book. I looked over at her. She had her eyes closed and and was mumbling to herself. I asked her what she was doing. "Praying." That's what I thought.

A few weeks ago I was talking to Ladybug. She told me about her dream the night before so I told her about mine. Unfortunately mine had been a dream where someone had taken Ladybug away from me. When I told her she just looked at me and said...

Ladybug: God would never let that happen.
Me: Really?
Ladybug: No.
Me: How do you know? Do you talk to him?
Ladybug: Of course. And God told me you were meant to be my mama.
Me: God talks to you?
Ladybug: Of course.

So I may not be a believer but she certainly is. I guess it is possible to be raised by an atheist and still believe.

Mean Mama

turning a turkey into a butterfly

We have received the first of what I fear is many art projects for school for the holiday season. Meet the turkey.



He looks a little worried. Why? Because in 2 weeks he will be cooked and served. Unless he can be disguised so that nobody realizes that he is a turkey. The mission -- if she wants a good grade -- decorate the turkey so he no longer looks like a turkey.

So I asked Ladybug what she wanted to do. She wanted to make him look like a shark. She has a strange fascination with sharks lately. But I am not creative. I am not an artist. A shark??? I can't figure out how to turn a turkey in to a shark.

Cue Mama Loca yelling at me...she thinks that I should have let her make a shark.

We talk. We decide she can make him look like a princess. A dress. A crown. How hard could this be? So I skipped out of work yesterday and stopped at the craft store. And I discovered that turning a turkey into a princess may not be so easy. I look. How? What do I need? As I look up and down the aisle I manage to keep following a young couple who is arguing about a sign they want to put on their lawn. Poster board? How high? What color? Lettering? They agree on nothing.

I don't know how to turn a turkey into a princess. But then I see a wooden butterfly. I can turn a turkey into a butterfly. I hope. I buy some glue, some beads, some glitter, and some flowers. I can do this.

Now I need to convince Ladybug that this is a good idea. Cue Mama Loca yelling at me again -- this is her project. Not mine. I know. But I gotta help.

She comes around after a brief conversation. So tonight we started the process of decorating the turkey.



I supplied the tools. She did the design. I helped her but she did the work. She decided where the beads and glitter go. She puts down the glue and pours on the glitter. I clean up the mess.

After a while she gave up -- Dora was coming on TV. But we have all day tomorrow to finish it. We are getting close to being done.


Ladybug is not happy yet. She says she can see it is still a turkey. Because it still has a waddle. We will continue to work on it tomorrow.

Mean Mama

basic communication skills

When did we stop listening? Or stop paying attention? I mean, in general.

I ran into 2 situations today. First I was waiting in line at the post office to pick up a work related package. I hate waiting in line at the post office. And since the open precisely at 9:05 am every morning (I have no idea why) there is always a long line of people. I was near the front. An elderly man was near the back. I heard him ask another person in line, "What street is this?" Pointing out the front door. And the person replied, "X Street." At which point the elderly man shook his head and asked another person. Because even the elderly man knew it was not X Street. The second person gave him the same answer. And so did the third person. I was too far away for it to be considered even remotely polite to yell out the answer so I didn't. Finally, the elderly man went up to the postal worker and asked. And the postal work gave the exact same answer. How can so many people be wrong? The elderly man argued it this time. The postal worker -- sure she was right said, "Sir, if you turn right out of the parking lot and go up to the light you will be at X Street." At which point the elderly man said, "And what is the name of the street that I would be on as I drive up to X Street?" Oh! Basic listening skills.

Then I got back in my car and started to drive to work -- on X Street. Which is under construction. I saw a big orange construction sign. "LEFT LANE CLOSED AHEAD" Poo. I need to be in the left lane. Then I saw the big orange construction sign that shows you needing to merge to the right. So I did. Only one problem. The RIGHT lane was closed. Not the left. ALL the signs were wrong. And the sad thing is that this is not the first, or even the second, time I have seen this on this particular construction job. Pay attention!

Mean Mama

gorging

When I first met Ladybug she was almost 21 months. She was almost 21 pounds and 28 inches tall. She was tiny. TINY! In her short life she had learned something that no child should ever learn. She had learned that food and water were not always available.

That first week in the agency guesthouse she would pick at food if it was offered to her. It didn't occur to me that she never asked for it. I was a first time mom who was sleep deprived. I was clueless. Once we were home we fell into a routine. I made breakfast. I made lunch. She had water whenever she wanted it. I made dinner. And she ate. A lot. She ate bananas, eggs, and oatmeal for breakfast. It was months before I learned she hated eggs and oatmeal. Why? Because it was food. If it was provided -- she ate. Because she had learned food wasn't always available.

At one of her doctor appointments my doctor asked how much she drank in a day. I said 8 or 9 full bottles (usually water). The doctor thought I was insane (well, actually she always thinks I am insane -- and not in a good way). What baby drinks 8 or 9 full bottles a day. I didn't know that was unusual. She peed a lot too.

