Things are looking up.

Keeping consistent with the first day and a half being mostly a
disaster, the drive to ethan and laura's was pretty rough. We enjoyed
the landscape a lot, especially watching the lightning storms off in
the distance. It all went downhill when "off in the distance" no
longer applied. We watched as the storm closed in on us and rapidly
worsened.

The rain, thunder and lightning were getting quite heavy when I
received this text message from laura: "just checkin to see how you
are doin. There are some tornado warnings in minnesota and I believe
the weather man's exact words were 'if you're near the iowa border,
take cover!'" Good thing we drove 2 1/2 hrs. Out of our way to
unnecessarily drive into iowa.

We tuned in to the radio for weather and realized we were driving
through pretty much every county that was being tornado-warned. We
debated at every undrerpass if we should stop for cover like many of
the vehicles who were out in this storm, but according to weather-lady
laura, we just needed to get north of it and we'd be fine. After
careful driving (and maybe a touch of hydroplaning) tom expertly
navigated the way to ethan and laura's house.

It was great to see them, catch up and see their cute new house. They
were beyond gracious as hosts, allowing us to shower, launder and eat
limitless amounts of ethan's homemade jam. (Not that there was any
risk of running out since ethan had slightly "over-picked" at the
strawberry farm, picking 30 unnecessary pounds of strawberries... but
no complaints here.)

We left 2 hours behind schedule. From a house. Without having to tear
down camp. Or cook our own breakfast. We are really bad at this
schedule stuff... But the kids got to play with coasters, and play
with ethan outside and even got to "butter their faces with an ice
cube," which is a guarenteed good time.

After a quick (slow) stop at walmart, we made our way to our campsite
in north dakota, now 3 hours later than the master itinerary suggests.
It was a neat little campground, where I met a woman with curly hair
and 3 daughters, named laura from rochester, Minnesota. (I'm Lara,
from rochester, ny, 3 daughters too.) It's like we're the same! Except
she DIDN'T have a son, and I am NOT a bellydancing instructor, but
other than that...

That night we cooked "mountain pizzas" and "hobo pies" over the
campfire in our pie irons... Having set up camp and prepared dinner in
the daylight! We felt proud and relaxed, and enjoyed the night
hanging around the fire, eating kinda burnt cherry pies. Everyone
slept great, and we departed this morning only an hour and a half
behind schedule!

We just crossed into south dakota and are driving through a town with
a population of 483 people. Tom has enjoyed interacting with the kind
of people who "square up in the mornin'" and has spent much of the
trip talking in a deep southern accent. Mostly when reading road
signs. This should be annoying, but strangely I still laugh every
time. He is currently in a deep, dark depression because all he has
ever dreamed for is to see a real live buffalo in the wild and has yet
to see any. He is certain that we somehow missed them ALL and is
having a really hard time letting it go. (Which could explain the
occasional complaint of chest pain, and the unusual appreciation for
the tidy rolled up cylinders of hay we see everywhere.)

We are on our way to night #1 in the badlands and are excited to be
there around 4:30pm if all goes well. If we don't see a buffalo
before we arrive, I'm jumping out while we are still moving.

Day 1.5-2

If I had to sum up last night with one overly-dramatic, blanket sweep
of a statement it would probably have to be "hell on earth." Hey, I
acknowledged it would be dramatic. It wasn't all bad, to be fair...
But all you nay-sayers were right about a few things: "it's gonna be a
lot of work." (everyone), "your tent is gonna leak" (grandpa
anderson), "you guys are crazy!" (Mostly everyone), and "those driving
times are a little ambitious." (Lindy).

So, as I had written earlier yesterday... We were running a tad behind
schedule. Like five hours behind. That means we arrived at our first
campsite with about 15 minutes of sunlight left to set up camp. Once
we did that, we sat down and cooked a relaxing campfire dinner. Oh
wait, that's actually not what happened at all. While that is what I
went to great lengths to plan, what really happened on Night #1 is an
entirely different story.

When we got to our campground, we were a little (a lot) surprised.
The campsites were tiny and were so close together it was almost
impossible not to back into someone's site with our van. And when I
say "someone's site" I should really say "yard" because the campground
was actually full of RV residents! This may be ignorant of me... But
did you know that people pay rent, park their rv or camper and LIVE in
these places? I mean, they had porches built onto the front of their
campers. They had wheels, and a porch! They had gardens, lawn
ornaments, outdoor furniture... I saw a guy mowing his lawn when I was
walking to the port-o--potty! I used a port-o-potty in someone's
yard. It was all very confusing.

We set up camp as spastically as possible, around 9:30ish. At this
point the kids were starving but we still had to build the fire, get
out the kitchen bin, start the camp stove and get dinner cooked. It
takes a very long time to cook dinner, at 10:30 at night, when it's
pitch black. I mean it was hot, humid, dark, buggy, and exhausting.

After dinner, we had to get the kids down, give London her nebulizer,
wash the dishes and pack up all the kitchen stuff. The kids were
obviously exhausted. The girls were out as soon as their heads hit
their pillows. Harper slept fitfully and would wake up periodically
to do something bizarre. He has bad nightmares, so he spent a lot of
the night incoherently screaming his head off. He was an ultra-pest,
trying to irritate the girls long after they were asleep. And at one
point I woke up terrified because he was crouching right by my head
demanding that I give him a kiss. Again, exhausting and confusing.
London woke up once in the middle of the night, so I fed her - which
never really happens, but out of fear of the other kids waking up, I
caved.

That's when the sideways rain first started. It sounded awesome.
But, the kids' sleeping bag ended up bunched against the tent wall so
it ended up getting wet. A few places on the tent had very minor
leaks, but it was wet enough to make packing up in the morning a touch
of a drag. We did wet breakfast, packed up wet camp and left almost 2
hours later than our goal... Which tells me we're improving!

We left Indiana, stopped in Illinois for a picnic because we saw an
awesome scenic lookout tower. It was, naturally, closed when we got
there. But we took the picture below, and had a quick dinner anyhow.
Then we went senselessly out of our way (2h 15m) to drive across the
mississippi river so we could go through Iowa and Wisconsin before we
headed to Minnesota. Our goal is to go in every state that we
possibly can, which adds a ridiculous amount of driving time, for very
little reward - really just a few blurry photographs of various
"welcome to whatever state" signs.

