Southern Living but for Actual People

Last week, I was spending the day at my parents' house while Matt was tirelessly making me money. I thumbed through my mom's latest issue of Southern Living and read aloud all the outrageous and ridiculous things contained therein. On the front cover was this cake:

                                        

You have to make this cake days in advance. It's red velvet and cheesecake in alternating levels. My mom noted that there were only 10 steps to the cake but each step is a novel. Rolling things, stirring things, pouring things, freezing things. For a cake. I don't even put that much effort into my education, for goodness sake. Then they had a whole other section for those decorations. The things on the cake are coconut balls and chocolate leaves. Like painting actual leaves with chocolate and then pulling the dried chocolate off the leaves and placing them artistically around the cake. That's a fair amount of effort for something to be scarfed down by small humans who then finish up the dessert by foraging on the floor for Cheerios and dog fur. Not the mention the red dye-filled diapers I would be changing for days afterward.

Also in the magazine was a spread showcasing the dining rooms of three interior designers and their tips. One had on a ball gown in a red and gold gilt decorated dining room. The place settings had like 17 forks and napkins in the shape of various Mercedes-Benz models. Some of the decorators' tips were things like:

-Never use paper napkins, always cloth. Because I love doing laundry.
-Always use assigned seating with elegant placecards and place people together with similar interests. A table for those who can belch the alphabet, a table for those with IBS, a table for those who would like to discuss how snooty this dinner party is...
-Dinner prep consists of high heels, Christmas music, and a glass of wine. A snuggie, Judge Judy on the tv, and a shot of whiskey...

I was reading these pretentious tips aloud to my mom, who was pouring boxed brownie mix into a disposable aluminum pan and remarking on the broken bits of toys strewn all over the counter. Meanwhile, my toddlers were pushing their baby strollers around. Noah had dutifully strapped his naked baby doll into the stroller before tearing down the hallway and crashing. Safety first. Behind him, Tali was taking an empty container of yogurt raisins for a walk.

It's going to be a classy Christmas this year, I can already tell.

An Insulting Tradition

My family often shows love by teasing. And animosity, come to think of it. It's a fine line.

My older sister and I used to play a game on bus rides to school by telling each other "This is what you sound like" or "This is what you look like" and then acting completely absurd. 

My dad would routinely call us dunderheads and pick us up by our heads. They're actually some of my favorite memories.

Side Note: We moved to Alaska about 10 months after we got married. A couple months after we settled in, we were having dinner with his parents and his dad teased me. I clearly remember thinking "Aw, he loves me, he really loves me!"

When Matt and I first got engaged, it always perplexed me how he reacted to my sarcasm. He went mad with joy if I insulted him, like a gamboling puppy. There were times when I wondered if he had some serious issues. Then we got married and I settled in to the small NY town he grew up in. All the women around him were sweet and kind and fawned over their young youth pastor. 

"Matt, you're so funny"  "Matt, you're such a nice guy" "Matt, you're the epitome of everything that's wonderful in this world."

Stuff like that. What he really needed was some loving insults. Needless to say, we're pretty happily married.

I always bug Matt about starting traditions. Traditions for holidays and birthdays like funny hats or cupcakes for breakfast. I once mentioned making homemade marshmallows for Christmas and he teased me so much that nary a mallow was ever made. Last week I was wasting precious time on Pinterest and found an article on couples Christmas traditions. Images of romantic and sweet activities danced in my hand. Matt and I in front of the fire, wearing chunky turtleneck sweaters, intertwining our steaming mugs of hot chocolate and staring soulfully into each other's eyes...

I bounced into the kitchen and start telling him about this article. 

He gets this look on his face. He is getting ready to mock me. Hands aflutter, voice falsetto. He says:

"We could make snowflakes! Every year we'll cut out a special snowflake and decorate it with glitter. Then we'll put them into a scrapbook and we'll look at it all the time and say "Oh, here's the snowflake from 2016! Aw, remember that?" And then we can take our snowflakes outside and dance and recite Christmas poems to each other."

To which I say "Fine we won't do anything at all. Ever. And I'm making this into a blog post." Which is now my insult of choice.

Getting to Know You

I kept meaning to write a post at 1 month post adoption, 1 month home, 2 months post adoption, whatever. But life is messy sometimes and I am just not good at keeping things together, as anyone who has read my blog at all before knows. We've had Talitha for, eh, 9 weeks or so. In some ways, it seems strange to have her here and we're still getting used to things with our brand new toddler. But mostly, it just feels right. She has fit in really well and while there are certainly some difficult things, it has gone smoothly so far.

