Butterfly Kisses For Adoptive Parents, I Mean Legal Guardians

Quote from Tricia Smith Vaughn, aka "Comic Mom", aka "Tricia Shore"... who also wrote this awesome article:
One: Let's say that John is right and that he has indeed rescued a child from being an orphan. Why does he call himself that child's father? If John, or any other adopter of a foreign, or domestic, child sees him or herself as being a hero and adopting an orphan, then why can't he or she at least admit that the child has natural parents, not the demeaning bio-parent, or even worse, "birth parent." Being a replacement parent helps no one. And, in fact, that is a main point of my essay. In that sense, John gets it completely. Admitting that one is a guardian is an honest term that allows the child to retain her heritage and her dignity as a member of her natural family.

Gosh, that woman has opened my eyes.

So I "edited" Butterfly Kisses a little bit.

There's two things I know for sure....
WE WERE SURE LUCKY THAT WE PUT OFF PARENTHOOD BECAUSE OF OUR CAREERS OH! AND THE FACT THAT CANCER RAVAGED MY HUSBAND’S REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS WHEN HE WAS 17 DID HAVE A LITTLE BIT TO DO WITH IT, SO ANYWAY WHERE WAS I? OH YES, WE WERE ABLE TO BUY A KID BECAUSE OF THE EVIL ADOPTION INDUSTRY THAT RIPPED ME APART FROM LOVING BIRTH MOTHERS LIKE MINE! WHO TOLD THE DOCTOR IN 1959 I NEVER WANT TO SEE THAT THING AGAIN..AND THEN AFTER THINKING IT OVER FOR 33 YEARS WROTE ME A LETTER IN 1992 AFTER I SPENT THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS AND YEARS OF ANGUISH LOOKING FOR HER WROTE ME A LETTER AND SAID PLEASE GO AWAY FOREVER, I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU!! ANYWAY, WE WERE LUCKY BECAUSE WE WERE ABLE TO BUY OUR VERY OWN CHINA DOLL!!! IN FACT WE BOUGHT TWO OF THEM!!! EVIL CACKLE HERE....
She was sent here from heaven, and I’m her freaking LEGAL GUARDIAN.
As I drop to my knees by her bed at night, she talks to Jesus, and I close my eyes.
And I thank God for all of the joy in my life,
But most of all, for...
Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer.
Stickin' little white flowers all up in her hair.
"Walk beside the pony MALE LEGAL GUARDIAN, it's my first ride."
"I know the cake looks funny, MALE LEGAL GUARDIAN, but I sure tried."
Oh, with all that I've done wrong, I must have done something right
To deserve a hug every morning,
And butterfly kisses at night.

Sweet sixteen today,
She's looking like her REAL MOTHER WHO IS TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY AND HAD HER BABY STOLEN RIGHT OUT HER ARMS BY RICH WHITE INFERTILE PEOPLE, OF COURSE THE FACT THAT SHE LEFT THE CHILD IN A BOX ON A STREET CORNER WHEN SHE WAS A DAY OLD MIGHT HAVE HAD A LITTLE SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE FACT THAT SHE ISN’T HERE TO SHARE IN THE INESTIMABLE JOYS OF RAISING THIS WONDERFUL CHILD,
a little more everyday.
One part woman, the other part girl.
To perfume and makeup, from ribbons and curls.
Trying her wings out in a great big world.
But I remember...
Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer.
Stickin' little white flowers all up in her hair.
"You know how much I love you LEGAL GUARDIAN,
But if you don't mind,
I'm only going to kiss you on the cheek this time."
With all that I've done wrong
I must have done something right.
To deserve her love every morning,
And butterfly kisses at night.

All the precious time
Like the wind, the years go by
Precious butterfly
Spread your wings and fly...

She'll change her name today.
She'll make a promise,and I'll give her away.....
ALTHOUGH OF COURSE I NEVER ACTUALLY PARENTED HER, ALTHOUGH SOMETIMES IT SORT OF FELT LIKE IT THE HUNDREDS OF HOURS THAT WE CRIED AND LAUGHED TOGETHER AND SHARED OUR LIVES AS A MAKE BELIEVE FAMILY

Standing in the bride room just staring at her,
she asked me what I'm thinking, and I said
"I'm not sure,
I just feel like I'm losing my baby girl."

