Painting Chef – Cheaper Than Therapy

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.

There was a brief moment this afternoon where someone was trying to give me a baby. A little three month girl whose mother was overwhelmed and had made a very difficult decision to give her up for adoption. For a few minutes today, I thought it was possible that I could find a way to have a child soon…

And then I realized that I was in no way ready for adoption, we don’t even have a home study done. Of course, even if this woman was dying to give me her child, I would have had to say no. (This was all second hand and probably one of those things that would have ended up being a fiasco although I did, later on, learn that the child in question had gone to her adoptive home on Monday and information was just a little slow to travel… very unusual for the South, I assure you…) Reality. That bitch.

So as I’m sitting here in the aftermath of a VERY emotional couple of hours, I kind of had an epiphany… I’m dragging my feet because of the overall impending judgment of it all. Home study. Background checks. Letters to people I may never meet. Waiting and waiting and waiting.

I thought infertility treatments were going to be hard. I can tell you right now, that shit was a cakewalk compared to even THINKING about adoption. Infertility treatments depended on me and Patrick and a doctor. I didn’t have to plead my case to a third party. Or a fourth or a fifth. It was all step A then B then C and cross your fingers.

But now I am paralyzed with fear. I can’t even bring myself to READ the paperwork because the thought of opening up my life and my home and my marriage to the judgment of someone else renders me speechless. What are they looking for? What do they want to find? Am I going to look like the type of person who will buy shoes before diapers? Because I’m NOT… I’ve just… never had to make that decision.

I’ve fallen more times than I can remember. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince myself that it isn’t the falls they are looking for. They want to see how well I got up and how it changed me for the better. Because I DID get up. Every damn time. And I’m not perfect. But I like who I am… most of the time. I’m messy. I’m difficult. I’m sometimes selfish and I always take things too personally. But I did a lot of work to get here.

It’s just that, until now, I never feared it not being enough…

I’m not sure what it is about the rain and the gloom and the dreary that makes me so batshit insane but lately? My LIST… you know… the list of people you want to stab in the neck with a rusty butter knife and watch them bleed out slowly? That list? Growing.

So just a brief note before we move on… if you are here researching me in any way as a prospective adoptive parent of your embryo or your fetus… please move along. I promise you that I’m a good person. I really am. You know how I know this? Because I have never ONCE acted on a threat of actual physical harm. Yes. I’ve threatened to yank out someone’s intestines, knit them into a scarf and strangle them with it. And… okay… there may be the aforementioned need for a jugular-adjacent rusty butter knife but if it makes you feel any better… I don’t know how to knit and I’m pretty sure that all of my butter knives are currently in my husband’s basement because apparently they make EXCELLENT spackle knives. Also? I can’t find a jugular. Is he that guy in the circus? They have clowns at the circus so you can just COUNT. ME. OUT.

In fact… the only physical violence I’ve EVER committed was a crime against a frozen chicken and I blame that 100% on fertility meds. So see…? By gifting me with your embryo/fetus/etc. you are actually SAVING humanity. Or at the very least frozen dead chickens.

That said… can we chat? I’ve been pretty damn happy recently which has made this a boring place to be. I know it. You know it. We ALL know it. I’ve completely and totally lost my edge but I have good news! I’m fired up right now. And Patrick and I are in the planning stages of a very large (for us) house renovation so I assure that things will be a-sparkin’ once that gets underway.

For whatever reason, I’ve been surrounded by giant fucking idiots and assholes recently. I’m pretty sure that if I could just vent about them all at once, I will lower my blood pressure and be able to continue on my happy path of red wine and Big Bang Theory reruns.

(Seriously… I thought we were friends! Why did nobody tell me about this show?)

And now… people I want to… HAVE WORDS with…

1. That guy with the crooked hat in the plumbing department at Lowe’s. You sir? Are a first rate misogynist. (Does that mean what I think it does?) Yes. I am a lady in a skirt and heels in the plumbing department. But guess what? I have this weird gift. It’s taken Patrick YEARS to even partially acknowledge it. My gift? I FIND SHIT. (MY other gift is that I’m a walking IMDB but that doesn’t really apply here unless you want to know who would best portray you in a movie and I’m going to go ahead and say Billy Redden from Deliverance.) I may have no clue how the teensy little connector piece I am looking for works but Patrick can describe it to me and turn me loose in that aisle of SHINY and I will find it. So if you could kindly refrain from calling me honey and following me around asking me questions and let me do my thing, I will, in turn, refrain from commenting on how inbred you look with your hat like that nor will I whip out my emergency breath freshener or offer to go fetch you some deodorant. I will NOT, however, refrain from stepping on your stupid camouflage boot with my very stabby heel… oh, oops! SO sorry…

2. That guy who wanders into my office asking for directions to somewhere in the general area. I promise I’m trying to help you get there but when you repeat the last three words of every sentence I say, you aren’t listening. You are annoying me. And I’m going to sit here and stare at you until you shut the fuck up and oh by the way… why aren’t you writing this down? In the words of Pretty Woman… I can do whatever I want sugar, I’m not lost.

3. The OTHER guy who wanders into my office looking for a job. We aren’t hiring. I told you this POLITELY three times. I even gave you an application to fill out when you asked even though, did I mention? WE AREN’T HIRING. But guess what? Even if we were? I’m not the person interviewing you. So while I admire your commitment to hard work and helping your granddaddy, your stories about all the hours you spent working on his tractor aren’t helping you for a number of reasons. First? Clearly you aren’t one for paying attention to people. We kind of like paying attention in these parts. Also? I’m glad his tractor runs like a greased prize pig now but we are a concrete company. We hire carpenters. Did you build that tractor out of wood? No? Then I’m not impressed. Also again? NOT FUCKING HIRING.

