Guest Post by Martha Gillis: Adoption From Nanchang, China
This guest post by Martha Gillis is a part of January’s Adoption Celebration at MomMostTraveled.com.
Martha Gillis remembers meeting her daughter for the first time in Nanchang, China:
August, 2003
Sure, I did the photo albums, filled in the blanks of the “Yes, You’re Adopted,” book and compiled the greatest how-we-got-you-from-China photo album replete with witty, bold-faced captions. But it kills me that I did not write something for her, or do something more that for a writer in lawyer’s clothing would have been suitable natural or appropriately assuaging the working mother guilt that perniciously rears its ugly head from day to day, a wicked Melrose Place character rising from the dead in his poorly excavated grave.
I wished I had a martini, I said in the company of my old spirits, sans the Guilt Godzilla, because she had yet to arrive. But minibars were non-existent in our cozy hotel in Nanchang, China, and besides, it occurred to me that the social worker, translator, welfare institute director and our child’s caregiver might not feel the love of my party-type vibe. So, I yearned for the 20-ounce bottle of local beer tactically procured while on an earlier one-mile/100 degree walk until its allure was tackled by a more imposing distraction.
I took it over to my husband, a man content to sit tight in a happily nervous smiley state in the chair by the silent TV. I arose from the crossword puzzle that fell short of diverting my tornadic intensity, abandoned my extra dosage of dark chocolate, picked up the object of my new focus and held it above his twitching-leg.
“I know if I start to read this, we’ll get the knock on the door,” he uttered.
“Do me a favor,” I asked, uncharacteristically unwilling to accept no for an answer.
He did, and she came, and I realized that it was possible complete strangeness and utter bliss at the same time.
The sheer force of self-admiration at the fact that I simultaneously weeble-wobbled to the door and remained vertical compelled me to gracefully open the door, all the while overanalyzing the pace at which I did so.
My heart sank, although admittedly with a bit of relief.
“Are you ready?” the social worker queried as the vision of my daughter on the other side of the door dissipated in the manner of a dream to wakefulness. I can’t remember the affirmation I used in response, but I think Gerry nodded his head as he set his book on the table and waited on the other side of the hall.
I saw her smiling face first. Her being my daughter’s caregiver. A genuine but concerned smile taxed by the welfare institute director’s intent that these “placements” be light and joyous.
The first thing I saw of my little one was the back of her long and still little body, clad in vibrant butterscotch PJs with hot pink trim.
“Where’s the rest of her?” I thought as my mind cross-referenced our visit with her corn-fed Midwestern cousins nicknamed, at one time or another, “you sack of potatoes.” The Miss America-smiling caregiver averted her body 180 degrees in an effort to show us our daughter’s frightened face.
However, that was no match for my baby.
She snapped her head away from the door and then back over her shoulder as the social worker gestured the caregiver into the room with the institute director and translator to follow.
The still smiling welfare institute worker placed her on the bed, at my direction, for various reasons. For one, I wanted her to feel my loving arms at a later time, less associated with her obvious sorrow.
The best day of my life, I bet she thought, in toddler Mandarin. I got my own outfit, I got my own bottle, I got my own caregiver for three whole hours and best of all, I moved through all this outside space and saw so many different things and loved every bit of it. But now she was being handed over to us.
It seemed as though the caregiver told her that I was her Mama and Gerry was her Dad as I discovered her use of the word Mama which means Mama in both our tongues.
At the sound of these words, our child was none too pleased, her legs still as stiff as a seated baby doll and her arms outstretched in similar fashion. At the end of her dominant arm, her hand clamped onto her plastic covered picture id, apparently once clipped to the crib of what we would now call “her first home.”
“Is that your i.d.,” I asked as I moved to sit on the bed beside her. After pulling all she carried with her away from my reach, she glared at me as she had at her caregiver, a fierce determined look suggesting, “lord, you’ve got to he kidding.”
Unbeknownst to her father and I at the time, our social worker had previously looked at the welfare institute director the wrong way, thus inspiring his offense and culminating in his decision to pack up each girl’s caregiver and take them home without any further discussion.
Without any discussion.
I thought I was doing so well. A good hour before aforesaid crossword puzzle, I listed the series of questions that any conscientious adoptive mother-to-be, who did not quite yet get a chance to pick-up a book or two to guide her on the path of being an adoptive mother-to-be, would write down, in the simple special bound book that would one day serve as the medium for the rough draft of the adoption journal she promised she would write. Oh there’s that Guilt Godzilla.