Then she leaned over....and gave me....
Butterfly kisses, with her FEMALE LEGAL GUARDIAN there
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair
"Walk me down the aisle, MALE LEGAL GUARDIAN, it's just about time"
"Does my wedding gown look pretty, MALE LEGAL GUARDIAN?"
"LEGAL GUARDIAN, don't cry."

With all that I've done wrong, I must have done something right
To deserve her love every morning,
TO HAVE BEEN ABLE TO AFFORD TO PURCHASE HER
And butterfly kisses.....

I couldn't ask God for more, man, this is what love is
I know I've gotta let her go, but I'll always remember
THE DAY WE PURCHASED HER AND BEGAN PRETENDING TO BE PARENTS
Every hug in the morning,
and butterfly kisses...at night

Chinese Barbie

Ok, the entire China adopt world is in a frenzy over the new Chinese Barbie. She is beautiful, and my fingers are itching to pop over to Amazon and type in my credit card number. You even get a two for one deal!

There's only one thing wrong with this picture....

Madeleine would have her stripped and thrown on the pile of 25 naked Barbies that already live in her room in the special Barbie Box (from Walmart, plastic storage bin) in about three minutes.

Oh yes, I should put it up for her. Make her understand that it's a special collector's item. Um, yeah, let me take another hit off the pipe. Pass it over.

Trying to make a 7 year old stay out of a closed Barbie box is, well, let me say that I've had more luck getting Roger to wear bows in his hair. Her Going Home Barbie (a special Barbie that you get if you stay at a special hotel in China while adopting. It is a blonde Barbie with a tiny Asian child) went Home To Jesus this summer. I had it at the top of her closet behind two large boxes and this 40 pound child dragged a chair over to the closet, moved the boxes, retrieved GHB, opened the box, cut the plastic ties with her Safe Scissors, and GHB joined the rest of her 25 naked compadres in the Barbie Box.

So.

That leaves Meredith. Yesterday I pulled her onto my lap and kissed her shiny hair. I asked her a question. I said:

"Meredith, do you want a Chinese Barbie for Christmas?"

She replied:

"Mother, why do you persist in this tireless effort to have me identify with my biological gender? I have adequately and thoroughly demonstrated my total lack of affinity with the traditional feminine attributes, i.e. to wit: makeup, dresses, sparkly things, tiny pretty dolls, curly hair, bows, lace, ruffles. I beg you to simply consider this: I am an individual with very specific and identifiable tastes. If it's a tank, a truck, a gun, or Bob The Builder, I'm all over it like white on rice. If it bears the slightest resemblance to an object traditionally identified with the feminine gender, I categorically and vigorously reject it. You cannot order a child who will fulfill your very traditional 'girly' fantasies off Amazon the way that you would order the Chinese Barbie. "

Wait. Give me another hit off the pipe.

Actually her reply was:

"No."

Stealth Health

June Cleaver Would Be So Proud

Madeleine: "What's for dinner, Mommy?"

Me: (Warmly and lovingly, wearing pearls and heels and shirtdress with flared skirt and skinny belt and a tiny little g-string...ahem..excuse me, where was I) "Chicken casserole, dear!"

Madeleine (skeptically) "With CHICKEN?"

Me: "Well, DUH!"

That might sound like a particulary 'tard question, but, as you can see from the picture, it was a extremely legitimate one.

You see, I am a....vegetarian. And I have this kid, Madeleine, who adores cooked dead animals. So I found these awesome Morningstar fake chicken and fake steak things to put in meals. They are so new that I went to Morningstar's website and they weren't even on there! But the chicken one made a quite legitimate looking and tasting casserole. Tomorrow--"steak" stir fry.

Now let me get one thing straight. I'm not a crunchy granola type. I love leather purses, shoes, boots, strap-ons...ahem. Where was I? And I don't honestly give a flying monkey's paw what YOU eat. So don't think I'm going all smug here. Meat just doesn't agree with my digestive system.

And I can't sanctimoniously say that "the last time I ate a Quarter Pounder was 1978." Ok, the last time I ate a Quarter Pounder was the day after I had to put my puppy to sleep two weeks ago. I inhaled that suckah in three minutes. mmmm... But I paid dearly for three days while my body howled and growled..

Madeleine: "Why are you taking pictures of your chicken casserole, Mommy?"

Me: "Because I am an artiste, darling."

Lying is good. Lying is a good, good thing.

Me two weeks ago: "Here, Madeleine, have some delicious barbecued tofu."

Madeleine (suspiciously) "Is that an ANIMAL, Mommy?"

