Four

Yesterday was a big day. And I let it pass without acknowledging it. I would say that I just plain forgot (which is true) but that doesn't make me look any better.

Four years ago...

I was a bundle of nerves. I was clueless. I had spent 17 hours on a plane. I hate flying. I don't understand how a huge hunk of metal stays in the sky. I am not a scientist. I hate flying. But I barely noticed. I sat in a cramped plane. I tried to sleep. But it was useless.

I waited for the plane to land. In a foreign country. I have been in a foreign country before. I went to Tiajuana with my grandparents -- just for a day. I have been to Canada -- east and west coast. I landed in Mexico a few times on a cruise. But that is it. This time I was in a real foreign country.

I flew to Rome. Rome! Culture. Food. Romance. I have dreamed of going to Italy for years. I studied Spanish but I wanted to go to Italy. But I did not even get off the plane. Because Rome was not my final destination. So the plane took off again after refueling.

The second time we landed I landed in Ethiopia. Ethiopia! There is nothing I could say that could accurately let you know how I felt. However, I can say that I felt like everything in my life had lead me to this place.

I made it through customs. I got my visa. Amazingly, all my luggage made it to Ethiopia with me -- I have bad travel karma. Eventually I walked into the airport lobby and some guy walked up to me. Holding my picture. Okay, I should have been prepared for that but it was till a little freaky. He was my lawyer. He led me, my mom (yes, my mama came with me), and the other couple who had traveled with me to the airport parking lot and a van. An old, 70's VW type van. My parents had one when I was young. We loaded the luggage in the van. We loaded ourselves in the van.

And then nothing. The van had died. I told you I have bad travel karma. The lawyer and the driver worked for about an hour. We were approached by beggars, taxi drivers, and armed guards. And then the van roared to life. We jumped in as quickly as possible and we were off.

We drove through town. I have never seen live goats ride through a large city standing on top of a van. But I did that day. I had never been more scared of the driving. And that is saying a lot since I hate getting in a car that my father is driving. We finally arrive at a gated compound. I have no idea how we got there. And I have a good sense of direction. We unpack the van into our rooms.

I am sharing a suite with my mom. Twin beds with mattresses that are no thicker than a slice of bread. A window in each room. And by a window I literally mean a hole in the wall. No glass. No screen. And a bathroom. Fairly western.

The lawyer comes back and tells us to settle in. Lunch will be available soon. And I will be able to meet my daughter (yes, my daughter!) the following day.

The following day? Why. I flew 17 hours. I wanted to meet her now. But I am not going to upset the plan. So I swallow and accept the news. Then the lawyer went to inform the other couple. Luckily she cried. Luckily the lawyer had no stomach for a crying woman. So he made a call and the orphanage agreed to allow us to visit for 1/2 hour that evening.

We drove there a little later. We honked at the gate. They opened. We drove through. We were shuffled into the office. And I waited. Oh my!! Is this really going to happen? Is this possible? What idiot is going to hand a child to me? And then the other "mom-to-be" whispers -- here she comes. I turn around. I look. And a very tiny Ethiopian woman is walking toward the office holding a very tiny Ethiopian girl. She is decked out in a pink jumpsuit. And she looks scared.

She is passed into my arms. She is tiny. She is nearly 21 pounds. She will be 21 pounds by the time she has her first doctor's appointment in one week. She is 28 inches tall. And she wants NOTHING to do with me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. She looks like a caged animal. If I could read her thoughts -- which aren't even in the same language as my thoughts -- I am pretty sure she would be thinking "I don't know whose idea this was, but I am having none of it."

Four years ago my life changed with that single moment. I had no clue how much. And if I knew everything I know today, I would do it again in a heart beat.

Mean Mama

change of plans

The plan for today was ... NOTHING! I mean I wanted to do nothing. Well, I needed to do some laundry, and grocery shopping, and sleeping late, and naps. NOTHING. One day in a new school and Ladybug was likely to be getting sick. And even more likely -- I would get sick. So I wanted to have plenty of rest.