What is she called?
What does she like to eat?
How does she sleep? etc, etc, etc.
“Sorry,” the social worker lamented when she returned. “Sometimes this happens,” she explained without apology. Sometimes in a culture that relegates its female children to street curbs, sexism rears its ugly head. I wonder if it’s been introduced to the Guilt Godzilla.
And then we were alone, soon to realize that a pair of grownups purporting to be her parents would never walk in the door. Ever.
“Well hello,” her father said sweetly as his big Irish heart underwent a quick, vibrant mitosis and then tossed its newly cloned counterpart right into her clenched little hand.
I could have just delightedly stared at my beautiful family forever, and had completely forgotten about my malt beverage when Gerry decided to mix a bottle of formula. I eventually pulled on to the bed some colorful toys I bought for her courtesy of her older cousins.
Oh, but before that, she screamed. I can’t believe I forgot that part. She Screeeeamed, the stiff little thing. The second the door slammed in the wake of the teed off institute director and the verklempt caregiver.
We had given them gifts before they departed, as was the custom. I strung her a string of fresh water pearls and an identical one for myself that I was wearing at the time, and I hoped that she would get to keep them, in the midst of what may have been a vortex of scarcity.
“No wonder she did not drink her bottle,” I announced the next day. “We have to poke a hole in the nipple,” I said, careful to sidestep the fatal mistake of micromanaging my baby’s daddy. Fortunately, we filled her up with dry cereal, six pieces at first, two at a time, gently placed in her mouth, between her four little teeth. That’s what stopped the crying, that strong, targeted roar of a feisty Leo who had the wherewithal to survive on her own for the first year of her life. It stopped after three minutes of appreciation to her respi-laryngeal health and about the time that the little oat rounds fell to her stomach, and opened her heart, just a little bit, enough to allow me to pick her up, to feel that she was solid and not just stiff. At the time, she still clasping her i.d. card, as if to remind us that this is who she was.
I received a quick vote of no confidence from my better half when her diaper curiously leaked onto his casual trousers, the shadow of which haunted me until we returned to the land of superabsorbancy. She did not seem to mind when I replaced her orphanage-consigned bottoms with floral embroidered blue jeans from her aunt. She was resigned, and I was ecstatic.
As a result, I failed to draw forth any resistance to my quest to give her a little caress. Just a little bit of a wiggle to her torso, far from a vexing tickle-tickle.
“Look, she smiled,” I told Gerry, who glanced up from the digital camera screen. Giddy as we were, on some level we realized that our complete happiness was not shared by our scared little girl. We hoped she was perhaps somewhat happy. We were wrong.
“You can see it in her eyes,” the social worker informed us on one of her several, welcomed visits to the room. In the fog of my bliss, I tacitly disagreed.
Upon a review of the photos of our new family, I realized she was right. Almost every scarce ounce of strength she had was pulled within her, and behind her deeply bottomless saucer eyes, resulting in a limp-looking body, albeit marginally appreciative of her satisfying dinner.
The social worker advised us about a lot of things that eventually made perfect sense to us: the importance of keeping her Chinese name, as a first name preferably; the wisdom of keeping her in her welfare institute clothes–something of the past to hold onto. However, we did not know what to think when we were the only ones to follow her advice, other than perhaps that we enjoyed a certain “favorite parents” status underneath her MSW armored exterior.
“You must be so excited,” my on-the-job supervisor declared to me at least twice a day on the last weeks before my family leave. Well, I wasn’t. I was pissed at having to travel two floors to use a ladies’ room where I could avoid this question that rang obnoxious in the wake of my impending parenthood. A fury of feelings, warm cuddly maternal instincts, whatever they were, were well out-matched by concerns for her well-being, a wieldy and protective fury, my unique motherliness.
Even then, I foresaw that the worst day of her life would be the best day of ours.
Needless to say, my beer and I eventually realized out intertwined destinies as father and daughter assessed our globe-trotted toy collection for the most suitably obnoxious of the bunch. There was no place close for me to sit, so I propped my back against a pillow and the headboard of the queensize, but arose a minute later, this reality having been distant for too long.
“Nina, we have your referral,” the social worker joyfully sang during a surprise call to my cube at the law offices of Price & Devlin.