Me: "Yes, a brave strong tofu who once roamed the plains of Africa. (Madeleine eats) Do you like it, darling?"

Madeleine: "YUM!"

Yeah, so I'm a little conflicted here. I don't want to be the Granola Mommy whose kids are smoking pot while sucking down a Monster Cherry Slurpee and Tastee Kake topped with a side of beef jerky in college and cracking up their friends about the wacky stuff that Mom made them eat. OTOH, I want to try to feed my kids reasonably healthy stuff.

My mom was a strict no soda person. My sister and I are both coke (oh shut up, I mean the stuff you drink) addicts. My drink of choice is Diet Rite (no sugar, sodium, or caffeine). My sister is a Real Coke drinker.

I do think there's something to the forbidden fruit thing...so my kids are allowed one can of Diet Rite a day. (sweetened with Splenda) Meredith loves it, Mad hates all soda. I'm trying to train Mere's taste buds so that the first time she drinks a sugar soda (YUCK) she'll think it's disgustingly sweet.

And I serve lots of naughty looking "AMERICAN" food. Veggie hot dogs with whole wheat buns, veggie hamburgers, veggie sausage, veggie steak, veggie chicken, veggie buffalo wings, well, I think you get the point. Veggie pizza (with fake hamburger for Madeleine)..

And they get lots of treats in the summer--sugar-free ice cream, pops, bars, etc.

And they know the worst thing you can possibly say about food is "Pure Sugah!"

Breakdown, Go Ahead, Give It To Me

She was waiting for me in China.
Breakdown, go ahead give it to me
Breakdown, honey take me through the night,
Breakdown, go ahead give it to me,
Breakdown, it's all right...
-Tom Petty

My sister owns her own adoption agency. Isn't that cool? I'm awfully proud of her. Today we were running an errand together and I got to listen to her talking to one of her clients who was trying to get her homestudy together. La, the memories!!

If you haven't paperchased for an adoption, let me say that you have missed out on one of the great experiences in life. You get to have every nook and cranny of your life poked, prodded, and exposed by a social worker. Did you ever smoke a funny looking cigarette back in college? Have you ever posed for a mug shot? Are you a little ambivalent about your stepmother? How did you deal with infertility? Do you prefer milk or do you take your coffee black? Do you understand that babies should not be given chloroform no matter how tempting it is? How much money do you have? Do you have a will? Retirement plan? Rich relatives who are desperately eager to assume guardianship if life takes a sudden unexpected turn? Will your check bounce? (that's the only question that they truly care about, I promise)

Then you get to order all of the important documents in your life, birth, marriage, etc. and rush around to have them notarized. And then approved as authentic by the state. And then approved as authentic by the Chinese embassy. And then off they go.

The only saving grace is that you don't have to give yourself shots, or take drugs that make you fat and psychotic.

After months of paperchasing I made an appointment with the Secretary of State's representative to have all of our documents approved. It was a Friday afternoon. I ecstatically visualized the trip I was going to make to FedEx that afternoon to send off the documents.

I carefully followed all directions for every document. Earlier in the week I took our marriage certificate to the probate judge's office to have him put the seal on. The Assistant Probate Judge was in, and sealed and signed.

Friday, 3:00 PM: Roger & I rush to the office, humming happy tunes.
3:30 PM: The lady is just lovely. We're having Old Home Week. (I used to work at the State House back in college and law school). She flips to the marriage certificate. "I'm sorry!" she announces cheerfully. "Gosh, I hate to tell you this, but only the Probate Judge can seal this document."

"But...bu...."words fail me. "um, ah...the person who signed it is a Probate Judge also!"

"Sorry!" she chirps. "The only way to do it is to either take it back (30 mile round trip) or..go to the Health Department and get them to do it!"

"What time does the Health Department close?" I ask through clenched teeth.

"Honey it's ok!" she replies, "I believe they close at 5."

"Get up," I hiss viciously at my husband. "And fasten your seat belt."

I'd been paperchasing for five months. Five long, frustrating months. Ordering documents from all over the country. Memorizing the directions carefully. And I was a Woman On A Mission.

We get in the elevator. I am shaking all over, but I hold it together until we get outside.

"What's wrong with the ASSISTANT PROBATE JUDGE?" I scream at the sky. Not getting a satisfactory answer from God, or my husband, who is looking terrified, I decide that the Universe needed a good shaking up. Wait! There's a tree! And...some small rocks! And...some loose bark!