The little one got up early. I gave her a bowl of cereal and crawled back in bed. But I didn't sleep. So I read. It's not a very good book but I was so close to being done that I wanted to read. Ladybug came in a few times. Once to show me a tiny book she made. And I wondered how much glue was on the living room floor. She came up to give me a kiss. She came up to see if I would be willing to take her swimming.

And then she came up and stared at me. I asked what. And she presented her hand to me. And opened it slowly. Inside her little hand there were 3 beads -- 2 pink and a clear. Where did they come from?? Oh, I knew the answer. I was in denial. But I knew the answer. But I asked anyway. And she pulled one of her twists from the back of her head and presented me with a neatly snipped, beadless twist.

Did we not have this issue before. When she was three she snipped a piece of her hair. I told her if she wanted to have short hair I would cut it for her. But she couldn't cut it herself. Okay, actually, I threatened it. I told her if she did it I would cut off all her hair. And she cried. Because she didn't want to be a boy. But she didn't cut her hair again.

Now, a few weeks ago she cut the barbies' hair. But at least she didn't cut hers. Yesterday I noticed a little patch of short hair on her in the front. It was about 1/2 inch in length. I know her hair is prone to breakage but I have been careful. I would have noticed. So I asked. She played innocent. Rather convincingly actually. And she swore she didn't cut it. She said a kid at school did. I didn't believe her. But I was tired. I didn't want to parent at that moment. So I just let it go.

And that is how I got myself into the situation this morning. If I had freaked yesterday would she have cut her hair this morning? Would she? But I don't want to explode at her. I don't want her to feel my anger. So I ask her to go get the scissors. Calmly. And she does. And then I send her to her bed.

And I read. I was hoping that it would help me to calm down. She didn't help with that because every 30 seconds or so she would call out to me. I didn't answer. And then I hear her say, "Oh great! This is boring!" But I continue to read. Maybe it wasn't a good choice. Because my book is a spy thriller. Violence, suspense, killing. Not really the type of thing that will calm me down. But I finish the book.

Ladybug: 1 Mama: 0

I tell her to brush her teeth and get dressed and then sit on her bed. I shower, get dressed, and get on the computer. I need a hair place. I need a hair place that is open on a Sunday. I need a hair place that works on children. I need a hair place that works with African hair. I find 3, probably not so good, options. So throw her in the car and I drive to the first place. It is just about 1 mile from my house. I am so focused on not talking to her (not yelling at her) that I don't notice the giant hole in the entry way to the parking lot. But despite the fact that the website says that it is open on Sundays from 8am-5pm ---- it is locked up and closed.

Ladybug: 2 Mama: 0

So we get back in the car and drive again. And as I am heading in the direction of the next option, I realize that I don't really know where I am heading. Mapquest is helpful but only if you print off the directions. I didn't. Partly because I don't have a printer. Partly because my own anger made it so I was focused on getting her hair cut and not where. But as I drove around I found the street. Which is a dead end. No hair place in sight.

Ladybug: 3 Mama: 0

I have one more option. 1. Oh so this is why people like smartphones. So I head out to my last option. I know it is in a shopping plaza. I know which shopping plaza. I know where the shopping plaza is. Kind of. At first I can't find the plaza. After 15 minutes of searching -- and drving up and down streets I find the plaza. But then I can't find the actual salon. I drive around. And around. And then I realize that they have expanded the plaza. Back behind all the buildings that I thought was the back. So I drive back there and find it. And it is open.

Ladybug: 3 Mama: 1

I go in and ask the important question. Do they have anybody who has experience in working with African hair. An African American woman peeks around the corner. So I start taking the beads and twists out of her hair. I am almost done when it is finally our turn. She hates having her hair washed. Hates it! Always has. But she suffers through it without much trouble. And then the combing starts. And she is brutal. BRUTAL!!!! I mean, people say that I have a heavy hand it is no wonder that she screams at me. This woman had her screaming and crying and literally trying to jump out of her chair. And there is not one little thing about watching her in pain from this hair cut that makes me feel good. Not one little thing.

