One of the cooler parts of this adoption process is that if we agree to parent Rosie, her social worker will bring her a book we made about us just for her.
Rosie will get a day or two to look through the book, and then we get to meet her. So after 3 weeks of pouring over photos, we finally hammered out what we wanted to say and pictures we would want to include.
I created it through Shutterfly, which was far superior to Snapfish whose software kept killing on me or Kodak whose site was too confusing to bother.
Knowing this is Rosie's first impression of us made it a tricky project. I didn't want to over-promise how life would be, but I wanted to paint a picture that would make a child excited to meet us. I had to keep things pretty basic. I have a hard time writing in compound sentences. I tried to channel Ernest Hemingway.
Hemingway wasn't capable of being cheesy like I felt we needed to be. Thankfully, I'm good at being cheesy, but hopefully in an endearing or adorable way.
The book is being printed and should be shipped in time to give it to Rosie in a week from now. In 7 days from now, we could be meeting our daughter.
Crazy.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Things I am Looking Forward To
As the aroma of brewing coffee filled the house this morning I started to think about how much I'm looking forward to the ritual of Sunday breakfast with Rosie.
Last spring we bought a beautiful dining room table just for my dream ritual. Right now that table is the holding place for our junk mail. Once Rosie joins our life, I can't wait to have us sit at it as a family not only for dinners but also for Sunday breakfast.
My parents didn't have a ritual like this so I'm not sure why I want to try it. I can't wait, though, to start Sundays with Mike cooking bacon and Rosie and I whipping together pancake batter. Not sure why in my dreams I divide labor in that way. Odd. To make things less stereotypical we can all set the table. As we eat, we can discuss what our plans are for the day or week.
From having enough friends with children I know best-laid plans sometimes prove impossible once kids get their own lives and schedules. So I'm not setting my heart on Sunday breakfast every Sunday--but maybe once or twice per month. Or maybe not, maybe we will say Sunday breakfast is important to us and avoid making plans that would interfere when possible.
And maybe on those days when my best-laid plans don't work, we will have a Sunday dinner instead---which reminds me, I need a new crock pot. My crock pot is the same one that my grandma used in the 1970s and maybe even '60s. It works, but I worry it will also work at starting my house on fire some day.
Other things I am looking forward to are:
Last spring we bought a beautiful dining room table just for my dream ritual. Right now that table is the holding place for our junk mail. Once Rosie joins our life, I can't wait to have us sit at it as a family not only for dinners but also for Sunday breakfast.
My parents didn't have a ritual like this so I'm not sure why I want to try it. I can't wait, though, to start Sundays with Mike cooking bacon and Rosie and I whipping together pancake batter. Not sure why in my dreams I divide labor in that way. Odd. To make things less stereotypical we can all set the table. As we eat, we can discuss what our plans are for the day or week.
From having enough friends with children I know best-laid plans sometimes prove impossible once kids get their own lives and schedules. So I'm not setting my heart on Sunday breakfast every Sunday--but maybe once or twice per month. Or maybe not, maybe we will say Sunday breakfast is important to us and avoid making plans that would interfere when possible.
And maybe on those days when my best-laid plans don't work, we will have a Sunday dinner instead---which reminds me, I need a new crock pot. My crock pot is the same one that my grandma used in the 1970s and maybe even '60s. It works, but I worry it will also work at starting my house on fire some day.
Other things I am looking forward to are:
- Board game night
- Going to the museums again and seeing them through a child's eyes
- Seeing everything through a child's eyes--especially the holidays
- Decorating for Christmas, baking for Christmas, and having Christmas traditions that include a child
- I kind of hope, selfishly, she might become interested in running with me
- Learning what rituals Rosie would like to make hers and, more importantly, ours.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Guess what else I know nothing about?
Education.
