Gotcha

July 21, 1999
Lyrics by Survivor “The Search Is Over”

Today I will become a mother. I am in Changsha, Hunan Province, China.

Our travel group assembles in the lobby of the hotel. I note idly that all the yuppie puppies have beautifully and expensively wrapped gifts for the orphanage. (It’s customary to give presents to the orphanage director). I look down at my bags from the dollar store.

I pop a Valium in my mouth. But it isn’t really necessary. For I am completely, totally, paralyzed. Numb.

This is all a dream, right?

As the bus rumbles through the town, I feel like a bride in an arranged marriage going to the wedding. Somebody else has shuffled through papers in a world far away and somehow matched a picture to our picture and this will be our daughter for the rest of eternity.

I would feel terrified—if I could feel anything at all.

Can we last forever,
will we fall apart
At times it's so confusing,
the questions of the heart

I think of all the years that led to today.

I was living for a dream,
loving for a moment
Taking on the world,
that was just my style

“I forgot to have kids” said the T-shirt. That just about sums it up. The years melted away. Then my dad died in 1997 and I started visiting fertility doctors.

Now the miles stretch out behind me,
loves that I have lost
Broken hearts lie victims of the game
Then good luck, it finally stuck like lightning from the blue
Every highway's leading me back to you

I think of the failed domestic adoption. We told everybody about it. It blew up in my face.

I think of the failed cycles of Clomid, the painful shots, the busted ovarian cyst that left me screaming in the ambulance. I don’t really believe this is going to happen. Motherhood is just a goal that I can’t even allow myself the luxury of contemplating. For it takes every bit of energy to painfully claw myself to the top of the mountain.

We get to the office. A small bundle is waiting in her nanny’s arms. Far across the room. The room is stifling hot and humid, but I don’t notice. The video camera notices and stops working.

I don’t think Madeleine is close enough to hear, but now I know those little ears can hear “ice cream” across a football stadium. The first words of maternal tenderness from me are a snarling “What’s the matter with this goddamn videocamera?”

Ok, the camera is working. A baby is placed in my arms.

Now I look into your eyes,
I can see forever
The search is over,
you were with me all the while

Thrilled parents are hugging their new children. Nobody is crying. Everybody starts to make small talk. We exchange some inane small talk with another family about which child looks the most like Connie Chung.

Suddenly an odor wafts towards me. Is it roses? Lilac? Frankincense? Myrr? Nope, Madeleine is the first baby to poop her pants. I could not be prouder! Parents beg me to remedy the situation. I rush her off to the bathroom and it all comes back to me—all the years of babysitting pay off. I change her and rush her back. We leave.

And the rest of my life begins. For better or for worse, my entire life is now this familiar stranger in my arms.

Now at last I hold you,
now all is said and done
The search has come full circle,
our destinies are one

I was living for a dream,
loving for a moment
Taking on the world, that was just my style

When I touched your hand,
I could hear you whisper..
the search is over,
love was right before my eyes

I Guess It Really *IS* True About Grannies

My mom is a Piece of Work.

She loudly and repeatedly proclaims that one should Not Spoil Grandchildren. So far, she's practiced what she preaches.

Attention wise--oh yes, she spoils them rotten. When they're with her, they get home cooked meals, their teeth are brushed with a fanaticism that would make a dentist writhe orgasmically, and they are carefully sanitized.

"I sponged them off," she brags when we pick them up from her house. I suppose it's just my imagination that she is implying the level of cleanliness at Chez Lorrie, is, shall we stay, substandard.

Materially--ah, there's the rub! She does not believe in buying them clothes or toys.

For Christmas and birthdays they receive--and you'll just have to take my word for it- 1. A savings bond 2. A can of Chicken Noodle Soup and 3. A box of Kleenex.

Anyway.

So Roger caved and bought Meredith a shiny new life jacket so that the poor child can keep up with her more sartorially gifted peers. You shoulda seen the shit eatin' grin that brat had on as she waved her treasure in front of my horrified eyes.