“I didn’t think it would happen so soon,” I quietly responded. Instead of querying the basis for my characterization of 15 months from dossier submission to today as “too soon,” she compassionately replied, “well, when did you think you would hear?”
“Oh, next month,” I said with certainty. After all, my best friend Riva said it was in my astrological chart.
“Well, that’s just around the corner,” she said and laughed. And so did I.
She gave me all the information she had, very important information that reminded me of an airline pilot’s version of an understandable weather report–visibility this, ceiling that. For God’s sake, just tell me if it’s cloudy!
“Her name is Li Meng Ni,” she said. “She was born in Fuzhou, Jianxi Province on August 20, 2002, and was taken to the welfare institute when she was two days old.” I wrote it down on a scrap of paper, otherwise indistinguishable from those related to an extensive series of back-and-forth exercises commonly known as commercial litigation.
“It’s not Lye Meng Nye,” my Mandarin-speaking college buddy fortuitously told me over champagne and hummus four days later. It’s Lee Meng Nee.” “It means beautiful first girl according to the adoption agency,” I told my old friend who made a mental note to double-check for alternative meanings.
There were several aspects attendant to the adoption process that we were not expecting. A take-your-breath-away beautiful girl, as she laid in her crib on our first night together, headed the list. Images of back seat-minded older boys and football players with access to finished basements ascended to my parental sanctuary with the strength of teen sexual fervor. But, alas, this was no match for a longing mother’s love; a mother with a sister with a masters in nursing and an intelligent sense of human sexuality. I moved on to the next challenge.
“Pity the man who marries her,” Gerry commented, anachronistically I initially thought. The source of her physical strength was revealed.
Crib aerobics. The advanced “challenge” version.
After scooting her little body down to and facing the end of the crib, she raised her bare feeties and rested them on two of the vertical slats, as far as they would go up.
And then took off.
Rolling and pivoting. Twisting and turning. An independent study program in orphanage physical survival and nocturnal get-outta-my-space just in case I wake up back in my old blue metal crib.
Sleep evaded me that night, and I cared not an unrealized wink. Too little beer and nary a tartini. Four days ago, I was living in an 11-hour time zone variance. Now the primary-colored rattle I packed at the last minute serenaded me, every minute or two, all night.
To which I responded the way I did when she first reached over her head for the noisy toy, adeptly coordinating her upper body with her sub-waist exercises.
“We are going to have a love affair with this child,” her father said, as our hands met and our hearts joined.
And as I did every time I tried to nap, sleep, or doze, I just smiled.
Martha Gillis was born on the South Side of Chicago, raised on the North Side. In her earlier life, she was a medical research scientist and biochemist. After realizing that she preferred to run the chemical company and not merely fuel its profits, she informed her father, a Chicago jurist, of her desire to attend law school.
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Adoption Celebration
I get so excited about adoption.
There is something so special to me about the way a family is built through adoption. The idea that a child, who came into being in a different place, maybe even a country far away, was without a doubt born belonging to the parents of his “forever family”.
So many unknown factors fall into place to achieve this mysterious and beautiful union.
Once united with your adopted child, you can scarcely imagine life without them.
This month I want to celebrate adoption on MomMostTraveled.com
There will be adoption stories, advice, encouragement, and even some fun giveaways.
If you would like to show your support of adoption, feel free to grab my “Celebrate Adoption” badge and post it on your blog.
If you are an adoptive parent, an adoptee, or a birth mother and would like to share your story in a guest post, email your story to editor (at) mommosttraveled (dot) com and I will be happy to include it in our celebration!
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Bringing Sexy Bag
I thought reusable shopping totes were pretty much all the same, but then I was introduced to its-las-tik!
Sue Princiotto has designed a fashionable,flexible and socially responsible reusable shopping bag!
Its-las-tik are glamorous shopping bags made from a stretchy, flexible nylon and lycra blend. Besides a sleek look, these bags are superior to cotton or plastic bags because they can stretch to accommodate whatever you put into them. You now how plastic bags cut into your fingers and stop blood circulation in your hands when you are loaded down with groceries? Its-las-tik bags are actually comfortable and easy to carry because the lycra “gives” under the load, bouncing gently with each step and moving WITH your body.
I had my Its-las-tik bag loaded down with groceries and two glass coffee mugs. As I walked along, the mugs didn’t even clink together because of the way they were cradled by the lycra.