She finally finishes combing her out and asks how much to take off. And I am getting ready to chicken out. I had told Ladybug that it would all of her hair. I can't do that. I can't. So I tell her to take off 2 inches -- enough to notice.

Ladybug: 4 Mama: 1

And after all those beautiful curls are on the floor and I am trying not to cry, she begins to braid the hair. Large cornrows. Short cornrows. And Ladybug starts to cry and scream again. And I am sad. Because I already miss the hair. And she is crying.

Ladybug: 5 Mama: 1

And when the braids are done, I realize I don't really like it. I don't. I want it undone. I want her hair back.

Ladybug: 6 Mama: 1

And then the hairdresser puts it pretty barrettes and ribbons.

Ladybug: 7 Mama: 1

And then Ladybug looks at herself in the mirror and announces that she loves it.


Ladybug: 8 Mama: 1

As we are walking out the door Ladybug looks at me and asks if she can have a pet.

Ladybug: 9 Mama: 1

Any idea who won this war??

Mean Mama

First day of kindergarten

It has arrived!!! I have been warned. It is emotional. It is a right of passage. Expect to cry. My baby is growing up.

Yeah, I don't feel emotional. My baby is growing up. That is a good thing. That means she is normal. And all I can think is I will no longer need to pay $823 per month in day care costs. If I am going to cry this is going to be tears of joy! Alright, I still need to pay for after school care but $196 per month is a far cry from $823. Kindergarten is wonderful.

I live right next door to the elementary school. Literally. Well, not my townhouse. But the complex is right next door. Only a row of trees separates the school from the complex.

We are up early. Christmas in August. Showered. Dressed. Fed. Reminders. Bags packed. Still early. Pictures. Yes, I have been told I must take pictures. Still early. We have enough time to walk to school instead of dropping her off int he carpool lane. So we walk. Slowly. Because we are early.

About half way to school she looks up at me and innocently says, "Mama, it is like I am going off to college." What??? I know they say the years fly by fast but I went from first day of kindergarten to first day of college in the blink of an eye. Literally.

I walk into school with her. Room 709 is what I am looking for. We take a left. Then a right. Then a right. Then a left. Then a left. And then I find her classroom. Are you kidding me. Why? Why would they not put the kindergartners in the front of the school. I will never be able to drop her off in the carpool lane. She can't find the dishwasher in the kitchen. How will she find the classroom?

I unload her stuff. I take a few pictures. I notice that I am the only one taking pictures. As a matter of fact I notice I am the only parent who stayed longer than 30 seconds. Actually, I notice that most kids were just dropped off. So I leave. She is fine. She has been going to school for years.

I picked her up at her after school program when I get out of work (oh you know, that half day that I mentioned in an earlier post when I got out at 5pm???). She loves school. She had a great time. She loved riding the bus to her after school program. And she loves loves loves her after school program.

Kindergarten is a good thing for all involved. Apparently!


Mean Mama

Idiot Mama

So many stories that make me look like an idiot mama... Here is just one.

Mama: Why don't you help me by starting to clear the dishwasher.
Ladybug: The dishwasher?
Mama: Yes please.

I was busy putting the groceries away. Ladybug walks into the laundry room.

Mama: Um? What are you doing?
Ladybug: You asked me to help with the dishwasher?
Mama: Yes?? The dishwasher! Dishes??
Ladybug: (light bulb goes off) Oh the dishes!
Mama: Yes, just clear your things and I will do the rest.
Ladybug: Okay.

She heads to the sink. Right general direction. But....

Ladybug: Mama, none of these things are mine. (Wrong light bulb went off)
Mama: (Really??? Walk over to dishwasher, open it up, point to the dishes). Dishwasher!
Ladybug: Oh!