4. Diamond blade telephone salespeople and financial services salespeople doing cold calls. Specific enough for you? You people have watched “Wall Street” and “The Boiler Room” one too many times. You have no need to talk to me, I get it. Fine. But guess what… the guys that you are SO desperate to talk to that when I have the lady-balls to ask you for more information you respond by calling called me a stupid and nosy C-U-Next-Tuesday (even I have my profanity limits) who will soon be fired because I’m costing those men a lot of money by not immediately putting you through to them and generously offering you a little bonus phone sex while I’m at it… those guys? Yeah… one of them is my father and the other one is my husband… which one would you like first?

Four seems like a nice even number for now… What about the 12 of you who still read this? Who has made you stabby recently?

Hi. So… I’m having a bit of a quandary-slash-crisis of the… heart? Soul? Heart and soul? Are you hearing that one song that everyone knows how to play on the piano or the kicky Huey Lewis and the News song from the 80’s-ish?

It’s this whole adoption thing. It’s SCARY. And the attorney I’ve talked to is not at all helpful. International adoption is very daunting. So many rules… I’m too fat and previously depressed for China. Too American for Russia. Too old for other places. And oh by the way… the fact that I know in advance that we need to rule out countries that are going to require open-ended trips apparently makes me NOT a good planner who considers all the options but instead makes me a workaholic potential mother who will clearly lock my baby in a crate and feed it nothing but diet coke and mallomars with a side of whiskey.

(Are mallomars even still a thing?)

Domestic adoption… Patrick has ordered me to immediately cease and desist walking up to pregnant children in Wal-Mart and asking for their babies. I LIVE IN TENNESSEE! That’s where these kids are congregating. In completely unrelated news? I’m terrific at ducking a right hook but the left one always takes me by surprise. This is an unintentional victory because Wal-Mart always makes me sad.

But what I’m trying to wind my way around to talking about is something I’ve actually just recently learned about. Embryo adoption…

When Patrick and I both started down this path a million years ago back when my boobs were perkier and he still had hair, one of the things we agreed on was that we would have a child that was either both of ours or neither, biologically speaking. I tried and tried to make my eggs the little engines that could but while most women’s eggs are firm and plump and like those gorgeous brown, cage-free eggs that are absolutely perfect… mine are more in line with the plastic Easter egg with mismatched halves that has probably been left outside for a year, stepped on and probably peed on by a few dogs.

Clearly, it seemed like adoption was the only avenue we had left to explore. But the other day, my mother mentioned something to me in passing that I stuck in the back of my brain and took to the internets a little later to learn about.

Embryo adoption is NOT a traditional adoption. When women do IVF, there are almost always more embryos that they need/desire/plan to raise/whatever you want to call it. In the past, these embryos were either donated for research or destroyed but apparently now? They can also be donated for adoption. To people like me with crap eggs.

So we looked into a little… and then a little more… and then it started to seem like something that might be a really great fit for us.

And I started really turning it over in my head. Is it an adoption that is contradicting the entire mission of adoption? There are children that exist that need homes and parents. These embryos, regardless of what your definition of living or existing or whatever may be, are not those children. These embryos are, for intents and purposes, little teeny tiny ice cubes.

But despite that, this is still really appealing to me. And after talking it over with Patrick, I think I’m okay with that. There are people who are led to adoption as a “mission”. Regardless of their own reproductive status, they want to adopt children. We aren’t necessarily those people, we want to be parents. To a baby. I had come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going to give birth to that baby but now, suddenly here is that possibility again. But without all the drugs and procedures that I’d been subjecting myself to.

I don’t know… we are still learning. But for the moment? This is winning…

There are two things that I really love. Well. Okay. Not true. There are many, many things that I truly love. Shoes, obviously. That look Dylan McKay gets when he’s thinking about his pretend-dead daddy. A good book on a rainy day. An overly full glass of red wine. Spending all day making soup on cold Sundays in the winter. Well placed profanity and making Patrick just a little crazy.

But the two loves I want to talk about today are baking and DIY Home projects.

And how I’ve teamed up with my friend Jacque and her adorable husband Matt at The DIY Village to give you a kick ass chance to win something adorable and some delicious goodies to gorge yourself on while you admire your cute new wall art.

Intrigued? YOU SHOULD BE. Check out these pictures…

So that’s a 12×12 Pottery Barn inspired Santa Wall Art handmade by Matt and Jacque, Six Chocolate Chip Sandwich Cookies and a full pound of Salted Caramel, Pretzel and Reese’s Bark from the Bad Kitty Bakery. And entering is CRAZY easy!!

(There are links all over this post but they are almost the same color as the rest of my text and I’m not tech savvy enough to know how to change that… so you have to look around…sorry!)

1. Go to Facebook and like both Bad Kitty Bakery AND The DIY Village.
2. Go to the DIY Village and scroll to the bottom of the post to enter. The widget thingy takes a second to load but it is AWESOME…

And that’s it! The giveaway runs from 12/6 through 12/12 and is open to people in the continental United State only (shipping is way complicated… sorry Canada… can we still be friends?)

While I have your attention… I want to ALSO direct your attention to the Bad Kitty Bakery Holiday Gift Box. Seriously… You need to send these to your relatives. And your clients. And your neighbors. They are magical. I know because I put unicorn dust on them myself. These things are in them…

Wouldn’t you like to know what those are? You know what? You should go learn about them. You know… after you enter the giveaway.

Giveaway! NOW! GO!!

** Also? Patrick and I are about to refinish our kitchen cabinets. We will probably kill each other. With stains and wood strippers and random orbit sanders. We also do a lot of standing around in the basement and waiting and have taken up playing darts. I am predictably awful.**