When she was home for about 5 weeks we went to visit my parents. One night I made her a plate of spaghetti (another food it turns out that she hates). My father scolded me. He said a baby can't eat that much. Really?? Watch this. Not only did she eat that but she ate 3 full plates -- before I stopped the food production line. My father sat at the table in a state of shock.

I went under the theory that once she was secure and out of a growth spurt (catch up) she would slow down on the food. And I was right. Sort of. After about 6 months home she stopped eating everything in site. She became a picky eater. I discovered foods she won't touch (like the ones previously mentioned and tomatoes, chinese food and mexican food).

She continued to grow. The average child grows 2 inches in a year once they become a toddler (so I read somewhere that I can no longer remember). She grew more then that. She has been home for just over 4 years. She has grown 20 inches. That is 12 inches more then the average child. She went from being a shorty to being an average child. She went from being 21 pounds to 56 pounds. Yes she is a chunky girl and she carries it all in her butt. She went from wearing a size 9 months (at 21 months) to 6X -- but not jeans (they don't fit over her butt).

But I see the long term affects of her early months. She went to a pool party with a friend and the mom called and said she wasn't feeling well. Said she threw up. I asked what she ate. She started listing off things. It went on...and on... Why??? Why would you let her eat like that? Stop her. Don't let her gorge.

A couple of weeks ago we went to another party. Every time I turned around I found her grabbing food off the buffet table. I would redirect her and send her off to play. And then I would find her there again. Finally I told her she was done. No more food. She had had enough. Another person -- a friend of a friend I did not know -- stepped in and said "She is hungry. Let her eat." Why why why do I always find myself justifying my parenting decisions?

She was not hungry. There is no way the girl could have consumed the amount of food I SAW her consume in one day and be even slightly hungry. There is no way I would feel hungry. Her need to eat had nothing to do with hunger. At least not physical hunger. She is my child. I do watch her (not just let her run around unsupervised). She was not eating because she was hungry. And I shouldn't have to justify that.

But the problem is... I don't know how to resolve this. She has an issue. But do I let it ride and hope it resolves itself? Do I try to deal with it? And if so, how? Does this require professional help? Is this something she will struggle with her entire life?

Mean Mama

parent teacher conference

So I had my first parent teacher conference last week. And the result is -- she can talk. A lot. And I mean the teacher -- not Ladybug.

What did I learn about Ladybug?

1. She is smart. Wait...I already knew that. By the end of the year (I mean school year) she must be at level 3 of reading. She is currently at level 2. Her language comprehension is at the level of a first grader. Now if I can get her to use that comprehension instead of calling everything a "thing" or saying "um" all the time.

2. She manipulates. Wait... I already knew that too. However, it was nice to know she manipulates people other then me. She likes to play dumb so others will do for her what she can do for herself.

3. She really has started to learn to read. GOOD!!!! I thought she was but she played dumb. See above.

4. She really can't count higher than 39. I thought she was manipulating but she was being honest.

5. Her behavior has improved since starting school. I know. I know. And I was so happy. And so proud. It was working. But 3 weeks ago her teacher decided she was doing so well that she could go back on the general behavior chart. I was afraid. And so was Ladybug. Week 1 back on the chart I only got 1 note home from school. I had hope. Week 2 of being back on the chart I had 2 notes home from school. Anxiety rising. Week 3 of being back on the chart I have already received 2 notes homes this week -- and it is only Tuesday. Pushing, making fun of her friends, being bossy, not listening. She can multitask.

Mean Mama

new kitchen

Some of the blogs that I regularly visit have these theme days where they show pictures of their living spaces. I get the look through beautiful dinning rooms, kitchens, and living rooms. And I think -- no way am I showing my living space. My living space (despite the fact that I am an avid watcher of HGTV) is not fashionable.

Some of my lack of fashion is normal. I like to believe I am fashionable but I think I might be delusional. The other part is that I have not decorated. I am still hoping to move so when I moved into this place I did not hang pictures. As a matter of fact, most of my art work, knick knacks, and decorations are in storage -- in a different state.

When I moved to this state I moved into a small house. Small. Let me define small -- 750 square feet. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. Small. My kitchen was tiny. My friends use to think I was joking about the size --- and then they would visit. If I stood in the middle of my kitchen floor facing the stove -- I could cook. If I did a quarter turn clockwise -- I could do dishes. Another quarter turn and I could chop and fix meals. Turning only required. No steps necessary. Another quarter turn and I would walk out of the kitchen -- only about 3 steps -- between the stackable washer and dryer and the fridge. If I opened the fridge door all the way it would hit the washer and dryer.

I lived there for just under 5 years. I made it work. But when I moved to that house I needed a new table and chairs. I wanted round. So I got a small round slate table with 2 chairs. I was single. It worked. And it still worked when Ladybug came home. And when I moved in here -- the table came too. Here is my kitchen when I moved here a few short months ago. Keep in mind it is a rental and I plan on moving again.



And then about a month ago I did something stupid. When my family was trying to decide about Thanksgiving, I made the suggestion that I host it. What was I thinking??? I have a table that sits 2. My parents are coming. My sister and her daughter are coming. I don't care how creative I am -- there is no way I am sitting 6 at that table. So it was time to get a new table.