That's right. My mom raised me to value it. I completed 13 years primary/secondary. I even went on to finish my Bachelors in Sociology and Written Communications--although, to be fair, a bachelors degree seemed pretty much mandatory in this day and age. I didn't love education in those 17-plus years of memorizing, studying and worry about the future. I made education a priority because my mom wanted me to. Yep, I'd love to say that at 17 I was more wise. I wasn't.
I take that back. I was wise enough at 17 to know college was my way out of working at McDonald's permanently. I had nightmares about becoming a "lifer." I really did. Once I had a dream that I came into McDonald's to work and my manager informed me I hadn't passed the ACT, and I'd have to occupy a cot in the attic of McDonald's. I woke up screaming...my mom even remembers it. She also remembers me waking her up with dreams where I was screaming "Quarter Pounder with cheese NO ONION"...thank goodness those days are over.
Although, now my worry has changed its focal point.
Now I worry about a potential daughter and where she will go to school. I worry I will put her in the wrong school. I have become extremely, and I mean completely brutal in my analysis of school administrator's responses to my inquiries. Rude response? Eliminated. I can't have my daughter being treated that way.
As a sociology major at a private, liberal college, I also struggle with comparing schools in my neighborhood. The schools with the highest rates of poverty have the lowest test scores but the highest "diversity" scores. On the other hand, the schools with the lower poverty rates have the better test scores but the lowest diversity. Although I loathe diversity as a word, I value its concept. All I want is a school where my child can learn and receive the attention necessary to succeed--to fifth grade, anyway. I want her to feel like she belongs. But my upbringing and liberal college days make me feel snobby for dismissing the schools with poor test scores.
So I've guiltily abandoned public education temporarily because I learned that the City of Minneapolis doesn't give its parents a choice in where their children are placed mid-year. I've learned what I thought I would have control over, I don't.
You have to send your kid where ever there is room in a Minneapolis school within busing routes from your home. I hate to say, in our neighborhood, that's the poor test score schools where I fear our daughter wouldn't receive attention she needs because her needs would pale in comparison with her peers.
We have an interview with the principal of a private K-8 school just to see what that's about. It seems more in line with what we want: a somewhat sheltered environment where Rosie could grow and adjust and stay put for a few years. This kid will need some stability. If she hates it, next year we can evaluate public schools again. In fact, we need to continue our tours because we have send the district our placement cards no later than January 31 for the 2011 school year.
Yet, I have no idea about any of this and I've never felt less certain about anything except this strange feeling within me telling me what's right for a child I've never met. Crazy.
That's right. My mom raised me to value it. I completed 13 years primary/secondary. I even went on to finish my Bachelors in Sociology and Written Communications--although, to be fair, a bachelors degree seemed pretty much mandatory in this day and age. I didn't love education in those 17-plus years of memorizing, studying and worry about the future. I made education a priority because my mom wanted me to. Yep, I'd love to say that at 17 I was more wise. I wasn't.
I take that back. I was wise enough at 17 to know college was my way out of working at McDonald's permanently. I had nightmares about becoming a "lifer." I really did. Once I had a dream that I came into McDonald's to work and my manager informed me I hadn't passed the ACT, and I'd have to occupy a cot in the attic of McDonald's. I woke up screaming...my mom even remembers it. She also remembers me waking her up with dreams where I was screaming "Quarter Pounder with cheese NO ONION"...thank goodness those days are over.
Although, now my worry has changed its focal point.
Now I worry about a potential daughter and where she will go to school. I worry I will put her in the wrong school. I have become extremely, and I mean completely brutal in my analysis of school administrator's responses to my inquiries. Rude response? Eliminated. I can't have my daughter being treated that way.
As a sociology major at a private, liberal college, I also struggle with comparing schools in my neighborhood. The schools with the highest rates of poverty have the lowest test scores but the highest "diversity" scores. On the other hand, the schools with the lower poverty rates have the better test scores but the lowest diversity. Although I loathe diversity as a word, I value its concept. All I want is a school where my child can learn and receive the attention necessary to succeed--to fifth grade, anyway. I want her to feel like she belongs. But my upbringing and liberal college days make me feel snobby for dismissing the schools with poor test scores.
