A Narrative

(A Prospective Adoptive Mother's Wait)

[My friend, Maria, is pursuing adoption of special needs kids (preferably a large sibling group of Hispanic heritage). The Narrative grew out of her posts around the Internet where she was asked to "tell us a little about yourself."]

I am a single, non dieting, Hispanic woman living in the panhandle of Florida. I own and operate a successful business from my 39-acre farm. I have lots of animals on the farm, dogs, a cat, goats, horses, fishes and an odd assortment of other mammals that drift in and out, dog food seems to be the food of choice for everything, including the fish.

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I live in a very large modern farmhouse with 4-5 bedrooms and 3 full baths. Although most of the rooms are well stocked with (good) junk, I would like to clear them out and put in beds, dressers and children, not necessary in that order. I have a daughter who is 26 yo, thus making me "older than dirt" (her words, not mine), and a lively granddaughter who is 2 and calls everybody "grandma" but me, I am "gammy". Neither lives with me. I also have gazillion members of my immediate and extended family that also do not live with me, although living in Florida they do seem to visit a lot.

I have acquired a new vocabulary during this adoption process, including "Bunkie boards", "sippy cups" and of course, "Dora". I know all the names of the teletubbies and which Pokeman cards are worth "something". I can outguess Harry Potter but Scooby still frazzles me. The X-Men are not MUTANTS but "GIFTED" and Superman is "a geek in tights". Mickey Mouse is also out, unless you live near Disney World, in which case Mickey is "fabulous". Backpacks are out, messenger bags are in. I am "in sync" with the "backstreet boys" and Mark Anthony is not Roman. Tiffany is out; Brittany is in (maybe). Frizzy hair is out unless you live in Florida, then it is IN all the time. The beach is still "awesome" and chores are a "drag".

Washington is out, Hamilton is in (what ever happened to 50 cents?). The pool is cool until it needs to be cleaned, then it's too HOT to go out. I am "a PIP" (no relation to Gladys), which better be a good thing; then again, I hate to ask. Kissing kids in public will "embarrass" them "for life", not kissing kids in public will make them think you hate them, can't win on that one!!

Little notes in lunch bags are a no-no, but an extra cupcake will get you a hug when they get home. Bunk beds are great, but imagine getting up on that little bitty ladder to make the bed. NOT a pretty sight. If you want to save your carpet, don't sit kids on newspapers when having Pizza and watching a video, they will insist that they are toilet trained, then promptly wipe their tomato little hands on the carpet. Humm, I will try towels next time. Never, never, sit next to a preteen at the movies. "Mama" is good for something, hugs, kisses good stuff. "Mom" is when they want to go to the mall, buy something with YOUR money. "Mother" is when you said or did something that embarrassed them, like kissing, hugging or NOT letting them go to the mall.

When I was 12 my father, after taping me with duct tape to a board, smashed me in the mouth with a hammer. I spent 2 months in the hospital, was removed from home and then and put in foster care. I did not speak English well, but since my mouth was wired shut, seems like it didn't matter. I spent over a year in several foster homes, and then I was returned home after my father went to "therapy" instead of jail. I, on the other hand, did not go to therapy, but it felt like I was the one in jail.

I was removed from my brothers, my school, the few friends I had and my "stuff". When I was to return home, I packed my things in a paper sack and went home. None of my clothes fit, my friends had moved on and my brothers had grown a bit. So you see, been there, done that, I know what it was like to be in limbo, never belonging anywhere and never feeling safe as a child.

That was over 35 years ago and I still remember. I remember enough so when I had a child, she was never spanked, never hit (although I did swat her in the butt a few times). I laughed over all the silly stupid things that kids do and she laughed at the stupid, silly things I did. I made sure she was safe, clean, made sure she was never afraid, never was hungry, always had a clean bed to sleep in and was very much loved. We did not have much but we had each other and we made a good time of it.

Disneyland was out (too expensive), but camping (no you can't bring the hair dryer), biking (yes, my rear hurts too), zoos (yes they bite, that's why they are behind bars) and museums (yes, they wore clothes in the old days) were in. She made cookies (bad ones) that I ate, went to movies, read books and played Scrabble (I won) and Monopoly (she won). Went to church. We had dinner at the table, except on Saturdays when we ate pizza in front of the TV, did "our" homework after dinner, then bathed and read. Tucking in was checking the closets, under the bed and making sure the windows were locked and turning on nightlights so the shadow monsters stayed away, then into bed.