And maybe it was my imagination, but it sure did seem like the cleaning lady in the restroom suddenly brightened and threw me a cheery “Hello!” only after she saw my cool sparkly silver shopping bag.
I love my patent leather stretchy bag, too. Who ever thought a shopping bag could look, well, sexy?
Its-las-tik is my new go-to bag, whether I’m doing serious shopping, or just toting some baby essentials for a quick jaunt.
Its-las-tik bags can hold about twice as much as your standard plastic grocery bag!
Its-las-tik bags are made in the USA, produced in New Orleans, helping to create jobs and rebuild the community.
Its-las-tik also contributes 5% of their sales to the Hope House, a non-profit,tax-exempt organization in New Orleans that depends on donations.
I’m so excited that Its-las-tik makers Whatsurbag are offering a fantastic giveaway prize package for MomMostTraveled readers!
To enter for your chance to win an Its-las-tik pouch with THREE Its-las-tik bags ($49.99 value!), browse the store and comment on this post with one of your favorite bag designs that I haven’t mentioned!
One winner will be chosen at random.
This giveaway is open to US residents.
This contest will close on January 14, 12 midnight CST
Extra Entries:
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68-Hour Pregnancy by Helen Dutton
This guest post by Helen Dutton is a part of January’s Adoption Celebration at MomMostTraveled.com.
Tuesday - It began on a Tuesday afternoon at work like any other; the sun reached my office in the early afternoon so it was warm and bright and it relaxed me. I was feeling pretty good in general about work and I had put together a complete, and I mean complete, ‘to do’ list and open item list the day before. The clutter at work was quickly being cleared and I imagined some of the new projects I could start working on to move the company forward.
The receptionist buzzed me and said, “Anne Barnes is on the line. Would you like to speak with her?” I did; she was our adoption attorney and I wondered what she was calling about.
Anne and I said our hellos and then she asked me if I was sitting down. I said yes, and couldn’t imagine what she was getting at. Then she said THE words: “There’s a baby girl for you at Concord Hospital.” Silence. “Helen, are you there? Are you still breathing?” Somehow I managed to get my brain connected to my mouth and said, “I don’t know if I’m breathing, but I sure know that my heart is beating because I can feel it! What did you say again, Anne?”
“There’s a baby girl for you at Concord Hospital. She was born Friday night. The birth mother had selected another adoptive family but it fell through at the last minute because of the adoptive mother’s health. She’s actually already home and went through some profiles yesterday, and picked yours. She slept on her decision last night and is still comfortable today that you are the ones. She does want to see you with the baby, though, before her final decision.” Yikes, no pressure, I thought. What if we drop the baby or something?
We continued the call, reviewing health records and how this accelerated process would work. Then she suggested that I call my husband, Mike, and give him the news. Since I only comprehended about every fourth word she said I agreed.
“Hi honey, what’s up?”
By now I was shaking. “Michael, you’re not going to believe this, but there’s a baby girl for us at Concord Animal Hospital!”
“Did you hear what you just said?”
“I know, I know, I can’t believe it either - there’s a baby girl for us at Concord Animal Hospital!”
Now is probably a good time to tell you that my husband is a veterinarian and I had much more contact with animal hospitals than human hospitals. (Thankfully, Mike was able to grasp my point quickly in spite of my babbling, and we shared a chuckle later when he told me what I had said.)
After we hung up, I went into my boss’s office and just sat down where I always did, although I was a bit more shell-shocked than usual. I told him the unbelievable news, and after hearing what details I knew he said, “Who’s your pediatrician?” Pediatrician, my head screamed; What are you talking about? Amidst all the fertility procedures first and then entering the adoption world the thought of a pediatrician had never entered my mind. He used words like ‘bottles’, ‘formula’, ‘crib’, ‘diapers’; I left even more dazed than when I had entered.
Somehow Mike and I finished our workdays and wasted no time heading out to the stores to get what we might need. Hmmm… we were both the youngest in our families and neither of us had much experience with babies. What did we need? We decided to call our families and friends to share the good news as well as to gather their valuable advice. I remember that my niece Anna told me exactly what brand and model stroller and car seat to get; here I was at 36 getting baby advice from an 8-year old! I remember Mike saying, “Call Ella; she’ll have a list of what we need color-coded and indexed from A to Z!” Sure enough, upon hearing the news and after much squealing she said she’d meet us at the store right after she got hold of a babysitter for her three children.