How did she make it all the way to kindergarten without knowing what a dishwasher is? Is that an unreasonable expectation? Okay, I admit we did not have one in the first house she lived with me. But nearly a year ago we moved into an apartment that had one. And now this townhouse has one. And she helps with the chores all the time. How can I have been so neglectful that she doesn't know what a dishwasher is?????

Mean Mama

Another half day Friday

And somehow I managed to get out of the office at .... 5pm.

5pm!!!

What is wrong with this picture?

Mean Mama

Regression in full swing

Kindergarten starts tomorrow! I am excited. She is finally excited. I am not one of those mothers who hopes my baby stays young forever. I want her to grow. I want her to experience new things. I want her to learn. I want to stop paying for daycare!

I have been working hard at getting her emotionally ready since the beginning of June. She can't leave her school because her teacher will miss her too much. She can't leave her school because she knows where the bathroom is. She can't leave her school because the teachers and staff rely on her to help. She can't leave her school because she doesn't need new friends. But she is now excited and can't wait. Oh I think we will have an early wake up time tomorrow -- just like Christmas.

But it is not all smelling like roses. Literally.

On Sunday morning Ladybug woke me up because she was hungry. She has been hungry non stop. As she walked out of my room I noticed she had on her pj top and panties. Not her pj bottoms. So the next time she walked into the room I asked why. And she admitted it. Peed the bed. Great! Well at least it is laundry day. It has been forever since this has happened so I guess I shouldn't complain.

On Monday night I was tucking Ladybug in bed. I crawled in bed with her to read her stories -- like almost every other night. As I sat down I swear the bed was wet. But how could it be? But it nagged at me -- for about 30 seconds. Then I asked if she had peed the bed again the night before. And her response -- No, Mama! My next question -- Then why is your bed wet? Her response (almost convincingly) -- I sweat a lot last night. So the bed is stripped. And washed. And put back together.

I tell her -- she has got to tell me these things when they happen. She can not wait to bedtime. And she can not sleep in a pee soaked bed. She can not.

Tuesday we come home from school and I decide I must clean the stuffed animals. Because she sleeps with, not one, not two, but 5 stuffed animals. Three large teddy bears, a huggable kitty, and a unicorn larger than her. Some must have gotten into the pee. So we wash some and soak some in febreeze.

On Wednesday morning, she wakes me up. Mama, I peed the bed. No. No. NO. NO!!!!!!!!!! And it is about an hour before my alarm will even go off. But she told me??? As she was instructed. So I tell her to strip the bed. Which of course she is not interested in doing because she "hates cleaning." But she does it. And then she comes back into my room. "Mama, the mattress is wet, too."

Now how is that possible. I spent the extra cash to get a waterproof mattress pad. Waterproof!! So I ask if she took the mattress pad off and she says yes. So I haul my ass out of bed and go check it out. She is right. But I have an extra defense. I had bought the bed off of craigslist. It is an Ikea bed. It has a built in mattress pad!!! Yes!! I am smart.

I moan. I groan. I unzip the Ikea mattress pad and take it off. And the mattress is ... soaked. Soaked! Seriously. Blanket. Sheets. Waterproof mattress pad. Second mattress pad. And mattress is still soaked. Did she drink from the Niagara Falls before bed?

We wash the sheets and blankets. I soak the mattress in febreeze. I mutter. I complain. And I thank her for telling me. She did the right thing. But if she does it again I will put her back in pull-ups for bed. I will. And I won't feel guilty about it.

Mean Mama

Job update

Just a quick update....

Had the interview this morning. Got up. Showered. Got dressed. Work attire. Jewelry. And even a little make-up -- something I never do. Walked outside. POURING! Was this an omen? Dropped child off at school and headed home again. Telephone interview since the agency is about 700 miles away. Got stuck in traffic because people around here freak out about driving in the rain. I know, I know -- hydroplaning. But really! It is water. Not a flipping blizzard.

Cleaned the kitchen. Which really needed it. One would think that with my little critter issue (killed an ugly, mini, scorpion looking thing) I would keep it really clean but I am also lazy. Not really lazy but a little. I mean I had like 3 or 4 things to stick in the dishwasher and turn it on. Needed to be done but my place would not be condemned if I didn't.