So I've guiltily abandoned public education temporarily because I learned that the City of Minneapolis doesn't give its parents a choice in where their children are placed mid-year. I've learned what I thought I would have control over, I don't.
You have to send your kid where ever there is room in a Minneapolis school within busing routes from your home. I hate to say, in our neighborhood, that's the poor test score schools where I fear our daughter wouldn't receive attention she needs because her needs would pale in comparison with her peers.
We have an interview with the principal of a private K-8 school just to see what that's about. It seems more in line with what we want: a somewhat sheltered environment where Rosie could grow and adjust and stay put for a few years. This kid will need some stability. If she hates it, next year we can evaluate public schools again. In fact, we need to continue our tours because we have send the district our placement cards no later than January 31 for the 2011 school year.
Yet, I have no idea about any of this and I've never felt less certain about anything except this strange feeling within me telling me what's right for a child I've never met. Crazy.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Surfing with my head under water
Just when I think I have stopped freaking out about one part of being a parent and am coasting, I get hit with another wave of fear. What is causing the fear today?
The few times I've mentioned to a coworker that "we're touring schools" I stop breathing for a split second. Then I can't stop smiling but not out of joy. Nope I it's just a grin of "i have no idea of what the heck I'm doing."
Then I walk away from the encounter, I catch my breath, and I feel resolved by saying no parents know what they're doing. We'll be fine, I think. Then I push aside the thought of school all together even when I'm scheduling interviews to do tours.
So far I only have one set up. It's at Marcy Open School, in Northeast Minneapolis, and it was recommended to me by a parent. Parents seem to be my life saver right now--they know what kind of games 9-year-olds like; they have suggestions for schools; and they calm me down when my breath has caught in my throat, and I'm about to pass out.
THANK YOU parent friends because what I have learned is that school administrators are even busier than I am. So they are of no help because they don't call back, they don't answer emails, and they don't answer the phones. The Marcy school's tour coordinator did--thank you, Sidney.
This might all seem premature, but the social workers continue to ask where we'll send Rosie for school so it's really necessary. I'm starting with public schools and will try private schools next. The other stressor is that of course no school administrators can meet after work--which I completely understand, but a half day here and a half day there add up.
The few times I've mentioned to a coworker that "we're touring schools" I stop breathing for a split second. Then I can't stop smiling but not out of joy. Nope I it's just a grin of "i have no idea of what the heck I'm doing."
Then I walk away from the encounter, I catch my breath, and I feel resolved by saying no parents know what they're doing. We'll be fine, I think. Then I push aside the thought of school all together even when I'm scheduling interviews to do tours.
So far I only have one set up. It's at Marcy Open School, in Northeast Minneapolis, and it was recommended to me by a parent. Parents seem to be my life saver right now--they know what kind of games 9-year-olds like; they have suggestions for schools; and they calm me down when my breath has caught in my throat, and I'm about to pass out.
THANK YOU parent friends because what I have learned is that school administrators are even busier than I am. So they are of no help because they don't call back, they don't answer emails, and they don't answer the phones. The Marcy school's tour coordinator did--thank you, Sidney.
This might all seem premature, but the social workers continue to ask where we'll send Rosie for school so it's really necessary. I'm starting with public schools and will try private schools next. The other stressor is that of course no school administrators can meet after work--which I completely understand, but a half day here and a half day there add up.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Short and Jubilant Post
November 17th is the next big day! The day we meet with foster parents, teachers, and therapists of Rosie. From there, we decide whether or not we want to parent her. Of course, we'll be making an impression on all these people as well. So they could, I suppose, decide we aren't a good fit.
So keep your fingers crossed...more to come.
So keep your fingers crossed...more to come.
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