We are due to arrive in columbia heights, minnesota tonight to stay
with our friends laura and ethan. The GPS has our arrival time for
11:00p. We have been making good time, so we usually shave off some
time. Then London will explosively poop up her back, and we end up
adding more time than we shaved. So, to conclude Day #2, we will get
to see friends and take showers around 11:00, give or take a shave and
a crap.

Discoveries of Day #2:
-we grow a lot of corn in this country.
-tom had his daily run in with bird poop. He grabbed the edge of the
picnic table (which was clean) and got bird poop on his hand from
UNDERNEATH the table!
-the world is NOT running out of room for people. We figured out that
if each person ate one less can of Niblets a year, we could build
houses for all the people currently packed in china... And I'm talking
homes w/ acreage!
-the girls are not fond of port-o-potties and "would really rather go
in a regular bathroom because where do you even wash your hands!?"
(They are in for some serious disappointment in a few days when we're
in the dessert... A port-o-potty will seem like royal treatment at
that point.
-sometimes you have to swaddle your baby in a pillow case, just when
you're in a desperate laundry situation.
-london will poop explosively right while I am blogging about it.
It's like she knows...

I should have known things weren't going to go as planned when a bird
pooped on tom's head this morning while we were packing the van. Five
hours behind schedule, we were packing the final things for our month
long, cross-country road trip, and a bird does a fly by just to stick
it to us.

We planned to leave at 5:00 in the morning, but we left at 10:30am
instead. (Bright side: we left on the right day.). We planned to do
London's nebulizer in the car using an outlet converter thingy, but it
required too much power so I had to do it at a service station.
(Bright side: while I was doing that, Tom was able to reserve the
campsite we wanted for tonight.). Annalee and London are both sick,
and I'm all stuffy and am sneezing like wild. (Bright side: they got
sick right before we left, so I was able to get the antibiotics they
both needed, plus the nebulizer.)

So... Things aren't necessarily going as planned, but as I said
yesterday, I PLANNED to be spontaneous. I know that is a bit of an
oxymoron, to plan out your spontaneity, but all of our plans have
given us a goal and a rough time frame. Here's hoping we don't
disregard that time frame so blatantly on the rest of the trip as we
did today.

So we are in Ohio, when we should be Indiana. (I have never seen so
many abandoned, brick buildings in my life.) But the kids are doing
great: coloring, decorating their hats from my mother-in-law, working
on the 60 page activity book I made for them, listening to all our
great road trip mixes, and watching Mary Poppins as I write this. We
are due to arrive at our campground in Indiana at quarter to nine.

highlights so far:
-tom patting my back and encouraging me saying "don't worry, at the
end of this trip you'll know the RIGHT time to play the air saxaphone
during Kokomo."
-marlie asking me three different times, "we can really eat these
cookies WHENEVER we want? Both of them?"
-watching the kids eat both of their cookies before we even got to buffalo.
-stopping to change two dirty diapers within two hours. The little
lady is a double deuce kinda girl.
-watching Harper beat box (tight and steady) during 'we will rock you.'
-learning that during 'we will rock you' I should really only fist
pump with my right hand because I have better control (also tight and
steady) and I am less likely to pump my fist into the sunglasses
holder. -watching tom scrub the bird poop from above his ear before
we were even close to spending a significant amount of time outdoors.

Well... That's Day 1 as it stands. At least we made it past Victor.

--
Sent from my mobile device

never in a million years...

parenting has brought so much into my life. being a mom has taught me a lot of lessons, given me so much joy, and at times a lot of heartache. it has also made me aware of how weird we are. not "we" as in the human race. but "we" as in my family. i'm weird, tom is weird. and together, we have some pretty bizarre-o kids. i love that about us, and i really love that about them.

living in a land of little weirdlings has led to some pretty strange conversations. here is a potpourri of some sentences i never imagined would come out of my mouth. many of these came out of my mouth in the past 48 hours.

  1. (gasp) "he painted the baby!"
  2. "you may NOT paint the baby."
  3. "thank you. i like your head too."
  4. "that is not poop in daddy's pits. it's hair."
  5. "please stop putting that in your ear."
  6. "please stop putting that in my ear."
  7. "if you can't think of anything to do then i will throw away all of your toys." (tom has tried to convince me that this threat is unrelated to the problem, but here was my thinking: if you can't find anything to do, then you don't need all these toys that are lying all over my house, and i can just throw them away. that way, you still won't have anything to do but at least my house is clean.
  8. "it's right here." (said in response to harper asking "where's yours brains?")
  9. "i am cooking dinner, you can get your own wedgie like a big boy."
  10. "well... you really don't marry uncles." (said in response to marlie using uncle jonny as a last resort for for a husband. she's four.)
  11. "yes, i promise." (said in response to marlie asking "can i really borrow your blue high heels for my wedding?" again, she's four.)"
  12. "your corn on the cob is NOT a drumstick."
  13. "harper, honey, there was not a fire in your room."
  14. "harper, honey, your buns were not on fire." (both of these fire-related remarks took place this morning.)
  15. "no touch technologies."
  16. "no touch-a 'tiques." (this is me reminding them, in their own language, not to touch the antique tea set sitting on my bookshelf.)
  17. "x is not a drum." (at any given time x can = a laptop, my chest, the fridge, the tray on the baby swing, the baby, etc.)
  18. "no more gremlin crying."
  19. "i am not a granny."
  20. "ok, two is not 'millions and millions.' "
  21. "ummm... i don't know if the birdie has buns."

i could seriously do this for hours. but i can't because i have a lot more weird conversations to have. so i want to know...

what is the weirdest thing you never expected to say out loud?

spiderman.

it seems that as much as i have tried to avoid writing about race, i really cannot get away from the intense desire... or maybe even the need... to write about it. for me, much of my understanding about how others view race and ethnicity has changed over the past 4 years. this is about how long we were openly pursuing adoption.