Here are the things we know about our sweet Tali so far:

• She is sassy. My goodness. She is very opinionated about what she wants and likes. If you try to hold her and she doesn't want you, she will slap your hand away and turn her cute little face away. Denied! 
• She eats most everything. Especially noodles, which she ate and ate and ate in China when we first got her. She is not crazy about the spinach in salads but we're working on it. She still raises her bowl or plate to lick it clean and she's gained 3 lbs since we've had her (from 15 to 18 lb). 
• She started walking about 3 weeks ago. She still walks like an adorable young toddler, arms out for balance, concentrating hard on what she's doing. She'll be running soon on her getting-stronger legs.
• She adores Jack, distrusts Noah (with good reason), and tolerates Kate with indifference. It breaks Kate's heart as she wants to baby Tali and snuggle her. It doesn't bother Noah one bit, he is too busy screaming "No" at everyone to care.
• She wants to be loved. Really, really wants to be loved. It's sweet and heartbreaking at once. Biological kids want to be loved, of course. Everyone does. But this is markedly different. When I walk by her without picking her up, she screeches a high-pitched cry of "Mom! Mom! Mom!" It's a cry of distress, unlike anything I've heard in a child. She will often take my hand and stroke her face with it which makes me want to cry. It reminds me that she is a child who has lost her mother a couple times and didn't have one to constantly hold her and hug her and kiss her. My biological kids like to be snuggled but not too much. They will tolerate it for a bit and then take off. Tali wants to be stroked and kissed and held often. I am making up for lost time and happy to do it. 
• She understands more and more when Matt and I kiss her. I often pucker up my lips so she can see my face and then slowly kiss her cheek. Now she expects it. She will lean in with her lips puckered, expecting a kiss from us. When I kiss her cheek, she will pull back a little and then lean back in for the kiss, over and over. Every time she is kissed and held and hugged, she is healing a little bit and it is balm to this Mama's soul.
• She is adorable. And she is loved.

Halloween and Freedom

The afternoon of Halloween, we had to run to a couple stores. The kids wanted to wear their costumes. I had a purple and black witch hat and the kids asked if I could wear it to the store.

Why not? It's probably how they see me anyway. They're looking around "But Mom, where's your costume?"

Everyone was all smiles as we paraded through the stores. The kids were darn cute indeed. Especially Noah, in his soft racecar costume, weaving through the aisles. Lots of people grinned at me, wonderful parent I am - showing up in a witch's hat and making my children's holiday that much more special. 

It wasn't until I was loading Tali in her carseat after both errands had been run that I noticed the top 2 or 3 buttons on my blouse had come undone. 

I wasn't a witch - I was a slutty witch. I, who hate the degradation of women's costumes, had become one of them. 

Later that evening, we had soup and bread and went out trick-or-treating. 

Tali didn't really go trick-or-treating. I think it's such an obvious ploy for parents to get candy if their child is too young to understand what's happening. It's much better to have a child like Noah, who can walk up and ask for candy but is young enough that I can reach into his pumpkin and steal his candy without him caring.

After awhile, his carsuit got all smushed from getting in and out of the back of the van so much. He ended up looking like an advertisement for a lawyer referral service. "Did you recently have a car accident? You might have whiplash and need to sue somebody..."

The glare on the glasses makes it more comical than creepy...

The next day my best friend and I had our weekly playdate. Between us, we have 8 children. 8,7,6,5,2,2,almost 2, and newborn. Needless to say, we are both looking pretty scruffy. I had cleaned out the fridge earlier that afternoon and a nastier job is still to be found. My hair had not been washed in a couple days and I just shoved the mess back into a ponytail. She has recently given birth and was wearing a shirt with what I can only assume is spit-up on the shoulders. She had braided her hair at some point, maybe a week ago by the looks of it.

Neither of us have worn make-up or shoes with heels in who knows how long. Our time together consists of screaming and tantrums. Sometimes the kids act up too. We were talking about how much we'd love to be able to just shoot off to the store by ourselves. 

After I got home, I was telling Matt that I'd like to go to a nearby shopping center with my mom. I was asking him his plans for the next day (Saturday) and whether I could leave a couple kids with him. He said "Tonight would be better. You could even go by yourself if you want to."

You can bet your sweet bippy that I was on the phone to my mom before he could realize the full implications of what he was saying. 

Kate overheard me on the phone and when she realized she wasn't going, followed me around the house crying. 

Earrings in, shirt changed to something almost nice, small purse with no diapers or pacifiers taken...

Crying, screaming, gnashing of teeth. Oh the humanity. 

As I kissed Matt goodbye (and hugged him fiercely - oh, I was happy!), he held out a fretful Tali. "Are you sure you don't want to take her with you?"

"Can't hear you, I'm practically in the car already!"

I kid you not, as I was backing the van out of the garage, I cackled with delight. Cackled like a, well, you know. When you stay at home with young children, it's amazing how exhilarating a trip to Target by yourself can be. It's like winning the lottery or being elected President of the country. I don't think I'm exaggerating. 

One of the local stations was playing pop music from the 90's so I sang Beyonce and TLC at the top of my lungs. I made that minivan look good.

I walked into Kohl's like this:

Giddy. There is no other word for it. My arms felt weird too. Like they should have been holding someone or carrying a diaper bag or pulling a toddler away from the lingerie section before he yells "Mama's boobs?" too loudly.

My mom and I tried on shoes (I got short boots so my huge calves wouldn't take away my joy of the evening) and went out for dinner. While waiting for our check, my mom signaled to what she thought was our waitress.

"Mom, that's not our waitress."
"It's not? What does she look like?"
"This one is blonde with hair around her shoulders. Ours has brown hair pulled into a bun."
"Oh."

Not 2 minutes later, she's trying to get the same woman's attention.

"Mom! She doesn't have our check. It's not our waitress."

Then one last time, trying to flag down the blonde not-our-waitress.

We were laughing so hard that people around us were becoming concerned.

I went shopping with my mom, had some good food and girly drinks and not one time did I ever say anything remotely close to "Don't put your hand in your diaper! It's poopy!"

Now that's a good time.