Last night at dinner with Mom I joked about the life jacket, expecting some validation of my theory that a child with a huge pool in her backyard should not be terribly picky about the choice of life saving gear.

Mom turned to Meredith for explanation. "Well, you see," Meredith remarked jovially, "I was COMPLAINING about the old one."

Granny missed the point.

"Complaining!" she exclaims proudly. "Listen at her talking!! She sounds SO MUCH OLDER THAN FOUR YEARS OLD."

Ah yes. I knew the spoiling thing would kick in sooner or later.

Defending Adoption

So yeah.

I'm adopted. I'll get back to that one in a second.

I also adopted two children.

I have some feelings about this whole thing. They are just my feelings. I can not speak for my children, nor for the entire community of adoptive parents, or the entire community of adoptees.

I can not speak for the birth mothers. Kateri is in great pain, and my heart goes out to her. (I wish that my birth mother felt the same way you do, Kateri)

But I want to speak from my heart for a minute.

First of all, I'm not a charitable person. The only "charitable" thing I ever did was to add an extra dollar to the gyrating Chippendoll stripper's G-string last month. So the whole idea that an adoptive parent is some sort of saint makes me giggle uncontrollably. I adopted because I wanted a couple of kids. That's it.

But I'm not a villain either. I believe that my kids are happier with our family--surrounded with love--as best as I can give-- than they would be growing up in an orphanage. That is the only other option they had. I did not create the circumstances that led them to be abandoned.

If you, world, think that it would have been better for my kids to remain in an orphanage, then I really can't argue with that. Because I cannot think of any coherent argument to make.

I am adopted, and delighted to be so. Why? Because my birth mother *REJECTED* me. I don't know if my birth father even knows that I exist.

My birthmother directed the doctor who delivered me to make sure that I was never told of her, nor did she ever want to know anything about me. I did find her in 1992, wrote her a polite letter, and was told to "PLEASE! PLEASE! LEAVE ME ALONE FOREVER."

So I suffered a Primal Wound? Better than the real wounds that my birth family probably would have inflicted upon me.

Do I wish that I had been raised by my birth parents? Only if they were able to give me the undying love that my adopted parents showered upon me, but, all circumstances being equal, of course.

In a perfect world, all kids would be born to a parent or parents who passionately desired a child. Parents who were physically, emotionally, and financially equipped to raise them to adulthood. Anybody who wanted a child could have as many as they liked.

In a perfect world, my kids and I would not know each other at all, other than I would occasionally think of the children in China growing up with their proud birth parents, their birthright, their heritage intact..speaking the language of their ancestors...and smile. Then I would go hug the children from my womb..and then hug my parents who joined together in love to create and raise me.

A fantasy world.

In the world that I live in every day of my life, I am better off adopted and my kids are too.

They Better Not Have "The Time Of Their Life"

I always heard an ugly rumour that parenthood changes your perspective on life.

But I never believed it.

Until I watched Dirty Dancing again.

PREKID: aaaaahhhh Patrick Swazye is the cuuuuutttest thing in the whole world.

POST KID: Note to self: Hire private detective to follow nubile teenage daughter around resort area. If possible, install "Webcams" in all secluded glades, cars, romantic cabins, etc...... So when my kid asks me for the equivalent in 2005 dollars for a TWO THOUSAND DOLLAR loan, I don't think I'll be smiling benignly and handing it over, ARE WE CLEAR ON THAT? ....Hey, what's wrong with that kid who is going to be a doctor? He's gonna be a doctor. I can overlook a little jerkiness......Why isn't that poor girl who had an abortion in the HOSPITAL? If she has an infection, I don't think a shot of penicillin is gonna fix her right up.....Oh look, there's Baby and Child Molester in BED together. Gawd, I HOPE HE HAD SOME CONDOMS AT LEAST. Mom and Dad, better quit the GOLF and come rescue your PRECIOUS BABY from the evil clutches of a PERSON WHO IS COMMITING STATUTORY RAPE WITH YOUR CHILD. Did they have STDs back in the day that transferred even with condoms? I hear there are STDs today that you can get even if you use condoms... Oh Gawd what if my kid gets knocked up by some high school dropout...And has the baby and names her some stoopid teenage name like Clayressia Clymidia Niccholle...And starts a barely literate blog named www.teenagepromqueenmother.blogspot.com that contains horribly misspelled entries like "jason sez he don't want to see Clayressia no more...I HAT HIM SO MUCH!!! He sez he is gonna date Tiffianie and don't want to be all in my SHIT..." ... Oh Lawd I'm too old to raise another family--I'm too old for THIS family....Oh well, I hear that now the teenagers are just giving blow jobs (violent nausea ensues).....Ok, now here comes that big dance scene where Baby's dad forgives Johnny for molesting her simply because he found out that Johnny wasn't the father of the other kid....Hmmm....I believe that would only inspire me to simply KILL him, not TORTURE and then KILL him....