Sounds perfect? Nope, we still had our disruptions, disagreements and fusses but I stood firm and didn't let her bully me. She got grounded (till menopause), did extra chores or just had quiet time in her room. My daughter spoke her mind (still does) without fear and although sometimes I felt like trading her in for a puppy, I never did. I still don't know the answers to "why is there air?" or "why did God make dirt?" but I think the answers should be, to breathe and so kids can get dirty.

I don't know all the answers to (parenting) questions and what I think the answers should be, may be wrong but at least I tried to answer them. I was not the perfect parent but I was consistent. I am sure I made many mistakes and I know I should have read the manual on raising kids, but I didn't and she loves me anyway.

Now I have a granddaughter and when they (daughter, granddaughter) visit, we do the same things that her mother and I did, and it is a sad heart when they leave. My granddaughter is two and she whizzes through the farm, getting into everything and touching everything, so my home is fairly child proof, if there is such a thing. The house is empty and there is such a thing.

So why adopt? Cause I am a (d a r n) good mother and one is not enough. I now have the time and energy and resources to be a better mother. I am not perfect but I don't need to be. So I started thinking about adoption and decided that there were Hispanic children out there that could use a good mother.

I went to and finished MAPP classes, learned about ADD, ADHD, FAS, DOWN'S, ODD, OCD (and lots more letters of the alphabet). There is also physical abuse, mental abuse, sexual abuse and neglect. I know about bedwetting, nightmares, day terrors or just being afraid all the time. I know what the results of malnutrition, protein deficiency and neglect are. I know about the grief process and the bonding process. I know that the children will act out, be disruptive, trying and testing boundaries. I also know that I do set boundaries and don't buy into confrontations or power struggles. I know that I have a good sense of humor and flexibility that will diffuse any confrontation without any one side winning or losing. I am also well aware that love doesn't come easy for these children, so they will be hard to please, sullen, disrespectful and disruptive, but so be it, they will come around.

I don't know if the children you have are meant for me to mother, but I do know that there are children that are out there who would want what I have to offer. Me. I in turn would want them, even if they were not perfect. As I said, children don't come with guarantees and you can't ask for a refund. They are not broken (just a little bent) so I won't need to fix them. I am a little bent and I hope they won't try to fix me.

I can't say we will do lots of things but we will do lots of fun things. I will say that the children will be safe, clean and fed and I won't trade them in for a new puppy. I am willing to go to therapy with (my) children or take them to a children's therapist by themselves. I have the patience to help them catch up in school so they can do the best they can. I have a great support system in place with plenty of people (and family) who support my decision, including making financial and emotional arrangements so that there is a responsible caring adult to care for them if something should happen to me.

I live on a farm with lots of animals that can, will and do give unconditional love. If I don't have the animal (outside animals of course) they want, I will get it for them; they will have something to love (even if it's not me, yet). My home is not out of House Beautiful but it is very comfortable and has been broken in with my granddaughter (many times).

There is new furniture, new (bunk) beds, mattresses, desks, chairs, and dressers. Each bed has its own theme, with bedding and towels to match, so the children won't feel like they are used merchandise but a shiny new penny.

If they feel like a dull penny, then I will just have to polish them. Being older, I have the patience and stamina to understand the want and fill the need.

Most of all, I am a good cook.

Staffing

I just learned that I am being staffed, whatever that means, for a sibling group in Texas.

How is my "staffing" going? Moses had a Staff. The State of Florida has a huge Staff, but with Jeb Bush as Governor the Staff will diminish in size soon. I am sure the "other" State with a BUSH is overstaffed with Republicans or as Al Gore would say, staffed with morons (although I think that would also apply to Florida). I have a staff, although maybe two employees don't constitute a staff, they think working for me is a Democracy and they get a vote. Maybe I should be a Republican, that way my staff can be called morons, without being politically incorrect. I went to a staff meeting, once or twice, we got served cookies and coffee; no one could sit still for the entire staff meeting. I think they serve that stuff at a staff meeting to see how many people actually eat/drink it and then give the promotions to the smart ones who didn't (eat/drink it). I even staffed a bike ride, once; the staff quit when I told them they had to hand out oranges and orange juice, hummm, I think that is also a Florida thing. OJ lives in Florida, I don't think he has a staff or maybe he can't get a staff. I know a few people who have staffs, mostly lawyers; I don't think they want to be called a staff; they want to be called "Partners". There are agencies that provide temporary staffing, the agencies can also provide permanent staffing but then they won't get as much money for staffing short jobs. Hospitals have staffs but none of the hospital staff are Doctors, they (the doctors) are "independent contractors", but they do have hospital staffing privileges. Not to be confused with independent contracting for jobs, that still is staffing, just with different names, contracting for painters, electricians, roofers etc... they also have their own staff, called receptionist and office managers, who have staff meetings and supply cookies and coffee for the staff. I had a staff once, I got a splinter and ended up in the hospital with an infection, from now on I will leave that kind of a staff to Moses.