I start picking up rocks and bark and hurling them at a tree.

The stream of curse words that fly from my mouth would cause a sailor to take detailed notes.

I continue hurling bark at the tree. Finally I spin around and sprint for the car. Just like a movie, we peel off in a screech of tires. We make the health department, all the way across town, in twelve minutes. I rush in, fill out the forms, and settle down to chewing my nails, twisting my hands, stamping my foot, and glaring at the other miserable bastids who got there before me.

Got it! Back we rush.

"h...h....honey.....my husband timidly whispers,".....are you going to be ok?" translation: "are you sane enough to be my baby mama or have I just entered into some sort of Bell Jar scenario? i mean, you seemed ok when we were dating and all.....you have a job, clean up ok, sail through life with a smile most of the time...."

"I'm FINE!" I snap irritably. "Just peachy keen! I just don't see what's wrong with the ASSISTANT PROBATE JUDGE."

The documents didn't get off that day. But they left on Monday!!

Priceless

Admission to the South Carolina State Fair: $14

Money blown on rides and delicious junk food: $50

Not killing yourself in a tragic fall and getting to snap a picture on a beautiful October day while riding the Ferris Wheel with your big grown up 7 year old who is riding it for the first time:

priceless

I Hope You Daaaance-Part Five

Part Five: I Embarrass Myself Even Worse Than Usual

So the girls are rehearsing, and I'm bopping around the place trying to get the Perfect Angle for the video. I am very picky about this. I majored in broadcast journalism and received grades for this stuff.

Finally I realize that the only way to do it was to climb onto the back row of benches and stand up. Unfortunately, in my missionary zeal, I did not notice that the benches were very flimsy stand alone units.

I carefully climb up and start to aim the camera. The four people sitting on the other end all stand up at the same time. The bench begins to wobble--dangerously. I almost lose my balance and fall to the concrete.

"AAAARGH!!!!" I scream in anguish as I desperately try to balance. The rest of the audience turns around to look. Finally I regain my footing and wave cheerfully at my fan club.

The show goes on, the dancers take their bows, and my camera catches every bit of it.

The girls hug for their traditional post-dance photo and now..the fun can begin!

I Hope You Daaance....Part Four

Part Four: The Clouds and The Sun (minus tattoo)

I Hope You Daaannce...Part Three

Part Three:
Unearthly Beauty

We arrive at the fair and meet up with the young ballerinas at the exhibition tent.

I'm frantically juggling a videocamera and my camera, trying to catch every shot.

Meredith goes up on the stage for a rehearsal and I catch her in the viewfinder.

"You know," I say privately to Roger, "her beauty is almost unearthly." He pats my hand fondly.

All of a sudden I realize that, in the confusion of trying to photograph and video everything, my voice has carried.

Five rows of grinning parents swing around and stare at me. A few snicker quietly.

It won't be the last time this happens.

I Hope You Daaaance....Part Two

Part Two: No Tattoos For YOU!!!

We arrive at the school and the girls leap out of the van. Daddy is drinking coffee and Mommy is quickly eating a late breakfast of grits. The girls will go into the school for a costume inspection, then board the bus for the fair.

"STOP!" I bark in Drill Sargeant Mode. "LINE UP HERE FOR A PICTURE!"

Picture snapped, now into the school.

"Ahh..perfect"....approves the Headmistress as various costumed young ladies dash into the school. Our girls approach.

"WHAT IS THAT TATTOO?" she sternly inquires. (note purple blotch on The Sun's arm). "THE SUN MUST NOT HAVE TATTOOS!"

"I spoke to her earlier about this," she continues. "I said, The Sun cannot go running around with a tattoo! Miss Ashley, please take Madeleine in and REMOVE THIS TATTOO!!"

"Um..er"...I stammer.. "I'm so sorry!...I....I... didn't notice."

"Don't worry!" she cries. "We'll get it off! If necessary, we'll use SANDPAPER."

Roger & I both nod understandingly.

"I'm just kidding!" she says.

I Hope You Daaannnce.....Part One

The Backstory

Our kids attend a private school that offers in-house ballet lessons. On Sunday attendees at the South Carolina State Fair had the opportunity to watch two promising young dancers take to the stage, and one frazzled, cursing mom make an absolute fool of herself.

Madeleine played the "Sun" and was lifted in the air by "Clouds". Meredith was a "Country Dancer."