since we began the adoption process, we have had an array of opinions and concerns from onlookers. family, friends and perfect strangers alike have celebrated, judged and/or criticized our journey. it has been such a medley of responses from people, that i have experienced all the paralleled responsive emotions. i have been shocked, saddened, infuriated and often felt pity toward the opinion-giver. on a rare occasion, i have even felt guilty for adopting an african-american child. before continuing, i would like to say that the overwhelming response from people, both those we know and those we do not, has been extremely positive. almost everywhere we go, people stare, comment, smile and let you know that they are in support.

i always have mixed emotions about the people who go so overboard in an effort to prove they are okay with it. people go on and on about how harper is "sooooo cute, just the cutest little thing ever, never have i seen such an attractive child..." k, i got it. you aren't racist. or another favorite "ya know, he looks just like my very best friend in the whole world's stepdaughter's cousin's half-sister!" ok, i got it. you know somebody else that's black. i say that this over-the-top response gives me mixed emotions because while it seems a little disingenuous to be that enthusiastic about a child you've never met, i also agree that he is the cutest little boy on the planet... so, i let all this slide.

apart from the overly positive remarks, there is the savior-syndrome response. the "how good of you to rescue a poor child" type of remarks. my personal favorite manifestation of this sentiment is "well good for you!" (if you can imagine that exclamation point to symbolize the atta-boy fist-sweep... you will hear the condescension in this better-you-than-me remark.) again, this creates mixed emotions, because some people really do support adoption and i will take all the support i can get... but, some people are just uncomfortable, but like to remain pleasant and upbeat. and it often comes in this "way to go, sport!" form we all know and love.

then we have the occasional openly disapproving (or just downright ignorant) remark. before we even adopted, i was speaking with a man in philadelphia who asked if we were done having children. i said that we were in the process of adopting a child and he boldly stated that one should never "mix real children with adopted children in the same family." this makes me want to puke for a number of reasons. 1) adopted children are still real children. 2) it's none of his freakin' business. and 3) seriously? *i would like to note that this was a hispanic gentlemen, which i only point out to show that it is not always white people, but ignorant people, who make offensive statements.

since then, we have experienced racist remarks clothed in "concern" for us. my personal favorite was a woman i met at a birthday party who was looking at harper in his infant car seat shortly after we brought him home. she gave the usual "wow, well isn't that just the nicest thing you did... blah blah blah." then went right into "now, are you ever afraid that he might become a gang member?"

just gonna take a moment to let that really sink in for you.

yep.

(during moments like these i vacillate between the civil responsibility to educate people who are clearly ignorant, and the fleshly desire to punch a face. so far, i have always opted toward civic duty... but usually with a little metaphoric face-punching sarcasm. i can't help it. i'm a mama and just a touch of a rage-aholic. so, this is the best i can do at this point.)

so, i calmly informed her that "the gang activity amongst infants in our area is really quite low." fortunately for us.

even when there aren't these in-your-face statements... there are the occasional, seemingly harmless, less obvious experiences that are shrouded in poor-taste humor. the "i love his little nappy head" and "did you leave him in the tanning booth too long?" type of comments. our son is often confused for other children of color, no matter how different he looks for them, he will be called by the name of another non-white child... as though they are interchangeable.

once, a bitter old man at the airport airplane was giving me nasty looks as i swayed with harper (a newborn) in my sling. when i boarded the plane, the man stood up as i passed him and unapologetically said "where are you headed...back of the bus?" this was actually my first (and worst) encounter with open and cruel racism since we adopted harper at 10 days old.

now, harper is 2 and 1/2 and the comments keep coming. only this past weekend i was at an event where a woman was inquiring about my family. when i mentioned that we were an adoptive family, she asked for more details about him being adopted from america because she had been told "it takes years and years and years to get an american child." i explained to her that since we were open to a child of any race, it actually was a very quick process for us. without a thought she immediately said "oh, so you just lucked out and got a white one."

i felt physically sick, turned tomato-red as i'm told, and again weighed the benefits of violence vs. education. i replied "no, actually he is african-american, but we still condsider ourselves to be very lucky." in hindsight, i kinda regret not roughing her up just a little.

as i revisit some of these encounters in my mind, playing them over and over... i can't help but consider what some people say about trans-racial adoption. that it isn't fair to the child. that they will never feel like they belong. that we are doing him a disservice. i can't help but wonder if he will experience these types of remarks and worse...

then, i go in and peek at him at night when he's asleep. he is small and dark and sweaty. and i remember that he is my son. he is my one and only boy. he is scared of sharks, and the smallest of bugs. he thinks he actually is spiderman, and is therefore afraid of his own reflection. also, if he gets really, really upset... he will try to shoot a web at me. he wakes up most mornings by sneezing a dozen or so times in a row. (no joke. it's crazy, so much sneezing.) i remember all this, all the little facts about him. that when he grows up he wants to be an "awesome guy eatin' pizza." that he loves his sisters, and trucks, and drinks. probably all the same amount. i remember that he is sweet and precious and valuable, and he's mine. i know all the things that nobody else knows because he is mine and i am his. and in those quiet, still moments the rest of it just fades into the background and i have faith the when he goes through (because he will go through) all the garbage in this world... he will know that he is loved. he is wanted. and he is mine. and i am hoping that at least some of the time, that will be enough.

capuano family tour de USA

we are going on a road trip. not just any 8 hour, day long road trip... we are going across the great u. s. of. a. yes, our van has 160,000 miles on it. yes, we have many, many small children. yes, i only recently got my driver's license. yes, we are clinically insane. but, it's true. we are going to do it.

we are taking a month (well, a couple days shy of four weeks) and driving across the country with four kids. 6, 4, 2, and 6 months. we are in the early stages of planning, but we are leaving the day after our kids get out of school for the summer, and we will get back at the end of july. i am sure i will be blogging about this quite a bit as we make our plans, and am willing to commit to a certain number of blog entries during the trip for a small salary. or a large one. whatever.

so far, we are sure on the following details:

  1. we are camping in a tent. all six of us. in the same tent. all of us.
  2. we have a mad-tight budget. (and i mean is-it-wrong-to-make-the-kids-do-lemonade-stands-to-help-with-gas kinda tight.)
  3. we will stay mostly at free campgrounds, but will occasionally splurge on a campground that has shower/bathroom facilities. and about once a week we will stay in a cheap hotel or hostel to do laundry and shower. we will also be visiting friends, family and the occasional friend of a friend along the way. we are open to ideas about free accommodations if you have any. (in other words, does your aunt in utah have a finished basement?)
  4. we will have to bring a lot of crap. (we will have to use a car-top carrier, which is so obnoxious and embarrassing. my husband says they look like a big mac or whopper or something like that. it's funnier when he says it, or if you actually know the right hamburger reference.) i have a notepad that lists all the things we need to bring. it has a table of contents because there is so much crap you need when you traveling with one kid, let alone four. really, london is the one who is overpacking at this point. babies are so high-maintanence sometimes.
  5. we are seriously out of our minds.

at this point we are just trying to make sense of the route, the gear we need, the budget, the timing, and all the "what-ifs." (my what-if's include... what if we get a flat? what if we gets lots of flats? what if our van kicks the bucket mid-trip? what if tom really does make us drive to astoria, washington to see the museum that makes a brief cameo in the goonies? what if our kids cry incessantly the entire trip? what if a bear starts to eat me or one of my family members? what if we have to turn around after a few days because instead of instilling a sense of adventure and appreciation for nature, our kids develop an aversion to traveling and all things outdoors? what if tom continues to see this as an opportunity to purchase and use a tazer?)

the kids have been very involved in the preparations. we have been making lists of the gear we need, and marlie (4) reports that above all else we will need to bring "a computer to check the weather... or a window." harper (2) said that for our trip (or "chip" as he says) we will need a restaurant. annalee (6) is a little more pragmatic in her request for a tent.

hearing their idea of the essentials suggests to me that they really have no idea what we are about to do. and the reality is, we don't really either. i know that, along with all my worries, i have really high hopes for what we will experience as a family, what we will learn, and how we will grow. in the meantime, i am open to any advice about to prevent bear attacks.

rant-o-mom

if i read one more mommy blog, or article, or book about how not to be a stressed out mom... i am going to vomit. not because i think de-stressing is a bad thing, because i don't. i actually think it would be nice. i get suckered into reading these things because i actually would like to feel a little less overwhelmed. they all start the same way...

"are you stressed out? are you feeling overwhelmed? having a hard time juggling everyone's schedules?"

ummm, yes.

how about: "are your keys lost, your dinner burned and you haven't shaved your legs since '06? are you considering enlisting in the military because you need to get away and can't afford a vacation? can you remember the last time you showered? do you shower, ever? are you feeling secretly enraged that your husband has to go to work every day?"

my husband is very helpful, and he works at home. so "going to work for the day" means going upstairs. so, you know i've got a serious problem when i'm mad that he's upstairs! ok, so i guess this could be considered "confessions of a dead beat mom, part 2." but, i really feel like these articles might apply to me. so, i get sucked in. some expert swears that if i "just keep reading" i will figure out the key to reducing my stress-level, managing my home and guarantee life-long peace and happiness. i read on. without fail, the same crap advice is given.

1) find time for you. (this might be worded any number of different ways. "make time for you" is a popular alternative. i also love the ever-faithful "put yourself back on the priority list." (gag.) trust me, being more selfish than i already am is NOT exactly the solution i am looking for. it's BECAUSE i am selfish that i don't clean my house. i would rather read a book, or watch a movie with tom at the end of the day... it's because i am totally self-indulgent that i don't have a clean house. next.

2) hire a "mommy's helper." this brilliant suggestion can also entail such words and phrases as "babysitter," "hire out services," and "neighbor girl to play with your kids." of course, this advice is usually combated with concerns of money, to which the advice-giver will undoubtedly reply that "if you refer to piece-of-useless-wisdom #1 (see above) you will see that when you put yourself first you will learn to allocate money for hiring people to do the stuff you should magically be able to do yourself. the problem with this is about 100-fold... so, i'll just scratch the surface with how much i hate this advice. first, if i could afford to hire a housekeeper/butler/nanny/personal assistant i would have done that a long time ago. i did not need permission from some lady who already has those people doing things for her. but, i can't afford those services because i am a stay-at-home mom. that means only one income for us. (yes it's our choice for me to stay home, and yes, i love it. but no, i don't get everything done and cannot afford to have someone else do it for me. and finally, i would like to briefly advocate for the "young neighbor girl down the street" who apparently has nothing better to do than play with my kids. first of all, i don't think there is a young girl on my street. if there was one, i don't think i'd feel right paying her next to nothing (which is what we have to spare) to play with my kids. i used to babysit for my dentists kids and so much was wrong with it. a) he was a horrible dentist and he smelled like bacon bits and rubber gloves. b) his kid used to bite me. c) i really knew nothing about child-rearing and am certain i was a horrible babysitter, which may have been why i kept getting bit in the first place. d) people usually felt guilt-free about underpaying me as an 11-year-old girl, child labor laws anyone? (you know who you are, donna "$1.29" mchenry). but i made up for it by eating so much fruit snacks while i was there. mwah ha ha.

3) don't stress if you aren't perfect. first off, you can't tell someone that the way to not be stressed is to not stress. that is the opposite of helping. and second, i don't think that falling just shy of perfect is what's stressing me out. i am stressed out because at least 3/4 of the square footage of my house is covered with large, obnoxious toys (courtesy of my mother), and laundry. clean, dirty, folded, stacked... it's out of control.