Now, lets address a "committee".

Where are my kids?

This waiting is driving me nuts. How long does it take to staff anyway?

Dinosaurs

This waiting (I am being staffed) for my kids is driving me into obsessive-compulsive disorders. I have cleaned and re cleaned their new upstairs bedrooms. I have moved all the toys and books, today as I was moving the little dinosaurs packages around I opened one. I just couldn't help myself.

I stared at all the tiny dinosaurs and noticed that they came from different ages, so I proceeded to sort them into the right time frames, with the help of a brand new children's encyclopedia. As I manipulated the dozens of little creatures, I opened another package, there were some repeats but there was also a whole herd of new ones. I put the repeats on the windowsill and then opened the rest of the packages. The windowsill is now lined with tiny rejects. With the dinosaurs there came a bunch of trees, bushes and a plastic ground cloth that seemed to resemble the Earth. This will not do, I cried and proceeded to Toys R Us where I managed to wrangle a plywood size chunk of HO train landscape, I also got some little mountains (with a hole in it) a few more trees and scooped up some fake boulders. Armed with the STUFF, I placed the landscape on a couple of sawhorses and started to arrange the trees and bushes around the tiny mountains. Then, I discovered that if I "raised" the ground with a circle of boulders that I could put in a little bitty pool.

I arranged, rearranged, cried and shouted at MY landscape. I measured and eyeballed the terrain from different angles till I got the trees just so. I wandered through K-mart, Wall-mart and all the other marts until I found plastic ferns and different size boulders and mountains. I found a teeny weenie fountain, that I knew would work perfectly as a waterfall. I found some "invisible" string, so I could FLY some of the tiny dinosaurs. I was starting to feel like Fred Flintstone.

After a couple of weeks, I look over my creations of a babbling brook, pint size waterfall, lush jungles and mountains and I am filled with great anticipation of finally placing the dinosaurs in. Then while I gazed at all the tiny dinosaurs in different boxes, I remembered where I was and who these things were for. Slowly I proceeded to remove the landscape, mop up the water, vacuum up the sand and put all the dinosaurs (including the ones on the windowsill) into one box. I put the boxes back up on the shelves.

I will wait for my children to put their Jurassic park together anyway they want. I will wait... I will wait.... I will wait...

This is a true dialog I had with my daughter.

Waiting

I want to say I have my kids and they are playing/at school/watching TV/reading/doing chores/grumbling about doing chores or whatever it is that children do at 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon. I don't have them; I still am being "staffed".

So the bunk beds remain new, the dogs still have only me to play with, the horses are getting crabby with this Florida heat and life tends to go on.

I am leaving in a few hours, a five-hour drive to (HOT) Atlanta to catch a flight to Akron, Ohio, to pick up a 12-passenger diesel van, two more sets of bunk beds, then drive back to Florida for kids I don't have yet, all within 3 days.

They call this nesting; I call it expensive, but fun. It takes my mind off the waiting. My daughter asked if I ever did this for her. "'Course not" I replied, "I already had you, no waiting there." She was not pleased; do I detect a hint of jealousy here?

"Oh yeah" she humphed, "I didn't have a swimming pool or a horse."
"We went tubing down the Guadalupe and I got you Barbie and her stable".

A pregnant pause (pun intended) and then we continued.

"Are you getting them season passes to Disney World", she asked.
"Yep."
"Why don't I have a pass to Disney World?"
"You don't live in Florida."
"I never had a bunk bed," she pouted.
"You were an only child."
"Why didn't you adopt when I was little?"
"Your allowance was too high, I didn't have any money left over."
"They are all younger than me."
"Your twenty-six, give me a break."
"Can I come visit?"
"Yep."
"A lot?"
"Yep."
"Will you buy me a pass to Disney World?"
"Nope."
"How about a ticket?"
"Yep."
"When are the kids coming?"
"Dunno."
"I don't think I like this waiting."