Part One: The Preparation

"Stop jumping around like a monkey!" I scream as I attempt to blow-dry and curl hair and apply makeup.

"AAAHHHHH!!! Don't make my hair hot!" they whimper as I plug in the curling iron. "Sorry kids, but you must suffer for beauty. Remember when you got to watch Mommy scream in agony getting her upper lip waxed?" I muse philosophically. "Meredith! Get back in here!" I scream as one of the inmates tries to escape the asylum.

"Hold still and let me put on some blush," I murmur agitatedly.

"You don't have to use any of your makeup Mom," Madeleine generously offers. "Here is my Barbie makeup kit."

"AAAAAAHHHH!" I scream. "No Barbie Makeup! Don't you TOUCH that kit!"

(See above photo for the dazzling results of Barbie Makeup in the hands of a 6 year old. Sunglasses are suggested. Not responsible for any dizziness or hallucinations experienced during viewing of picture)

Stoopid Lawzyers!

I'm smiling because I have a big-ass humongous I.Q.

Well yes, I always knew that Ann Coulter was a bitch. And that someday she would "turn on me. "

But you say bitch that like that's a bad thing. Hey, I'm a bitch too. And I'm a Sexy Republican Babe too. Although my legs are normal length and I don't have long, flowing blonde tresses.

Here's the thing. I believe that just because a school is Ivy doesn't mean it's better. It simply means that it's ten times colder, has ten times more endowment, and ten times better connections with the "right" people.

Ann has apparently caught some flack from her readers, to wit:

The average LSAT score at SMU Law School is 155. The average LSAT at Harvard is 170. That's a difference of approximately 1 1/2 standard deviations, a differential IQ experts routinely refer to as "big-ass" or "humongous." Whatever else you think of them, the average Harvard Law School student is very smart. I gather I have just committed a hate crime by saying so.

I was so curious about this that I spent a large part of the evening googling "LSAT" "SAT" and "IQ". I was genuinely trying to discern if respected scholars felt that the SAT or the LSAT (Law School Admissions Test) correlated with intelligence, and indeed, if the traditional IQ tests were felt to be a genuine measure of intelligence.

Let's see what Ann is saying here:

1. High LSAT scores=High IQ
2. High IQ=Successful attorney, judge, etc.

Ok. On the first point I did not find anything that I could point to as proof. The developers of the SAT, LSAT, etc. apparently took pains to point out that the tests were not supposed to measure intelligence.

According to this link, the founder of the Princeton Review says this:

Is the SAT an IQ test?
No.
Why isn't it an IQ test?
Because it doesn't measure IQ. It is used that way. And it was developed from the army IQ test. But even the College Board will refuse to say that this is an intelligence test. And I'd love to see them say it. I'd love to see them say anything because then you can attack it. But there's this kind of mushy response that when you work your way through it, there's sort of nothing left--'Well, it has a slight predictive validity to freshman year grades in college.' We spend a 100 million dollars a year for that? You know--your grades in high school predict college grades better than this and we didn't have to spend anything.

So is it an IQ test?
It's a variant of an IQ-like test. It is set up somewhat differently. It begs the question of, what is an IQ test measuring? What is intelligence? And you talk to test makers. And intelligence is what their test makes. And that's a circular definition. So to the extent that it's measuring the same that an intelligence test is measuring--then, yes it is. But there's three fallacies there: That there is such a thing as intelligence--that it can be measured. And that you can put the measurements on a linear scale. And other, even people who believe that there is such a construct as intelligence believes that intelligencee is not one thing but seven or eight or possibly nine different things. Robert Sternberg at Yale says it's three different things.
At best, the SAT is badly measuring one of those parts of what goes into intelligence.

I can only offer my opinion on 2.

First of all, I think it's disingenous to state that Harriet Miers!!! (hilarious parody blog) does not have the intellectual skills to be a Supreme Court justice. I do not believe that one needs a genius IQ to be a tremendously successful judge or attorney.

Practicing law certainly demands some level of knowledge, intelligence and reasoning. Duh. But sucessful attorneys are much more than simply a high IQ. A good attorney must be able to understand people. She must be able to express herself eloquently in both one-on-one negotiations and addressing crowds. She must know...eh..how do I put this...zee big picture. How to deal. How to plan. How to...interact with the real world. Not the world of Prosser. But the real world. How people behave.

