Archive for March, 2013

Published by PaintingChef on 21 Mar 2013

I figured if I spent the evening focused on becoming a redhead, I wouldn’t remember to be quite so terrified about what was on the horizon… Plus I guess I just think red hair makes me look more responsible? More motherly? It complements my nose ring?

I dyed my hair red last night. Under the instruction and watchful eyes of Lindsey all the way in Texas, this Tennessee lamb became a redhead. (Country music reference! It was a country music reference! The only one you will ever get. Enjoy it and pass me some effing Nirvana so I can cleanse my soul.) I learned a couple of things…

1. Despite the best of intentions… red hair dye kind of makes your bathroom look like a murder scene.
2. Despite the best of intentions… red hair dye kind of finds its way into every nook and cranny in your ears everything, IN YOUR EVERYTHING.
3. It is damn near impossible to take a decent self portrait on your crappy camera phone in your house at night.

That said… here is an attempt with me and my office chair right this second…

me

It’s RED! In an auburn kind of way. It’s a VERY noticeable change. Even though nobody but my husband (who hid from the entire process in the living room yelling at the tv) has noticed. I’m okay with that because I work with a whole bunch of men. I doubt the would notice if I showed up with a pink Mohawk.

Not that I’ve ever considered it… I swear.

I’ve always done this though. I have to make one change when dealing with another. And tonight Patrick and I start our foster parenting classes. I’m terrified and excited and a million other things that I can’t even put my finger on. I so desperately WANT this to be the right path for us. I hope that this is the way for us to finally grow our family. We are already a family, me, Patrick and the four furry children who run our house and crowd our bed. But there is room for more and there are so many children who need a safe place and a warm hug and people on their side.

So as we start this… I guess I figured what the hell… maybe that safe and loving parent is a redhead. Right?

Published by PaintingChef on 08 Mar 2013

Are we on plan Q at this point? Plan X? Am I out of letters? Perhaps this is Plan Squiggle? Plan Formerly Known as Plan?

Welcome ladies and… gentleman! I see a gentleman!

(Name that movie and win my undying love)

Ahem… as I was saying… welcome. It’s time for the latest chapter in the never-ending saga of “Susannah and Patrick just want a baby, OMG universe why do you hate us so much?”

So. I tried. I tried so hard to get on board with embryo adoption. I tried and tried to rationalize to myself. To you. To myself again. And each time I failed. I can’t do it. As much as I want to be pregnant, I just can’t. I’m sure it has something to do with my VERY passionate and uncompromising pro-choice position and how that contrasts with the roots of the embryo adoption “thing” but something about it just… it doesn’t sit right with me. But I think there is more to it than that… Maybe I haven’t felt myself pulled towards adoption as a “mission” per say, but I don’t feel right choosing something that feels incredibly selfish and all about me-me-me when there are so many children who already exist in non-frozen form who NEED a home. Maybe they need our home.

At the same time, in my wildly over-thought navel-gazing manner, I’m terrified of adopting a child. Public, private, domestic, international, stork-kidnapping or cabbage patch-raiding. It all overwhelms me. The feeeelings keep me up at night and have even kept me from fully relaxing for my last few pedicures. So damn. Shit must be real.

We go back and forth. We change our minds daily. We plan expensive home renovations requiring loans and demolition and possible temporary relocation while the back of our house is missing only to scrap them when we decide that hey… maybe we should pay off the boat first. All as a distraction.

We try and tell ourselves that maybe it isn’t supposed to be our thing. Maybe we’re just meant to be the most kick ass aunt and uncle that ever aunt-ed and uncle-ed. We write the whole thing off, try and plan a vacation instead. And then we finally make a decision that, for the first time, doesn’t keep us both up at night whispering until 2 am. We are able to sit down and know that there is a plan and that it is finally something that feels like more than just a thought… it feels like… a calling? A mission?

I don’t know. Here is what I DO know.

In 2 weeks, Patrick and I will begin the process to be foster parents. We still hope to eventually adopt if the right situation comes along. But in the meantime, until that situation presents itself, we have a lot of love to give. We have a peaceful and healing home. We have puppies who want, more than anything, warm laps and lots of hugs. We have arms to hug, ears to listen and hearts to love. Whether we are in a child’s life for days, weeks, months, or hopefully, the rest of their lives, we can make a difference.

I don’t want to turn this into a “foster mommy” blog. I imagine that there are rules about that anyway. But as we go through the training, I will probably talk about that more than just about anything else (and let’s be honest… saying anything at all is few and far between in these parts lately). I’m nervous and I’m unsure of what to expect. But for the first time in a long, long time, I’m not scared. I feel like this is the right direction.

For the first time in quite a while, I don’t’ feel like I’m drowning in a fog with no clue which way is up. It’s like someone has grabbed my shoulders, turned me just slightly, and given me a gentle shove in a direction. So I’m grabbing Patrick’s hand and walking that way without looking back.

Shit. Let’s just be honest. I’m pointing in a direction and them jumping on his back because we all know that Patrick is the quiet, constant strength in this equation. Without him, without his love and patience and acceptance of whatever our future is supposed to be, I’d fall on my face every. damn. time.