Ah yes.

They'd better not ever have the Time Of Their Life.

Spoiled Little Brats!

You know what chaps my ass worse than anything else? A wet bathing suit? No! Spoiled kids!!

Materially--emotionally--whatever.

So here are my two sitting at their own pool, drinking Diet Lemonade lovingly served by me, wearing some of their vast collection of 2ndhand bathing suits. After a refreshing swim they can go into their private playroom (formerly known as the living room) or, if they prefer, to their tastefully decorated individual bedrooms, where they can watch TV (yeah, I swore no kid of mine would have a tv in her room) or surf the internet (on a hand me down computer, wireless feed).

No (pats self on back, dislocating shoulder in process) they aren't spoiled at all.

Anyway, seriously, I do pride myself on raising two generally pleasant, reasonable kids.

Until yesterday...

We're on the way to Roger's brother's house to swim. We have brought along two life jackets for the kids. One is a spanking new shiny Barbie life jacket, another is a faded life jacket that is so, like, LAST SEASON. They make no comment about the life jackets as we load the swim gear in the van.

We get to the house.

Meredith (4) pleasantly remarks that she just doesn't feel like swimming. She's a little scared.

What? She's a freaking fish in the water. Takes lessons at school everyday, has already won more ribbons than her sister who is 6.

Upon relentless interrogation, she starts to whimper. This is from a kid who would great a nu-cu-lar holocaust with a cheery "Well, it's time to pitch a tent! Did anybody remember a manual can opener?" Maybe she's hungry.

Breaking another one of my rules, I request a cup of yogurt from the relatives. (As a person who has a pool and has lived at the ocean, for Gawd's sake, if you're gonna visit, bring your own damn TOWELS AND SNACKS. I AM NOT A HOTEL).

She eats the yogurt. Still pleasantly refuses to swim.

Now the truth will out. NEITHER ONE OF THE DARLINGS WANTS TO WEAR THE OLD LIFEJACKET AROUND THEIR COUSINS FROM OUT OF TOWN.

I corral Madeleine, who is enjoying the pool in the acceptable lifejacket, and bribe her to trade with her sister. Bribes don't bother me. You know what they are called in real life? "Employee incentives."

Unfortunately, even the princely sum of $2.00 (the current gold standard at Chez Lorrie) fail to elicit cooperation. They are both embarassed to be seen in the old life jacket.

Finally we negotiate a compromise. They will take turns swimming.

Sheez!!!

London Calling

I've never been to London. However, I do intend to go. When the homeless orphans I rescued get a little older, it's definitely penciled in on the travel card.

I can't wait to go, and first on the list is this. Jack the Ripper tours. What can I say? I am a criminal justice teacher..

I had already planned a thrilling and fun filled tour, kids in tow. "Now honey", I plan, "this one was a quick kill. He just knifed her in her stomach and ran. No big deal. But soon we'll be at the flat where he actually disemboweled his victim." What can I say? Yes, I know, they are lucky to have me.

London calls me.

London touches me.

London, filled with brave people who are going to go on somehow, hearts broken and limbs bloodied.

London, my thoughts are with you.

London, I will light a candle.

The Terrorists Will Not Win

I like this website.

Please Shut Up About Your Kid, Kay?