And I do not believe that the Constitution is an inpenetrable document able to be interpreted and understood by only the mega genius types. huh? Free speech. No crool & unusual punishment. The right to bear arms. The state can't try you twice for the same crime. Freedom of religion. Simple, straightforward principles. Hmm, wonder what the people who wrote it would have scored on their SAT?

They Shoot Horses (And Grads of Inferior Law Schools)

Well, I just realized that I'm turning into a Mommy Blogger here. Lord help us. My life is so much more fascinating than that. Although I do have a great potty training post that the world has been waiting for. But--all in good time. Genius cannot be rushed, people.

No, I don't spend all my time fondly cuddling my angelic young offspring and writing heartwarming anecdotes about them. Au contraire. No, I'm wearing an actual suit right now. Yes, a suit. And I have my hair pulled back in a bun. And I'm sitting in my tastefully appointed office pretending to prepare for a constitutional law lecture.

Oh wait a minute. I'm sorry--I'm probably not qualified to discuss the constitution. For I graduated from a PUBLIC LAW SCHOOL. Please! I know that I should be flipping burgers right now. Just please listen for a second and please open your stony heart. It's not my fault. Seriously. Please have some compassion.

I was born to poor but honest parents. They encouraged my dreams and told me that the world was at my feet. Except sort of not so much. They gave me a choice when I graduated from high school--attend the local college, or become a crack whore. That was it. So off I went, singing gaily, to the University of South Carolina. And then I went to the University of South Carolina School of Law.

Here's what Ann Coulter has to say about "inferior law schools":

Harriet Miers went to Southern Methodist University Law School, which is not ranked at all by the serious law school reports and ranked No. 52 by US News and World Report. Her greatest legal accomplishment is being the first woman commissioner of the Texas Lottery.

I'm in even worse shape, because USC is in the nineties.

Yes, Ann, you snobby bitch who I used to think was really funny and cool but now I hate you and I hope you get cooties, becoming the first female head of a law firm back in the 80s in sexist, chauvinistic Texas is really just not so big a deal.

Trust me, I'm telling you that I worked in law firms in the 80s. They did not promote women to head law firms because they were afraid of the EEOC. There is one thing that matters in law firms--money. They might hire a woman to have a dress in the firm picture, but most women ended up shuffled off to "girly" stuff--domestic law, probate, etc. A woman who clawed her way up to the head partner in a law firm in the 80s deserves a second look.

Ann Coulter goes on:

One Web site defending Bush's choice of a graduate from an undistinguished law school complains that Miers' critics "are playing the Democrats' game," claiming that the "GOP is not the party which idolizes Ivy League acceptability as the criterion of intellectual and mental fitness."

And they darn well shouldn't be. If they are, I'm never voting Republican again. I might as well sign over my entire paycheck to the government and become a Democrat.

To be sure, if we were looking for philosopher-kings, an SMU law grad would probably be preferable to a graduate from an elite law school. But if we're looking for lawyers with giant brains to memorize obscure legal cases and to compose clearly reasoned opinions about ERISA pre-emption, the doctrine of equivalents in patent law, limitation of liability in admiralty, and supplemental jurisdiction under Section 1367 — I think we want the nerd from an elite law school. Bush may as well appoint his chauffeur head of NASA as put Miers on the Supreme Court.

Ivy League? The only ivy I ever saw was climbing the walls of the kindergarten, I mean law school, that I attended.

I scarcely know what to say here. We used the same books that Harvard Law School used. Our tests were as draconian as the tests administered at Harvard Law School. Hell, I might even have gotten into Harvard Law School had my Math SAT scores looked more impressive. I scored a near perfect score in English, but my math scores would have been more impressive if my resume had included the line "Heisman Trophy Winner."

Law school is law school. The books are the same, the tests are the same, the Bar is the same, (and may I state that I passed the New York Bar on the first try? Also the SC Bar? And that I kicked some Ivy League ass while trying cases in New York City?)

I'm not happy with the selection of Harriet Miers, and I think it shows the supreme arrogance, cluelessness, and idiocy of the Bush administration. I'm disgusted with Bush for not appointing a nominee with a strong and defensible record of conservatism, but truly, knocking the lady for not traipsing the halls of the "best" law schools is lame. Lame. Lame.

Maybe I could think of a better word if I had attended a better law school.

Halloween Update

After much "gentle" persuasion, Meredith proudly announced that she had selected her Halloween costume and ran back to her bedroom.

She came back wearing this shirt.