Mike and I first stopped at a bookstore where we purchased What To Expect the First Year (by A. Eisenberg, H. Murkoff, and S. Hathaway). Over a quick and hardly tasted dinner at McDonald’s we studied our list, sometimes not even sure what the items were. Next stop: Toys R Us, where we met Ella. Mike describes the scene as Wilma and Betty take Fred shopping; Betty (played by Ella) told us what we needed, the pros and cons of each brand, and then Wilma (played by me) tossed the item into the basket, sometimes literally over my shoulder. Fred caught the errant items behind us as we raced through the store. At times, Ella would stop and say to a stranger, “She’s having a baby on Friday,” pointing to me. They’d look perplexed and smile a confused smile; we’d laugh and laugh – more out of pure joy than the situation. At the check-out– we were a bit surprised when our dear and wise friend Ella said, “This is nothing; wait until Christmas.”
We got home around 10 pm, but being completely wired we decided to keep going and start assembling our new purchases. Our neighbor Sandy saw our lights on and, having heard the news, came over to help. As we worked on the stroller together, she joined in our giddy laughs. Kally and Taylor, our retrievers, sensed the excitement and ran around the dining room table with us as we proudly pushed the stroller around, practically walking on air.
Wednesday - The next morning it was back to work as normal; somehow we managed to get through appointments and meetings. Anne, our attorney, said that our meeting with the birth mother and the baby was on for that evening at the hospital chapel. Everyone was nervous until the bassinet was rolled in; I couldn’t believe my eyes for there was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. She had a small amount of brown hair, “blueberry blue” eyes, and an adorable little pug nose – perfect on that cherub-like face. She was snug and content in her swaddled blanket; she didn’t cry at all but just looked at us with trust and wonder. I remembered the advice a friend had given me – “just pretend that she’s a puppy” - and picked her up. It wasn’t so hard to hold a baby after all; in fact, it felt just right. Through our tears, Mike and I knew she was ours in our hearts. But we had to wait until tomorrow to actually hear from Anne how the birth mother felt.
Thursday – Finally, we heard from Anne first thing Thursday morning - we were the adoptive parents! We swung into high gear. First, after an early morning meeting at work, I announced that I was leaving for maternity leave that afternoon. I told my staff that I was relying on them to pick up the pieces, and I had no doubts that they would - I worked with a wonderful bunch of people. Unbelievably, they put together the quickest baby shower I’ve ever seen! Presents galore and they had told everyone I worked with – bankers, suppliers, and business partners – who were all thrilled! I left that afternoon beyond excited, but also a little nervous, for I was about to become a Mom without the benefit of nine months mental prep.
Next, straight to the hospital I went where I was going to spend the night with my new daughter. We shared a tiny room together (I think it had been a closet before) and spent much of our night in the nursery where I rocked her and learned to feed her. I listened to her gurgles and breathing through the night. At one point I heard a laboring woman scream in pain and I whispered, “Thank the Lord for how you arrived.”
Friday – the day things became final. The birth mother was scheduled to appear in court at 11 am to sign off; after that we would be free to take her home as guardians until our next court hearing six months later. My mom and dad were driving down from Maine to meet their newest granddaughter. Mike and I tried to pay attention through the paperwork, bathing lessons, and whatever else they told us, but our thoughts were in only one place: our little girl. She was waiting for us just a couple of rooms away, and we had been waiting for her for a very long time.
68 hours after Anne’s first call, the social worker walked by and gave us the thumbs up – the court hearing was over and it had gone as planned. I felt weight fall off my shoulders and tears spring to my eyes. By then my parents had arrived and we were only waiting for the birth mother to come say good-bye. We met in the maternity floor waiting room. I asked her what she liked to do as a child, did she like animals, did she have hobbies; I wanted to know everything I could about this amazing, selfless woman who chose to give our mutual daughter a life she couldn’t give her. It broke my heart when she said she didn’t want to hold her because she had a cold and didn’t want to pass it on. When I asked her if there was anything else that she wanted our daughter to know about her she said, “That I love her.” With that, she walked towards the elevator without looking back. My Dad walked with her to her car. My Dad is gone from this world and I wish I had thought to ask him what they talked about as they walked. She is a remarkable, courageous, generous woman; I hope to raise our daughter to have those same traits.