*i realize that i am just complaining and am not offering any solutions to other mothers. if i promised that reading this post would energize you, make you efficient and diligent, i would be lying. i'd rather call this what it is: a rant that will help distract you from all the laundry you should be putting away.

when i ask my daughter marlie (4 1/2) to help with the chores, she will say that "her arms are very broken and tired." i know exactly what she means. i know that she is really saying "but there is so much to do, i am overwhelmed and paralyzed by it all." at the top of my chore list i used to have a bible verse that promises that god will show up and help me, strengthen me and uphold me. i am a desperate women, and i am not above asking jesus to help me do my laundry. it is really the only hope i have that it will get done. not hiring a mommy's helper, not taking a day to myself, not lowering my expectations. i seriously need me some jesus if i am going to get anything done around here. because apart from that, my arms are just very broken and tired indeed.

when i was in first grade i was in the school spelling bee. i had it in the bag. my biggest competition was going to be this kid whose head was enormous. for a kid's head to be that huge, he had to be packin' some serious brains. he was smart, his spelling was accurate and fast. he knew the method. say the word, spell the word, say the word again.

as the competition neared, señor huge-head started winning the spelling games we would play in class. i imagine him at home doing spelling drills. i was at home cutting my barbie's hair, he was spelling words like humidity. i was sneaking chewable vitamins that came in the shape of various cartoon characters, and he was timing himself spelling athletics. this was not going to be pretty.

it was time for the big night. i had envisioned myself winning the bee, taking the cup, spending the winnings entirely on malted milk balls. i gotta be honest, i thought it would come down to me and huge-head for the championship... and in a deep, slow-motion voice, i would spell something like "barbecue." and i would, inevitably, take the title.

that was not what happened. what actually happened was that i misspelled a word a few rounds in and huge-head didn't misspell anything. his brain-packed head took the prize, while my pathetic, overly-vitamined-brain laid in my mom's lap in the audience... watching him receive his handsome reward, MY prize money. i cried. for the rest of the bee - all 6 grades.

at some point my mom "suggested" that i pull it together and try to "be happy for the boy that won." i couldn't have done that to save my life. i wanted to win. i wanted him to lose. there was no collecting myself. there was no happy.

then, the boy with the alarming head started coming toward me. he was coming to gloat. he was coming to rub my nose in his victory, i just knew it. as he approached, i sort of did the shy, hide your (puffy) eyes behind your mom's leg, hoping to disappear and not have to face his heckling.

then huge-head did something unexpected. he said "good job," and he offered me half his winnings. i think he won like thirty bucks, which is basically the lottery when you are in first grade. he was going to be a millionaire, and he was offering ME half his loot. i don't know if he felt bad for me because i kept crying like an idiot, or if his parents forced him to make the offer as a pity offering, or what... but he did it. he offered to split the prize with me.

nothing makes you feel like a jerk more than looking back on your life and realizing that you actually ARE a jerk. i, of course, did not accept the prize money, and i have felt guilty ever since for secretly wishing for his demise and for fixating on what is now a probably successful, and average-sized head. i'm not sure if or how that experience changed me, but i will say that it set the stage for the understanding that people may not always be what they seem.

i think a lot of moms, myself included, are terrified of having their kids turn out like them. i used to be so scared that they would be selfish like me, overly-sensitive like me, competitive like me. lately, i have gotten to see my kids, especially annalee, become something so different than i was. i get to see her sharing her faith with kids at school, praying for them "ten times" in her bed. i get to see her cry when they struggle or fail, or when they miss a parent who has passed away. i have seen her pulling for and praying for her friends to do what is right, and grieving when they don't.

i am learning to be a little less afraid of them becoming me, and a little more intentional about helping them become themselves. someday, they will be in a spelling bee. they may win, they may lose, they might even cry themselves to sleep over losing. or they might just be the kind of kid that wins the spelling bee only to think about the wretched kid who won't stop crying. all i know, is that for now, they are shaping up to be something special, something a little like huge-head.

london bridge is falling down, my fair lady

i do not love being pregnant. i love having babies. but, being pregnant... not so much. i cannot express the relief i am experiencing now that i am no longer pregnant. but, when i was just into my second trimester and i started bleeding... i would have given anything to stay pregnant.

it was the middle of the summer, and i hadn't been outside for months apart from the car ride to the doctor, hospital or acupuncturist - all attempting (in vain) to alleviate the severe morning sickness that was slowly stopping my body from functioning properly. i was about 15 weeks along when my mom and my sister had come from michigan to help take care of my kids since i was bed-ridden and attached to a home IV. i started throwing up (not unusual), but i also felt cramping (unusual). i realized i was bleeding quite a bit and i was instantly terrified.

i collected myself before i went downstairs because i didn't want tom, my mom and sister to panic. i think i was calm, but i am not really sure about that detail. i just said that i was bleeding and that we needed to go to the hospital right away. we left immediately and in the car ride, the bleeding got much worse. i was sure i was having a miscarriage. i was crying, and just kept saying "no, no, no, no..." tom was crying too. we sort of took turns being stable. i would panic and he would calm me down, and just when i started to believe him, that maybe "everything will be okay..." he would take his turn to freak out and i would take a shot at being rational and calm.

it was a horrific drive to the hospital. in my mind i felt like i knew i was having a miscarriage, but i never would have said it out loud. when tom called our obgyn to tell her we were on our way to the ER, he said "yes, hello. i think my wife is having a miscarriage." i couldn't believe it. i knew I was thinking that, and i knew that HE was thinking that. but i didn't want it to be true, and in that moment, i felt like saying it out loud would make it true.

we got to the emergency room and it was packed with people who were groaning, sleeping, or just waiting patiently. i walked in sobbing, checked in and sat down next to a groaning lady in a wheelchair. i waited. and waited. nobody called my name. i looked down and realized that there was blood on the bench. tom went to the desk to ask when we would be seen, saying that i was getting worse. the man handed him a towel and said to wait.

we left and went to another hospital. i couldn't believe that i was getting back in the car. i was in so much pain. i felt like i was having contractions, and all i could think of was the long days and nights that i had spent throwing up, feeling like i had the flu for 4 solid months, and how i prayed for the nausea to go away. i thought of how i couldn't even keep a sip of water down. how i felt like i was dying. and how i prayed for the pain to stop, for the slow, miserable death to come quickly.

now, here we were. on our way to hospital #2, and my prayer was coming true. god was going to grant me this one horrible wish, that the nausea would go away, but so would my baby. i felt so guilty, as though wanting the miserable pregnancy to end, had actually brought on a miscarriage. i regretted every single thought i had. every second i had wished away, every prayer for relief... i knew that i was responsible, and this was my punishment.