"Way to go!" I enthused. "You're going as a COLLEGE!"

She looked at me pityingly.

"No. I'm going as a SOFTBALL PLAYER."

What Do You Mean You Don't Like Halloween?

I have one Mini-Me, Madeleine. She's well read, lazy, imperious, snarky, bitchy, and moody. Then I have the Anti-Me, Meredith. We both breathe air, that's about it.

One of the reason I wanted a little girl was to dress her up in darling little outfits. I was a girly girl and I still am. I prefer dresses. So does Madeleine.

Try to put a girly outfit on Meredith! I dare you! Meredith would scream bloody murder when she was still under two years old. I had no idea why--until I realized that it only happened if a outfit with a tiny bit of frill was attempted.

I went around saying for years "Madeleine doesn't care what I put on her!" until I realized that was because we have the exact same taste and therefore she saw no reason to complain.

Well. So. I adjusted to the idea of Meredith wanting to wear nothing but boy clothes with great grace and a generosity of spirit that one would expect of a saintly person like myself. Screaming "Dammit you will wear this dress for the Christmas picture or else Santa will meet with a tragic accident!!!" was just a temporary aberration, I promise.

So. Now I must deal with a child that hates Halloween. (weeps openly) To me, Halloween is a High Holy Day. I love it! Since I'm a boomer who never grew up, I shamelessly eat candy, dress in costume, and deck the halls. I beg my daddy, I mean my husband, "IS IT TIME TO GO OUT YET?"

Yes, I was even that hideously obnoxious parent who dresses the 10 month old in an costume and goes from door to door, holding the kid up like a bouquet of flowers whenever someone answered the door.

Meredith despises Halloween. She hates candy. She hates getting dressed up. She hates getting scared at some of the more inventive houses. She hates anticipating that she will get scared at some of the more inventive houses.

That's motherhood I guess. I was prepared for them to vote differently, choose different careers, select different lurve partners, drive different cars, and tattoo different bodily parts.

I just thought they'd both like Halloween.

Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil

3:30AM...So anyway I was so involved in telling the story of the incredibly irritating spunkiness, wholesomeness, and cheer of my youngest and I forget that for most kids, 8:30 is, like REM time. As in, sweetly slumbering time.

Ahem. Our kids didn't get the memo about bedtimes.

Madeleine wouldn't go to bed before 11:00PM on a good night when she was a baby. And would get up and go through her day as if she was a normal child who went to bed when normal kids went to bed.

I wasn't just smiling away benignly through this. I Ferberized, Gerberized, and Berberized. I tried the family bed, clutching my head, and pretending to be dead. I believe in discipline, God, Mom, Apple Pie and the USA. Ill behaved brats should be sent to a labor camp. My kids toe the line. I just finally realized that she simply did not need, or want to sleep. Gave her a bottle and put her in the playpen and she'd fall asleep to Nightline.

On the weekends, it worked great! We three hung out like college kids on spring break. Why, I remember this time in Charleston, SC when I actually was on spring break (from my college where I am an actual faculty member) and Mad was 2 1/2 and we all said "let's go for pizza at 10:30 PM!" and we ended up at Mellow Mushroom and all the real college kids were staring at the aging yuppies and tiny Asian chick chowing down on Mega-Veggie pizza at 11:00 PM, chatting animatedly (probably discussing the latest Teletubbie epic) and we just stared back like "hey Mofo, ya got a problem?" Then we all split a pitcher of beer and went back to the motel and slept till like 10:00 AM.

Once Madeleine slept till 12:30 PM on a weekend.

Then Meredith came along and she conked out at like 10:30 PM and we were all like "hey, this one is a total conventional type. We must adjust our night crawling insect ways."

So Mere was 16 months and Mad was 3 1/2 and we went to Black Mountain, NC to stay at this bed & breakfast over New Years and they had a New Year's Eve party and Madeleine and Roger were rocking on the dance floor at 12:30 AM to "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" while I was sullenly swilling champagne, sitting in the lobby, staring at Meredith sleeping in her stroller and wondering why the kid fell asleep at 10:45 when the party was just starting.

Finally I discovered Melatonin and that gets them to bed by 10:00 PM on most nights.

Last night just for an experiment I laid off the melatonin.

The clock struck midnight.

We were all sittin' around chattin' and watching "Drake and Josh". The kids were cheerful, mellow, and wide awake.

The only one who was whining and pitching a fit was Roger- after he saw the USC-Auburn score.