Neither do I, kiddo, neither do I.

Committee

Well, I have passed the "staffing" stage and am headed to committee. I thought I had it made if I passed "staffing". What exactly is committee? Dunno, but being the good little do bee that I am, I have researched it. Here is what I found out:
Committee is where the Social Workers send your homestudy after raking the homestudy over the coals and decided to submit the little raked, ratty pages of your homestudied life on to the BIG GUNS or affectionately known as "The Committee."
The BIG GUNS are the Lawyers, other Social Workers, shrinks, oops, Psychologists and various other "little people" who want to be BIG GUNS. Now, those little pages of my homestudy created an orifice I didn't have prior to this adoption process, but now that I have a new one, I seem to be blowing steam out of it. OK, now mind you, nobody has even talked to me as yet, it has all been e-mail, faxes and snail mail, all which have stated that I am being "staffed" and to have patience. I wonder how the kids are enduring? I haven't had a chance to present my side of this YET. Now I am hoping that when my homestudy gets to "committee" that the "committee" will at least call/write and inform me or speak with me of the process and where I stand.
"Fat chance" says MY SW.
"How come," I replied?
"This is where it gets serious," says she.
Like it wasn't serious before, when I had to present you with 100 years of past tax information, spend the day getting my fingerprints, for the FBI, made at the local police station while those snotty little pissants watched me from behind bars. Like it wasn't serious when I had to get a letter from my employer, the famous State of Florida, to spew my financial records to ANOTHER State worker, who could have just as easily got them herself. Or my Doctor who poked and probed, then gave me every shot known to make your arm fall off with pain if it was used, this is not counting the elephant size trunk needle that was used to obtain blood. It wasn't serious when I marched into the Florida Department of Law Enforcement to obtain a criminal check to see if I had a history of domestic violence and/or child abuse? Wasn't it serious when I went to those awful MAPP classes that tried for TEN WEEKS to talk me out of adopting and introduced me a jumbled alphabet of ADD, FAS, OCD, SEE, SPOT, RUN, then gave me more homework than going for a PhD? That it wasn't serious when, unknown people, called my daughter at work to ask her if I was a "good Mom", or asked neighbors, whom I don't know, what they thought about my adopting kids? No? It wasn't serious when I had to obtain letters from co-workers. Have you ever tried to get a reference letter from an ATTORNEY?
"Maria, hereafter known as the adopter, has presented certain qualities that will make her an excellent parent, if and when the children, hereafter known as the adoptees, are presented for adoption. The adopter has shown great interest in adopting adoptees and adapting to the adoptees special needs in the adoption of these adoptees, therefore, I recommend that the adopter is an excellent candidate to adopt the adoptees in the manner requested by the adoptees representative."
Owwweee, I hurt my orifice on that one.
Gimme my kids.

Outta Da Closet

I am in the closet, yep a real closet and as I sit here in the dark I am being a sneaky Cruella.

Now, why am I in the closet? You ask.

Cause I got a secret, if I told anyone they might drag me out of my closet and drown me in my genetic pool, DNA is DNA is DNA, doncha know.

I have had this secret for a long time now, if anyone found out, then it wouldn't be a secret anymore, I will be OUTED. I will be banished to the fertility clinic, there I will be watching the test tubing of my DNA, DNA, DNA, for life.

But wait, I don't have a spouse, I cannot be banished, well I gotta tell my family, they will understand, cause they love me.

If I tell my family my secret, OH NO, they might say, how will we explain this to our neighbors?

Out I jump from the closet and shout "Free at last, Free at last"...etc

I am adopting HISPANIC, say I.

"Que eso?" says my Mom.

Hispanic, Mami, tu sabes, Latino, Chicanos, Puertorriqueña, Cubana.

I don want none of dose His PANICs in my home.

Mamá, not His PANIC, Hispanic.

That panic, this panic, his panic, all the same, bad news. Ju go now, kep dos hispanics outa mi casa. Why ju gotta dopt Hispanic anyway, ju gotta feed dem, wash dem, take care of dem, den they kaka all ober da casa, ju don bring dem here. I get enuff.

Enough what, Mamá?

Enough PANIC, splain I to you. Dem his panic, dey no good.

They are children, Mamá. How do you know they are no good?

What children, Hija? I was talking about da his HISPANIC, the dags, last time ju come home ju bring a #### Terry. It pooped all over my sofa, I had to change da plastic on da sofa.

Sigh, I disrespected the sofa, back into the closet I go.