I spent time on craigslist. A lot of time on craigslist. I discovered that a lot of people own really ugly furniture that they are trying to get rid of. I also discovered that the good stuff goes in a blink of an eye. I would email and get responses back that it sold 5 seconds ago -- literally. I also discovered that some of the people who sell on craigslist are slimy. I was on top of it one day. A new table popped up and it was exactly what I wanted. Well, almost -- only 4 chairs. And it was only $75. I got an email back that it was still available and I could see it the next morning. About 1/2 later I got a second email from the seller. He said he made a mistake on the price. It was really $100. How do you make that mistake? I didn't respond. Was it worth $100? Probably. But I didn't like this tactic. You don't raise the price on a used table because someone bit so quickly. About 1/2 hour later I got another email. This time it was from his wife. Saying he was a jerk. The price was $75. But it just left a nasty taste in my mouth. So I emailed her back and told her that I would not be looking at the table and she should feel free to show it to other people. She immediately emailed me back saying she was holding the table for me and that I was obligated to come look at the table because I said I would. Whatever! I didn't go.

I ended up finding a table with 7 chairs -- yea, everyone gets to sit at Thanksgiving dinner! And the previous owner even fixed the 2 chairs that were broken. So here is my new kitchen.





Mean Mama

near death

I don't understand aggressive driving. I mean, I think people drive stupid all the time and it pisses me off. But why do you drive in such a manner that puts your life or the life of someone else in jeopardy? Are you in such a rush to get where you are going that it is worth a life?

Last week after work I had to pick up Ladybug and then go to the neighboring town. Maybe I didn't NEED to go but I really wanted to get some cute gold beads for her hair to match her Halloween costume and I haven't found any stores in my new town. So I went back to my old town and my old store.

I knew this was going to be a hard trip. Pick her up around 5:30. Drive to town and be there a little after 6. Find the beads and whatever else I was tempted by. Stop for dinner. Drive home. Hope to be home by 8pm -- which is her bedtime. Not exactly a great evening for a kindergartner but I felt it had to be done.

On my way to town I took a business highway. This is 2 lanes in both directions but there is no center divider. And there are stop lights. It was rush hour time but luckily we were going in the opposite direction of most of the traffic.

I was in the left hand lane. I went down a hill. I headed back up a hill. I knew at the top of the hill was a stop light. I noticed a long row of cars in front of me. I noticed the brake lights. I braked. I glanced in my rear view mirror. I saw a little run down sports car coming up on my butt fast. I glanced back at Ladybug. She was sleeping. I glanced in the rear view mirror again. He was still coming fast. And there was nothing I could do. There were slowing and stopped cars in front of me. There was traffic coming toward me to my left. There was traffic going with me to my right. There was nothing I could do to protect myself. Or Ladybug. I kept my foot on the brake and braced for impact.

That all took about 3 seconds. If that.

But he didn't hit me. I don't understand how. He slammed on his brake at that last minute. He swerved to his right. The car in the right hand lane swerved to their right into the break down lane. He pulled past me, blared his horn, flipped me off as he passed me by, and kept going.

I gathered my wits and kept going. And I watched him go. And then I saw him do the same thing about 1/2 mile down the road. Again missing people.

His life may not be worth being careful. But mine is. Ladybug's is. And the other people that he scared that day also is.

Luckily Ladybug slept through the whole thing.

Mean Mama

delayed update

I know I am way behind on my weight update. It is not entirely intentional. A little. But not entirely.

On the last Sunday of my diet -- October 24th, I think -- I weighed myself and I wanted to throw the scale out the window. But since I rent, and I can not afford to fix a window, I did not. I was disgusted.

266.

Yuck!

So I decided not to do an update. Maybe, just maybe, I could get down to 265 (or lower) by Thursday -- the last day of this round of my diet. I was hopeful.

It didn't happen.

That week I bloated. Serious bloating. I am fat. I am use to it. I don't notice bloating most days. My pants don't get tight when I get my period -- they are tight all the time. But I tried to put my rings on and they would not go over my fingers. Seriously. The same rings that I could wear on the same fingers when I was nearly 30 pounds heavier. And they hurt.

I lived with it for a couple of days and then I bought a diuretic. Yeah, those things don't work.

So by the end of the week I had gained another pound. 267! Oh that is not good.

And then I went away for the weekend. Over Halloween. That has bad written all over it. And it was bad. I ate. A lot. Of bad things. At one point I looked at my friend and said, "I think I have been here for 30 hours and I think I have put on 30 pounds." It felt like it.

But I was wrong. On Tuesday morning I weighed myself and it said 270. Yuck. Good. I mean I was not suppose to be 270. But at least I did not gain 30 pounds.

I have worked hard this week and I am now at 268.8. Not great. But good. I am working slowly to get back down to 265. Hoping by Thanksgiving.

This portion of the diet I am suppose to stay within 2 pounds of my last weigh in. 265 is the goal. And I am starting exercises. Just mild stuff. To firm and tone. So that I don't have a ton of sagging skin at the end of this.

I will keep you posted.

Mean Mama