Monday, March 07, 2011

One Needle Closer

It's a cold and rainy Monday morning and we're running behind schedule. I need to get the kids to school on time because I have an appointment at 8:30. A snapshot of the scene in my kitchen at 7:40am would depict the 5 year old smiling wildly because she is talking into a cat on my iphone and hearing her words repeated in a squeaky cat voice; the 10 year old painting her nails purple (even though she has yet brush her teeth), and the 11 year old standing completely still, staring blankly into space. And then there would be me - a large blurred figure running around, barking orders, packing lunches and making individual breakfast orders to go. The whole scene is wrong on so many levels.

We get out of the house late and the kids immediately begin to lodge their respective complaints until they resign themselves to the fact that 1) I don't care about resolving their petty issues, and 2) they have to get along for the next 25 minutes (which is the approximate duration of our inter-state commute to their private Christian school). I look at the dashboard clock and begin to estimate how late I'm going to be for my appointment. My hand searches my purse for my phone so I can call and let them know I'm behind schedule - which is when I realize that I left my phone at home.

Once we drop the two older kids off, a bellyache occurs in the backseat. Maya begins to cry. She gets bellyaches and I have no idea what is causing them. Fear of the worst creeps in and I console myself with the reminder that I brought her for testing in November and they called it constipation. My mind begins to search through the useless information folder in my upper cortex and I pull out the recent poop schedule for Child #3; I see that she made two poops yesterday and one on Saturday - I don't think she's constipated. I resolve to call the doctor later today.

By the time I arrive at my 8:30 appointment, it is 8:45. The woman is extremely gracious and happy, and she has yellow-rimmed glasses, and I love her. She has us down in the appointment book as "husband and wife" and that tickles me. I explain to her that my husband would be coming at lunchtime. I take a seat and extend my left arm to her. She tells me that I have thick skin and moments later I feel the "pinch". My TB test is in process - I just need to come back in two days to get it read.

I tell her that this is part of our adoption process to bring our 14-year old son home from Ethiopia. As those words cascade out through my lips, I fall in love with them. I vow to try to find a way to tell every person I come in contact with today. Gum? Why yes, I want to have fresh breath for when we pick up our 14-year old son from Ethiopia. Milk? Yes, gotta keep my body strong for my trip to Africa when I go pick up my son who we're adopting. Tampons? Yep, I'm not pregnant, but I'm expecting another child this year..holla.


Meg said...

love. it. all.

ethiHOPEia said...

What great news!!!

Carrie said...

This comment isn't so much about this particular post (although I connected on such a deep level with the "child #3's poop schedule in the upper level cortex of useless information," paraphrased) - as it is to simply share with you that I am in total love with your entire blog. I love reading what you write, and I'm litterally procrastinating getting lunch for my children and getting ready to go out this afternoon because I want to keep reading. I will, however, stop now.
I've started believing very deeply in telling people when you feel something amazing for them, even if they might think you nuts, because you never know what they might be needing to hear. I love you. And your blog. That's how I feel. :)