Why on earth do people think that their oh-so-fab kids are a source of endless fascination to casual acquaintances?

I love talking about my kids, and hearing about yours. That's why I spend endless hours surfing mommy blogs, chatting on email lists about kids, and basically neglecting personal hygeine and routine maintenance (did I put on clean undies today? can't remember) to do so.

I'm talking about people who are casual hi-howya doin' acquaintances.

"Hi! Looks like it's gonna rain today!"

"Yeah it does. You know, my brilliant son, Snotleigh, just finished a massive science project--did I mention that he was in the Honors Program at his school? And that he's already received five scholarship offers to prestigious colleges? Anyway, he did this awesome project at school dealing with weather patterns in the Sahara desert! The teacher said they had never seen such an awesome level of scholarship well...since...since my daugher, Crotchfruit, did her project in that class three years ago!!!"

*snide nicknames for kids furnished by the terrifying malcontents at Bratfree.

Well, thanks. I'm a better person now for knowing that.

This is so wrong on so many levels.

First of all, it's boring.

Second of all, it's so inconsiderate. The person who is listening to you may be worrying about their own child's academic or physical problems. Gloating about your kid's stellar accomplishments could be rubbing some very powerful salt into some aching wounds.

My youngest child came home from China with elevated lead levels. After completing my internet medical degree on lead levels "side effects include moderate to severe learning disabilities...yada yada"... The last thing I wanted to hear was some yahoo yammering about their child's intellectual prowess.

Fortunately she's ok. And man is she brilliant! Why, let me tell you about her.......

Ahem. Excuse me.

Now when talking to non parents...

For years I was regarded as a Childfree By Choice type. After all I was 40 before I became a member of the mommy club. So for years parents felt free to extoll the accomplishments of their darling pwecious to me.

What they didn't know was that I wasn't a volunteer member of this club. Au contraire, I was trying to join it. So you can imagine how much I wanted to hear about superior kids, when I was desperately trying to have even an inferior one.

Anyway, if you are braggin' to a parent, or a nonparent...that you have waylaid in the break room....and you don't even have the common courtesy to pretend to be interested in my kids...well...please, please shaddup.

L is for Lazy: Why I Probably Should Not Homeschool

I remember the first time I heard about homeschooling.

I was at a friend's house. Her daughter was about 4. It was--1985 or so.

"You're planning on homeschooling her for first grade, aren't you?" her husband asked conversationally.

HUH? I thought. Honestly, I had never heard of homeschooling. He might as well said "You're planning to remove her gallbladder at home, aren't you?" or "You're planning to cook food on our stove for supper, aren't you?" Both concepts seemed equally ludicrous to me.

Since then homeschooling is the new black it seems.

Now I totally respect moms and dads who do this--I actually have a very cool efriend who homeschools a whole amazing tribe of kids.

But I'd like to take a minute to defend public schools. God knows, they need it! Nobody likes public schools any more.

I went to a large, impersonal high school. It was brutal! Boys scorned me, I had to fight to make the good grades, I tried out for numerous things and failed miserably, oh it was awful!!

And I'm planning on sending the girls there one day.

Why?

Because it was great training for the real world.

Where did we ever get the idea that we're supposed to smooth the path for our kids--expose them to nothing but warm, cuddly environments? Lord knows the job world isn't warm and cuddly.

Boys ignored me--so I learned, slowly, how to become more attractive to them.

I didn't make the exclusive clubs--and I lived. I'm not in the exclusive clubs as an adult, either.

I had some difficult and demanding teachers--and I learned how to please difficult and demanding bosses, thus ensuring a weekly paycheck comes rolling in.

I figured out how to "work the angles"--how to get a good parking space, how to get the easiest teachers at the best times, how to get the best dorm rooms in college, how to finangle early graduation. (Finished college B.A. Journalism magna cum laude at age 20) Figuring out how to "work the angles" has come in very handy in real life.

It made me into a fighter.

I am glad I went to public schools.

Not to mention the fact that even trying to help a kid with homework makes me develop an involuntary tic in my eye and start talking to people who aren't there.