when we finally got into the second ER, we were seen almost immediately. i still remember the nurses asking all the questions, and their sad faces when i gave my answers. they gave that face where you put your lips together, pull them both in tight, kinda more to one side than the other. the face that says "you poor thing." the pity face. i knew what was happening. i know what bleeding this much during your second trimester means. i didn't need tight, crooked lips to tell me that much.

we waited for a while for the ultrasound technician to come in to give us the final say. at this point, the bleeding had slowed down a bit... so i had some hope. i laid in the cold, sterile bed imagining the scene that would play out in the coming moments. the tech would come in. she would search for a heartbeat, and she would not find one. she would say "i'm sorry, i cannot find the heartbeat." i pictured myself getting enraged. i pictured myself grabbing the little microphone thingy and yelling at the lady. i pictured myself screaming that "this baby was created by the god of the universe, so don't tell me that there is no heartbeat. there will BE a heartbeat." and i imagined a heartbeat. i believed that there could be a heartbeat.

about 5 minutes later, the tech walked in. she squirted the gooey stuff on the microphone and she pushed the wand into my still-flat belly. i thought of how small the baby must be in there, all alone, hard to find. she searched on my right side for a while, then slowly slid the wand over the middle, then finally down to the left side. she seemed to listen for so long. several times we heard the swishy sound, but it was too slow... it was the sound of a big heart, my heart, and it was breaking. we needed to find a tiny heart, with a quick beat.

finally, just as i had imagined the scenario going, she said it.

"i'm really sorry. i'm not finding a heartbeat."

i hesitated. just for a moment. did i believe my pretend monologue i had daydreamed about giving in this moment? did i really believe that the creator of the universe had knit this baby together in my womb? did i really believe that he could restore it's life, which had surely been lost by this point?

i did. i believed all of that. so hanging onto a hint of faith that god would restore the quick and tiny beat of my baby's heart, i put out my hand and said "can i just try?"

now it was her turn to hesitate. i think out of pity for my desperation, and that alone, she relinquished the ultrasound wand to my control. i laid my head back and closed my eyes. tears were rolling down my face, but just like she did, i swept the wand around my tummy. first on the right side. nothing. then down below my belly button. still nothing. then finally over to the left side. and there it was. that perfect, sweet, swishy, little washing machine sound.

my baby was alive and also a warrior. i was a rock star for not giving up until i could prove it. and my god had breathed life into her that was meant for something big.

this would mark the beginning of what would become the longest pregnancy of my life. riddled with various complications, including an amniotic band which threatened to harm, deform, or even kill our baby, the pregnancy dragged on until i was 8 days overdue. my wonderful hippy of a midwife broke my water and told me "do whatever my body told me to do." and five hours later, my body told me to push. then, she came. little london claire. a perfect peach of a head, and the sweetest little piglet nose you ever saw. a fine and elegant lady, she was.

my friend erica was capturing every perfect moment, expertly avoiding any scandalous pictures. and i might have imagined this, but i am pretty sure my other friend sam leaned over and whispered "she is a masterpiece." i am not totally sure that happened, because it was all a haze at that point. but, even if i made that part up, it was true. she was a masterpiece. knit together by the god of the universe. fought for by her mother. and welcomed by a roomful of family and friends who already loved her.

matthew 15:28 "then jesus answered her, 'o woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.' and her daughter was healed instantly ."

sometimes i feel bad about being white.

lately i have been contemplating all things race and adoption. we adopted our son harper (2.5 years) when he was 10 days old. my husband and i are white, and we had two biological daughters at the time we brought harper home. harper (whose birthparents are both african-american) is very obviously an adoptive addition to our family. i have done unbelievable amounts of research on the topic of adoption, specifically trans-racial adoption. this what i have discovered: you can't do the right thing. well, at least not in everyone's eyes.

first, you've got the people who are overly-sensitive about race. (i can say this, because i am probably more on this end of the spectrum. i think that racism is still a huge issue and i think it is negligent and naive to pretend that it's not.) but, i think some people take it over board. people don't know if you are supposed to say black or african-american, hispanic or latino, person of color or person of colour. i mean... it is terrifying to be in front of someone of a different ethnicity, use the wrong language and look like an ignorant butthole. there are people who will be offended no matter what you say. when i recently described harper as a minority in our family, one woman said she found my use of the word minority disturbing. i mean... if you've got 5 pennies, 5 nickels and a quarter, i think we all know that the quarter is the minority. just means: not as many. doesn't mean not as valuable. in this case, the quarter is actually worth more... there just aren't as many of them. that's sort of how my family is too. harper's worth is not being described when i say he is a minority. in a family with three white sisters, his reality is being described.

next, you've got my personal favorite: the "colorblinders." these people are great. they just say "i don't see color," and that somehow solves the racism issue. i mean, you don't see color? with all the colorblindness happening, it's a wonder how these people get their socks into pairs. i just think it a bit naive to say you can't see differences. again, it is not about worth or value. it's about reality here, people. i can SEE the difference between blonde hair and brown hair, brown skin and cream skin, purple socks and red. to pretend we can't see our wonderful and unique differences, cheapens the experiences of people who have been discriminated against for those very differences. seriously people, stop saying that. saying you don't judge people based on color is different than saying you don't SEE color. it's foolish, and it's a lie. (*author would like to note that this does not apply to those who have an actual diagnosed colorblindness problem. she is sorry to hear that... she permits you to continue using the phrase "i don't see color." and, to make amends for her offensiveness... she will gladly fold your socks into pairs.)

in the early 90's nike launched an advertising campaign featuring michael jordan and spike lee saying phrases like "the mo' colors, the mo' better." (my brother was in high school at the time, and he wrote an award-winning essay about embracing racial diversity in which he quoted this spike lee original.) the point of the campaign was, of course, to sell shoes. but, the secondary issue was to spark some dialogue and some thought about embracing people of all colors... not to deny that we are all covered in skin of varying colors, or to intimidate each other with so much political correction that we can't speak openly about race and ethnicity.