At precisely 9:00 am my phone rang and it was my interview. We talked for an hour. They seemed to like me. It was easy to talk. I did get stumped with one question and let them know. I had to admit my lack (complete) of experience in one area. But I think I was articulate, concise, and half way intelligent. I decided to ask about the legal trouble the agency is having and I mostly impressed with the response I got. They acknowledged it and answered my concerns.

So I think it went well. I am still interested. I wait now. They have more interviews to do this week. Then they do second interviews. I assume second interviews will be in person. And then we will see. Might not even be a part of the second interview process. But I might.

Mean Mama

Hair update

So the coils didn't survive. One night and they were gone. How disappointing. One of the problems is that she refuses to wear a night cap. And by "refuses" I mean she will put it on. She will go to bed. She will take it off. Sometimes in her sleep. She is a very active sleeper. So she got up on Sunday and the coils were loose. Loose to the point that they were no longer attractive.

So I combed out her hair. Which was easy because of the coils. And I parted. And parted again. And parted again. For some reason I have lost my ability to part hair. Front to back. Straight line. How hard can that be??? Apparently impossible. But I finally settled. And I did large twists. I love twists. Easy in. Easy out. And cute. Just 11 twists. And she is so flipping adorable in that style.

And then I looked at my hair. On Saturday night in the soft light of the living room lamps I loved the color. I still love the color in the photo. It had that Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman feeling. And I felt pretty. So pretty. On Sunday morning in the harsh lighting of the bathroom... not so much. And then we ran errands. In the sunlight I began to feel more like Bozo the clown and less like Julia. The color may need to change.

Mean Mama

Hair

I have been told I must post about a hair update. And this time I can post about not only Ladybug but me too.

Ladybug and I have been fighting when it comes to hair. She screams. She cries. She yells. She has no tolerance for me doing her hair. So this wonderful mother/daughter bonding time maybe end up being our undoing.He hair is getting long. So just about any style we do requires a lot of time. I try to do things that will last a while so we don't have to experience the trauma again too soon. But the ones that last a long time also take a long time to be put in. How I wish she liked puffs. But she doesn't. I dream about cutting her hair short but then I remember myself as a kid.

My sister always had short hair -- by choice. I always had longer hair -- by choice. I cut my hair short once. ONCE! And I regretted it. If my parents had forced me to cut my hair I would have been traumatized. And I don't want to do that to her.

In the mean time --- I need to survive hair days.So she wants sister locks. I like them. She loves them. And she asks me every day when I will take her to get them. We looked through photos. She is confident she will love them. We met a woman at the Farmer's Market who had them. And Ladybug wants them even more now. And it would mean no more hair days for me. Which is a bonus.

And then I did my research. It will cost a small fortune to have them "installed". Correction. A not so small fortune. I am not saying that they are not worth it. I am saying --- I don't have a small fortune. I tried talking to her about money. She agreed it was expensive. And she wants them anyways. She is only 5.

So in the meantime I need to do hair. Today was hair day. Tomorrow will also be hair day. I decided to try a hair style that will allow her to keep her hair down. Not sure if this will work. So today I did coils. Tomorrow I will need to finish. Here are a few pictures of the style half done.


In the meantime, I decided to do something with my hair. What do you think of my new color -- not that you know what my old color is.



Mean Mama

Knees shaking

I have a job interview on Tuesday. Really!

Scared? Yes. I hate selling myself. I am not a salesperson.

Problem #1: I don't think I am qualified for the job. I mean I can do aspects of the job but there are other aspects I have no experience with.

Problem #2: The company does not have the best reputation. Some local newspapers writing front page articles about the problems. I am not from the area but I know anyway. Do I ask about it at the interview?

Problem #3: It may not be in the town I want to be in. The company has offices in 2 towns. One I want to be in. One I don't.

Problem #4: I know there was a 4th problem but it has escaped my head.

Mean Mama