Adventures With Bandit

Maybe this isn't the right way to start this tale. Then again, maybe it is.

I hate raccoons. Let me say that again. I HATE raccoons. Growing up in the country, I thought they were adorable. I rarely saw them. In the city, they are everywhere. I can't leave a bag of trash on the porch overnight because they rip into it. They ate every last vegetable from the container garden the first summer I was in my condo; the container garden that I planted by hauled tons of potting soil and supplies up the three flights of stairs. I even had a cigarette-smoking raccoon (that's a whole other story) living in my crawl space for months until we figured out how he was getting in.

Given my hatred of these way-better-in-pictures animals, perhaps I should have driven right past when I saw this on my way home...

a scrawny, stumbling baby raccoon.

But, I showed him to Fin, pulled up for a closer look, and then knew I couldn't just drive off because that little &#%&^@ would have ruined my whole, damn weekend. I called Nancy, Animal Rescuer, (Diego was unavailable) who told me which city agency to call, and I did.

We sat in the car, Popsicles melting, for almost an hour. The little vermin stumbled and shuffled along the side of this house, cleared a spot in a downspout to get some water, refused my offer of a perfectly nice banana because it wasn't organic or something. Fin drew a very helpful map she insisted upon showing the animal control officer when they arrived.

(In case you are looking for a raccoon, they are between the house and the bush, under the fence, near the downspout.)

I told his sad tale to the officer, who followed him in the backyard of the house and emerged not with the frail waif I described, but with a snarling, spasming, devil who tried to eat her shoes.


Before we left, she held him up so that Fin could get a good look and I could get a picture. He growled and hissed and threatened my family.


Told you they were evil.

Sunny Days, Sweeping the Clouds Away

We took advantage of the beautiful spring weather and met Debbie and Elizabeth for pizza and the park. It was nice to kick back and chat, in between saying, "We don't hit friends," "I can't hear you when you whine," and "Sitting down means on your butt." One of these days, Debbie and I are just going out for a drink, sans kids.

Stevie.


Yippee!


Speedy.


Giddy.

To Be a Mother

If you hear about adoptive parents in the news, they are usually either selfless martyrs or heinous abusers. The recent extravagant rejection of Justin Artyem Hansen by the woman who adopted him had led several people to ask me, "What do you think?"

My opinion is shaped by the media reports I have read. Torry Hansen sent the boy she adopted last fall back to Russia alone. I think that is horrific. I also think she was never this child's mother. She didn't commit to him. The boy may well have been violent, but there is no evidence she took him to a psychologist, that she contacted her agency to ask for help, that she called DSS and asked them about her options for getting him the psychiatric assistance he needed. She returned him, like an ill-fitting shirt. If she was his mother, she would not have done that. Some people end up having to relinquish rights to their child, adopted or biological, so that they can live in a therapeutic home or group setting for the child's benefit and the safety of the family. It is a last resort, though, not a first option.

Adoption papers don't make you a parent. They make you the legal parent of a child, but they can't issue the ability to be a mother or father any more than they can hand out that capability in the maternity ward. That is what makes a story like Artyem Hansen set the adoptive parent's radar pinging. Torry Hansen's actions create an atmosphere where the authenticity of adoptive families are questioned. The news cycle has progressed to covering the "whys" of the story, talking to other people with difficult adoption stories, and making us all a bit defensive. "That's the problem with adoptions."

Here's the thing, though. It isn't about adoption. Adoption offers its own set of challenges, but doesn't having biological children? I don't know about you, but I hear some horrible stories of parents who abandon, abuse, even torture their biological children. I don't hear, "That's the problem with having babies." There are good parents and bad parents, no matter how your children come to you.

Torry Hansen did an awful thing. She didn't try hard enough and long enough. She didn't commit. Maybe in the end, she still would not have been able to keep Artyem at home, but at least she would have acted like his mother.

I am not a martyr or a monster. I am a mom, though. To a silly, morbid, willful, wiggly, giggly, adopted daughter. I couldn't love her more. I could not be more her mother.

Easter is Around the Corner

and Fin is practicing up for the main event. We attended an Easter egg hunt in Nancy's neighborhood today. Beautiful weather, lots of kids, lots of eggs. It really couldn't have been nicer!








While I think the other pictures are pretty self-explanatory, this one could use some explanation. This is Nancy and I having the good taste to look sheepish after tag-team distracting Fin so that we could steal candy from her basket.


So, anyway, a good time was had by all. Hopefully, Fin's enthusiastic embrace of Easter festivities will allow the Bunny to forgive her. Last weekend, she picked clover and sprinkled it all over our porch. When I asked her why, she said, "I want the Easter bunny to come so I can catch him and feed him to Maggie."

A New Lamb

This past weekend, I was thrilled to be able to attend a baby shower for Ann Carter held at Mandy's house. I always thought I wasn't a "shower person" until my own friends started having kids, then I realized I wasn't a "shower for my mom's friends person". I love it. The cute invites, the tiny food, the gifts that everyone can't wait to see on the baby or in the baby's room... it's all good! Add to the fact that I fully expect this baby to make a traditional late first baby appearance and be born on my birthday, and I am super excited about Sweet P's arrival!

All pregnant women should be rockin' the leopard print and knee boots. Go, AC!


All cakes should look and taste like this one. Seriously, I don't know if I can look at another cake unless I know Raheema made it.


And, just to ensure I was good and mushy for the day, I walked in to find Beth wearing this dress. I remember buying this dress for Fin and how much I loved to see her in it. I have great pictures of a day trip to Yorktown with my parents in October 2007 when Fin wore this dress. To not only see it again, but to see it on a little girl I love, made me so very happy.



So, Saturday was a day for me to be nostalgic and bask in the glow of some girls who make me happy; whether they are grown girls, growing girls, or a baby girl I haven't met yet.