i am a tall, brown-haired, heterosexual, white, christian woman. i'm a youngest child, a child of divorce. these things are not a matter of better or worse, they are a matter of my reality and if i'm honest they do define a lot of who i am. i cannot speak for what life is like as a man, a muslim, a homosexual, or as a small black boy in a white family. i raise the question: what might it be like for him, now and down the road. i ask, not because i love him differently than i love my daughters... but, because i love him so much i feel obligated to acknowledge that his life experience will be different than my daughters' and sometimes it will be harder. i think i would be doing him a disservice if i were to take people's advice and treat him the exact same as my biological kids. i tried using the same eczema cream and it fried off his tiny baby mustache. HE IS NOT THE SAME! nor should he be!

today, when playing a board game with harper and marlie, she gave him a gamepiece and said "here harper, you'll be blue." he pulled up his little pantleg and pointed to his skin and said "noooo, i be browwwn." then, he looked at me proudly, flashed a huge smile (showing just the bottom row of his teeth), he raised his eyebrows once and said "harper handsome." he's also proud to tell you that he is adopted, just like jesus was adopted by joseph, and that he has handsome brown skin, and that the bottom of his feet are pink. he'll tell you that i am his forever mama, but that he has a birthmama too. my girls can't say any of that. they. are. different. to pretend otherwise wouldn't only be ridiculous, it would be sad.

i'm glad we adopted, and we are going to do it again. (yes, that will make five kids in all.) i am glad harper is "browwwwn" and i'm glad he thinks that it's handsome. i don't care if people think that "black children belong in black families." i think that in a perfect world children belong in the home with BOTH of their biological parents... but until we live in a perfect world, i think children belong with whoever is willing to love them, believe in them, and take the time to make them feel good about who they are... similarities, and yes, differences.

confessions of a d.b.m.

i forgot my baby in the car.

it's true. i opened the door to the van, i unbuckled harper (2) and helped him climb down onto the sidewalk, while i got marlie (4) down and helped put her backpack on. when i looked over at harper, he was playing with the automatic locks on my door. he hadn't ever touched the buttons before, so i explained to him that it wasn't okay, because we could get locked out. (wouldn't that be just a nightmare.)

then i closed the door and walked them both into preschool to drop marlie off. (end scene. cut to parking lot, zoom in on silver van.)

little london claire is sitting quietly (like a lady) in her infant car seat. just 8 weeks old. i left her in the car. i know, i know... that is a common mistake for a scatter-brained, sleep-deprived, new-mother-of-four. but, that isn't even the worse part. the part that makes me a d.b.m. (or dead beat mom for those of you who aren't family members) is that i didn't realize that harper hadn't just pushed the locks, he also rolled down the passenger side window. so, london was not only alone and unattended, she was also cold and available for burglary. (fade out, return to scene of me dimly walking back to the van like an unaware simpleton.)

i slid the van door open and realized what i've done. my heart sank. now, since i just ran in and ran out, she was neither too cold, nor had she been burgled. but, it was still one of the worst parenting-lows in 6 years of motherhood.

i have had some pretty crazy low-points in 6 years. i once threw my daughter's breakfast out the window on the highway, because i felt obligated to follow through on (what should have been) an empty threat. i said "if you do that again i am throwing your waffle out the window." she did it again, and i frisbeed that waffle right into the median. low point.

even lower than that, was when we put our oldest daughter, annalee (now 6, but 3 at the time) on a sort of privilege lock-down because we believed she had repeatedly been picking at holes in her wall that had been patched and painted over, then lying about it... swearing it wasn't her. only recently (3 years too late) did we realize that when the walls or the floor in that room are pounded on, the dried spackle starts to crumble and work its way out on it's own... leaving, what appears to be a small, freshly picked-at hole in the wall. super-low.

when i got to the van and inspected for signs of frost-bite or attempted baby-napping, london opened her eyes and she smiled at me. so forgiving are our little ones. it blows my mind how often i can fail them, and how much they still love me. i hear people talk all the time about how god loves us like a parent loves a child, but lately i am feeling like maybe god loves us like a little child blindly, and unequivocally loves her mama.

life on the run

when you read the title of this post you might assume that i write "life on the run" to mean "life on the go," or "life as a busy mom," or even "my life is so busy and important, and it just never stops..." i don't mean any of those things.

sure, life is busy and all. annalee is in kindergarten, marlie is in pre-school, harper is a maniac, my fetus won't let me sleep... life is sure busy. but, that is not what this blog is about. when i say "life on the run," i mean life on the run. i am talking about my life as a fugitive. the following information is all factual, unless it is used to make a case against me in a court of law. then, it is actually just a fun and lighthearted blog post with no actual facts.

ya see it goes back far, and it goes back ugly. but, i am not going to relive my whole criminal life for all to see. i am just going to start with the most recent criminal activity... which took it's root in pennsylvania. i moved to PA about 8 years ago. i moved there to go to school at e@stern univer$ity. i became a resident of PA to decrease the tuition amount at a local community college so i could take some inexpensive summer credits. i never actually enrolled at the community college, so fat lot a good that did me. but, it was all worth it when i saw the picture on my pennsylvania driver's license.

my first driver's license was issued to me in michigan. i was 16 years old, and a poor driver. but, worse than my driving was my picture on the license. i had wet hair (which for me translates to a flat wet look on top, and frizzy bush-fest near the ends of my hair. picture a frizzy pyramid, and that was my head. i call it my mufasa.) i was also unusually pale, almost yellowy. and my eyes were completely closed. i looked like a jaundiced mufasa in a choma.

not a big deal to have a bad license picture right? well, mostly right. that statement is true for every driver's license you have, EXCEPT that first one. the first one is the one all your friends ask to see. that FIRST driver's license is the one you proudly (or shamefully) pull out of your crispy, fake-leather wallet to display to your other bad-driver friends. it was traumatic.

so, imagine my joy at seeing a normal-colored, awake, okay-haired version of myself in my pennsylvania driver's license. not to mention, the words "organ donor" were printed in green, right underneath my picture. in the picture i am wearing a sweater in the exact shade of green. it really did look like a custom match job. i was pleased as punch.