Lindsey is 5 ½ years old now and knows that “God put me in someone else’s tummy for Mommy and Daddy.” She is a precious combination of Mike and me. She now has a little brother, Zachary, who everyone says looks just like me, and they say that Lindsey looks just like Mike. I smile and say, “I know.” With every cell of my body I know that they are my children.
My own experience as well as my training as a life coach has led me to help others struggling with fertility challenges. You can contact me, Helen Dutton, coach at A Vision of Your Own, at (603) 529-2345 or helen@avisionofyourown.com. Also, visit www.avisionofyourown.com.
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The Little Travelers
The Little Travelers Production company is the brainchild of another traveling mama of two, Angelina Hart!
Angelina chronicles the travels of her two adorable daughters as they explore the world with a child’s eye view.
The Little Travelers DVD’s are a travel documentary series designed for children, and educational and enlightening for everyone!
The Little Travelers also share their adventures on two different blogs; one written by the kids, and the other written by mom! I really enjoyed reading both blogs, and spent quite a while in each!
I think I will be checking back in soon!
Would you like to win your choice of one The Little Travelers DVD adventure? I was able to view the trailers on the website, and the footage is absolutely breathtaking!
To enter for your chance to win, just visit The Little Travelers website and tell me which DVD you would like to win!
One winner will get one Little Travellers DVD copy of his/her choice.
This giveaway is OPEN TO ALL!
This giveaway will close on Tuesday, January 13, 12 midnight CST.
Extra Entries:
-Twitter about this giveaway (include a link to this page) and comment here with your Twitter name.
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Help Your Child Turn Green
Children have a strong sense of justice, and they love to rally behind a worthy cause (just think of all those kiddie movies where friends band together to save something from an evil grown-up).
The Little Environmentalists aim to arm children with facts to inspire them to go green! I’m Turning Green is the second book in their series of eco-themed children’s titles.
I’m Turning Green, readers follow a little girl as she learns how to do her part for the environment. Each time she does something to help the planet, she begins to turn the color green, from head to toe!
I’m Turning Green is full of tips from a child’s point of view on how to conserve energy, water, and natural resources in small, achievable actions.
Books from The Little Environmentalists are a great way for anyone to teach children about helping the planet.
Reading nonfiction books to preschoolers is a fantastic idea, because their little minds are so absorbent. I enjoy filling hungry minds with factual information.
Also check out the Mom Most Traveled review of The Little Environmentalists’ debut title, Nature Discovery In My Backyard!
The Little Environmentalists, LLC, is a company committed to developing and publishing children’s material to promote environmental awareness, appreciation, knowledge, and stewardship.The Little Environmentalists proudly print their books using 100% post-consumer waste, chlorine free and non-toxic toner. Environmentally friendly printing preserves forests and habitats, keeps toxic chemicals out of the environment and generates fewer greenhouse gases. It has been estimated that producing a ton of paper using 100% post-consumer copy paper rather than virgin pulp saves about 24 large trees, 4,000 kilowatt hours of electricity, 60 pounds of air pollution and 7,000 gallons of water.
The Little Environmentalists would like to give away a copy of I’m Turning Green to one Mom Most Traveled reader!
To enter, leave a comment on this post about something your family does to lessen your impact on the planet.
One winner will be chosen at random.
This giveaway will close on Monday, January 12th, 12 midnight CST.
This giveaway is open to US residents.
Extra Entries:
-Twitter about this giveaway (include a link to this page) and comment here with your Twitter name.
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-Blog about this giveaway, linking to both this giveaway post and http://www.thelittleenvironmentalists.com. Leave a comment with a link to your post!
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Send Out Brownies
I’m going to be completely honest with you here; I think about brownies a lot.
I don’t have the opportunity to eat brownies as often as I would like; often at the conclusion of a delicious meal I find myself thinking, “Now if only we had BROWNIES, it would be the perfect ending!”
One night I was on Twitter, tweeting away at some kind of Twitter party, and I sent out a tweet saying, “This party needs brownies!”
The next thing I know, I get a direct message from @AnitaHampl saying that I said the magic word, and she was going to send me some brownies!
My first thought was, “WOOHOO!”, and my second, more rational thought was, “Don’t appear too eager, in case she is only joking!”
But she WASN’T joking, and she DID send me BROWNIES through her ingenious business Send Out Cards!
Inside the darling box were 4 Decadent Chocolate Brownies by Cookie Tree.
Yum!
You can send personalized cards to any one and choose from a wide selection of gifts to include for the recipient!