then i moved to new york. i refused to trade in my license. it was a good picture, yes. but it was not vanity alone that prevented me from surrendering my license. there was also a little voice reminding me that PA was a swing state and if i stayed a PA resident, i could vote in PA via absentee ballot. (hey - every vote counts. rock the vote.) that voice was small though, and the voice of the custom-matched license was loud and proud. so, i kept my PA license, despite my new york residency. then, after time... a LOT of time... that license expired.

new york law states this: if a resident of another state moves to new york and does not surrender their license in exchange for a NY state license... and if the out-of state license has expired more than 12 months ago, then you must be subjected to humiliation far worse than what you may/may not have experienced when showing a bad driver's license photo to your friends at 16 years of age. oh, and you will be sorry. very, very sorry.

yes, my license expired over a year ago... yes, i have been driving without a "legal" license for a very long time... yes... i have crouched behind the steering wheel in fear of police officers every time one passes me. (i feel like i can really understand the fear that fugitives experience when living life on the run. it really is terrifying) ...yes, i have gotten pulled over during the time in which i have been driving illegally... no, i have never been ticketed... yes, i am proud of how my charm rescued me from jailtime... no, i never cried or flirted my way out of a ticket, thank you very much.

here is the punishment that the wicked ladies of the dmv have brought down upon my criminal behavior:
  1. i must get an "official" copy of my birth certificate. (apparently i wasn't really born unless i pay $45 for the county office of vital records to stamp some photocopy. they are also far too good to accept a passport that expired 8 years ago. well, la dee dah.)
  2. i must submit the expensive version of my birth certificate, along with 1 million other pieces of paper that i cannot find.
  3. then, and only then, can i apply for MY LEARNER'S PERMIT. yes, you read that right. i have to get my learner's permit. again. at 28 years of age.
  4. i have to complete a 5 hour driver's education course. (i am really looking forward to doing this while i am 7 months pregnant. my friend abby pointed out that i look young for my age, so people will just think i am a pregnant sophomore in high school. that was really comforting.)
  5. i have to take a driver's test. (chances are i will be older than the twerp testing me...)
  6. then if i don't back over any cones this time... i can apply for a big-girl license.
  7. then i do a walk of shame down a plank, they push me into a pool of slime while all of my friends and family laugh and point. this part isn't really required by the state, but as it turns out, those closest to me have already done this (figuratively speaking...)

ok, nobody has slimed me just yet... but, a lot of laughing and pointing has already taken place. i don't think people understand how taxing the fugitive life can be. the laughing and the pointing, really not needed. you know what else i didn't need? the driver's manual my father-in-law sent me in the mail. inside the front cover, this was inscribed:

to lara, from mom and pops:
study hard!! if you want to practice parallel parking, we've got just the spot! we know you're going to be a great driver someday!! we love you!

again, with the laughing and the pointing. that is when i accidentally called him an @s% w*pe.

anything written in this post, was again inspired by a true story but was intended for comic relief only. it should not be used against me in a court of law. names and locations may have been altered to protect the identity of me, the negligent criminal. i am very sorry for my behavior and am looking forward to becoming a contributing member of society once again.

don't take anyone's crap.

when i was a baby, i ate my sister's poop.

it's true. we are only 18 months apart, so when she was potty training i was apparently very interested. what happened was this... she went #2 on the potty (which we are all still very proud of) and i guess my mom had left the bathroom or something for a second. when she returned this is what she saw: my sister, swirling a comb around in the poop water and sliding down the length of her hair. (i always imagine that part in slow-motion.) and me: with my sister's big achievement caked to the roof of my mouth. (this part, i fast-forward through in my mind.)

my mom was, naturally, horrified at the sight, and began frantically cleaning out my poop-mouth and then my sister's poop-hair. it was a disgusting mess. now, this was not the last time i took crap from my older siblings... but it was the one and only time that it ever happened this literally.

sometimes i wonder what possessed me to venture into the pot for something to eat. sometimes i wonder why kids do a lot of things. i just can't wrap my mind around their minds, and how they work. my daughter marlie is something like myself... which oftentimes means she is a bit eccentric, but this gives me just an occasional peek into the thought life that i must have possessed as a child. last halloween she insisted on being a chicken-mermaid. when i couldn't (despite my best effort) find a suitable chicken-mermaid combo... she settled for being a "mermaid princess" (i may have swayed her by using a glorious red ariel wig, but i can't say for sure.) a more recent example of the unique inner-workings of her brain is her upcoming birthday party theme. she will be turning four at the end of this month, and has politely requested that the theme and decor be aliens and strawberry shortcake. i am very confused, but a little excited to make the party hats out of tin foil.

but, back to the poop fiasco. why would i eat something out of the toilet, when i'm certain my mom had an adequate lunch in mind for me? you see i never technically ate poop again... but, figuratively speaking, i eat crap every single day. every time i settle for what i think is best, and ignore what god thinks is best... i might as well go back to the toilet and dig in. why do i settle for my crap plan for myself, when god as a nice lunch-type plan waiting for me? it makes about as much sense as a chicken-mermaid.

if i am being really, truly honest with myself (and with whoever you are)... i could tell you why i choose my own crap ways, instead of following god's way 100% of the time. it's because deep-down, in the pit of my dark, depraved soul... there is still that poop-eating little girl who is scared to trust a god that would let me go through so many painful things in life. intellectually, i KNOW that god's plan for me and my life is far better than the comfort-filled life i would give myself, that would build no character or endurance in me. i KNOW that god is real and true and that he loves me more than anyone else has ever loved me. i really do believe that with all my heart. but there is a tiny corner of my heart that remains so self-protective that i would rather take familiar poop than wait to see the mystery of what god has for me.

i am pregnant, expecting baby #4. we have had a pretty rough journey through this pregnancy. i have essentially been on bed-rest the entire first half of this pregnancy. i have been into the ER on numerous occasions, have experienced two different complications that put me at risk for pre-term labor, one of which poses potential risk of various deformities and birth-defects to the baby. if i could choose the outcome for myself and for this baby, i know that it would be crap compared to the outcome that god will determine for us. still there is the poop-loving part of my soul that is still being changed by god, that is still learning to trust in him, that is still surrendering myself to him every day. or at least trying to.

@laracapuano