There are yummy foods and drink mixes, books, magazines, pet treats, baby blankets, children’s books, activity sets, candles…something for just about anyone.
Send Out Cards is a great way to put a little something special in the mail for someone far away.
Thanks, Anita, for the yummy brownies, and for showing me this wonderfully convenient way to send gifts!
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Thomas and Friends: Special Delivery
Jojo has been happily playing Thomas And Friends: Special Delivery, a computer game from Brighter Minds Media that I gave him for Christmas.
He is actually playing it right now on the desk top computer as I type on the laptop.
The premise of Thomas And Friends: Special Delivery follows a story, as James (the red train, for you Thomas newbies) sets off to make an important delivery to the zoo,getting lost along the way.
Sir Topham Hatt (the human) sends a search party to find James, and Thomas and Harold (the helicopter) try to get James and the animals to the zoo!
I am really impressed with Thomas And Friends: Special Delivery because I watched as Jojo helped navigate a train by following audio directions such as “go left”, “go right”, “go under the bridge”.
As a grown up who actually has to stop and think sometimes to make sure I don’t have “left” and “right” confused, I am so so excited that Jojo knows the concept of “left” and “right” at 4 years old!
Thomas And Friends: Special Delivery teaches a variety of skills through six different activities.
Shape sorting, color matching, logic and deduction, observation, memory skills, following directions, telling time, and counting are all presented in a fun way for preschoolers (ages 3-5) to learn while playing!
You can select “easy” or “hard” levels of difficulty to match your child’s abilities.
The graphics are wonderful; it is really an animation.
When your child finishes the “story”, he or she can print out a personalized, color certificate with a picture of Thomas! I made a really big deal out of Jojo earning his certificate, and he was really pleased with himself!
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Mom Most Traveled’s Fave Blog Posts of 2008
I thought for a long time about what kind of post I should write to bring closure to 2008.
Luckily, my entire life is pretty much pain stakingly detailed already in the pleathora of posts I wrote this year.
The best thing to do is to give the best posts a few more seconds of fame before the flame of 2008 flickers out.
JANUARY 2008
In January, we posed for our first family picture as a family of 4.
My husband thought it would be a good time to do a Beegees impression. Very convincing.
FEBRUARY 2008
In February I was still finding my feet as a blogger. All I really have to show for it is a meme.
MARCH 2008
In March, 7-month-old Deeds pulled himself up in his crib for the first time! I was lucky enough to capture it on camera!
APRIL 2008
April saw me waxing eloquent about lessons learned in the school of motherhood.
MAY 2008
Was when I decided to share my travel experiences with the blogging world. I started by sharing a useful list of travel diversions for ages 2-5.
JUNE 2008
In June I reviewed clothing from Picaflor Kids. The pictures in the review are some of my favorite photographs I have ever taken of my children.
Another red letter day was when my baby brother’s band played on David Letterman!
JULY 2008
In July, my family and I flew from East coast, USA, to Vientiane, Laos. The trip was over 24 hours, and I blogged it play by play in Step By Step: Surviving A Long Plane Trip With Children.
I also shared, after a few days in Laos, about The Life Sabai.
AUGUST 2008
Deeds turned 1-year-old on August 15th, 2008! I wrote him a birthday letter, and he wrote me back!
I also shared pictures of Jojo’s room, and you guys encouraged me that my, uh, “decorating skills” won’t traumatize my children.
SEPTEMBER 2008
I paused to reflect on little Deeds and his irrepressible sprit, and on an unrelated note, shared pictures of our pitiful bathroom. Don’t be jealous.
OCTOBER 2008
Jojo turned 4 on October 25th! I had a lump checked out and lived to tell the tale!
NOVEMBER 2008
The mommy blogging world responded loudly to a Motrin ad that seemingly bashed baby wearing.
I said my piece, and later defended my position against an anonymous Chilean.
DECEMBER 2008
Mom Most Traveled rounded out 2008 by regaling all with tales of wonderful Christmases and botched New Year celebrations.
Dreams for 2009
I want to always respond lovingly to my children (no matter how bratty they are behaving)
I want to make sure my husband knows that I love and value him (he’s a good dad, too!)
I want to attend the BlogHer 2009 conference in Chicago in July.
I want to continue blogging up a storm, and I want my words to be read!
What were your best moments in 2008? What are your dreams for 2009?
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A BlogHer Miracle
In this blog post, I shared about my dreams for 2009.
One of my four dreams for 2009 is to attend the BlogHer ‘09 conference in Chicago in July.
Serendipitously, I logged on to Twitter and saw that the Queen of Spain (Erin Kotecki Vest, producer of BlogHer.com) is giving away 1 (one) full registration to the BlogHer ‘09 conference in Chicago.
I want to attend BlogHer because working on my blogs, (this one and Vientiane Living) gives me such a sense of purpose and accomplishment.
Even from my childhood, I never knew what to say when I was asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I went to school. I got a B.S. in Mass Communications. I got a M.A. in Teaching. Still, I didn’t know what I wanted to be.
Teaching never felt like a good fit. I always felt like an impostor, worried that someone would find out that I wasn’t a “real” teacher. That I didn’t know what I was doing.
I taught for four years before I stopped to stay home with my first child.
I always wondered how I could ever possibly find a job that would allow me to do all of the things I loved: reading, writing, photography, and traveling.
Now I know; I want to be a professional blogger.
Blogging is the first thing I have ever done that I feel is me. I like it. I feel that I am good at it.
There is a lot I don’t know about blogging! Don’t know exactly how to *grow* my blog, and how to use it most effectively. I don’t know how to make the leap from “blog enthusiast” to “professional blogger”.
I’m definitely a blogger. I don’t think I have quite earned my stripes as a “professional”, because, um, professionals actually earn income.
You might be wondering, “Well, why don’t you stop wishing and just GO to BlogHer?”
The huge issue is this: I live in Laos.
My husband and I have been working in Asia together since 2002 as volunteers. We assist in educational instruction and curriculum development in developing nations.
The pay is ridiculously low, but the work is extremely rewarding.
I hope to be able to earn enough money by moonlighting as a substitute teacher at the International School this semester to be able to purchase a plane ticket for myself and Deeds (who qualifies as a lap baby) to fly to the US this summer so I can attend BlogHer.
I am also selling as many of our household items as we can stand to part with. I just started listing them today, but I have many more toys, books, and DVD’s that I plan to sell. After I get a good number listed, I’m going to send a mass e-mail to the playgroup moms here in town for them to go check out our wares!
I have been thinking about how I can possibly make this happen even before they announced the location.
If I make it to Chicago (Deeds can stay with his grandparents in Alabama), I have friends in the city who have offered me free lodging in their home. I don’t know how far away it is from the conference site, but anything is better than not going at all!
I also have no problem skipping meals for the entire conference. Luckily in the USA, tap water is potable so I can guzzle that for free to keep myself full.
I’m not saying this for the pity effect, this is my actual plan.
Am I crazy? Maybe! Blog-crazy!
Why don’t you blog about your work?
Because, while it sounds lofty, it isn’t exactly action packed. I blog about things that I feel others might be able to more readily/easily relate with.
Why don’t you blog about all of the awesome ways you help people?
There are two reasons for this. 1) I’m a bit shy about it and I don’t see the need to talk about it in a public form. Some things are fun to share, like how next week I will be talking about my friends newly adopted baby, who I excitedly rounded up donations-in-kind for his little newborn arrival on 12/15. But I’m afraid if I share how I also donated my own breast milk to the adoptive baby, I might come across as a weirdo.
I am not a saint. I am a softy.
2) I have found that after a while, people stop listening. Our work requires us to go on various fund raising tours. We have to tell of our progress and good deeds so that others will feel that our work is important, produces results, and is worth of their continued financial support. It is actually humiliating to pour out the story of your life’s work before a group of strangers, and in the end they decide to toss their money toward a different cause.
Why don’t you apply for the BlogHer ‘09 International Scholarship?
I don’t think I qualify as an activist blogger. In fact, I am passive-aggressive.
Yes, I do hope to effect change in the developing world. But this isn’t reflected in my blogging. I purposely exercise restraint because I am operating from within a communist nation.
I tried to apply for a BlogHerShip, to offer to volunteer at the conference in exchange for a free ticket. I have a nagging feeling that I did the application incorrectly, or that the web page I got my information from was from the 2008 conference.
BlogHer ‘09 is a dream for me. I do have a back up plan; if I don’t make it to ‘09, I will definitely go to ‘10. I hope to sell so many of our possessions that we can downsize from our $400/month rental house to a $200/month rental! Simple life, here we come!
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