Can I label your label?

I am an obsessive label maker. My cupboards tell me where to store my beans, q-tips are marked in pink in my linen closet, and even my pen holder at work has been branded. The best present my husband ever got me was a fancy, $100+ label maker. I cried when I opened it and show it to people more than anything in a Tiffany's box. Which coincidentally I keep on my desk to store used post-its in (before recycling). 

However, I hate to be labeled. And as foster parents that is something we must deal with all the time. I find it insane. It is 2014 for goodness sakes (even though I still feel like the 90s was a decade ago, but that is beside the point). Just yesterday at the grocery store the clerk asked if my three African American/Hispanic children were mine? And she then remarked about how she thought Derek was "just my new boyfriend". Seriously, do I have to discuss my procreation with someone bagging my kale? 

I have been asked if I was infertile, a teen-mom, watching them for someone else, etc. The list goes on and on. I know many people who have adopted, families are more blended then ever - so why do these stupid comments make it into my day-to-day life? 

One of the hardest things for me as an FP (other than the thought of saying goodbye), is the labeling. Every time you call to make a doctor's appointment, "I am the foster mother", or the in-person, "and you are?" question. I feel like I have to constantly validate my role in my children's lives. Even our family members have asked "and what do they call you?" I am there mother, Derek is their father - that is who we are. 

Just last week I received a text reminding me to make a dental appointment for our former foster son. He has moved to VA, nearly a year ago, but the text still brought me to my knees. You go from being their parent, their all, their everything to nothing. I never hear from some of our former kiddos. And when I do talk to our former son, it is just strange. As we are no longer there, and the label of parent has been removed. 

One thing I wish, what people take for granted, is the sharing of pictures. My kids are damn cute and they have a wardrobe that a Kardashian would envy - and I can't show them off. They live in the shadows of back-of-the-head shots and boxes over their face. 

People label us, we label them, and they continue to be held back from being normal children, with normal happy/silly/awkward pictures of themselves shared for the world to see. They have been labeled as foster children, identity confidential. But really, they are just kids. They have big smiles, wide eyes and huge hearts. And I label them perfectly adorable.  

Another year older.....

I am not a hopeless romantic. I cringe at couples who hold hands. I would rather stick a fork in my arm than sit on the same side of a booth as my significant other and PDA's will always be Personal Digital Assistants to me. 

However, I am inclined to write about my husband (he is rolling his eyes - I can just feel it), today on his Birthday. 

First, let's get this straight. We hate being married. Not for the reason you may think - lack of love, money problems, all that jazz. We hate being married because it was always something we both felt very strongly against. We don't need the Government being involved in our relationship. A Marriage License (which we signed on my lunch break from work) is simply a piece of paper filed away somewhere in my house. Don't get me wrong, more power to you if you are married and love it. But for us, we just didn't need it. I was content being a woman in my 30s with a boyfriend. It was fine. 

Then we became foster parents and a little boy who had his life turned upside down, Elbert, came into our lives. Elbert was kind, funny and impossible not to love. He was also alone, his adopted mother died while in our care and he had (what we thought) no one but us. In order to adopt in AZ, and have both parents be listed as just that - parents - on the adoption paperwork, we needed to be married. If not, Elbert would only have been "officially" my son, or Derek's - whichever name we selected. So after many talks, we acquiesced and decided to get married. Well, really it was just on paper. We had no ceremony (I would rather die than walk down an isle in a hideous dress with my family and friends fawning over me - no thank you). We actually had a friend of our licensing specialist sign the marriage license at a movie theater. Immediately after I took Elbert and our then FD, Amanda, too swim lessons and Derek went to volunteer. No cake, no pictures, no 1st dance - it was the wedding of my dreams. It didn't work out with Elbert, a family member came through at the 11th hour - but it was the right decision for him and us in the long run. 

I share this as it sums up my relationship with Derek. We are unconventional. We bust balls more than any other couple I know, he never hangs out with my friends, he doesn't wear a wedding ring and I don't even think we are Facebook friends....but we laugh often and about everything. For us, it just works.

A story that sums us up perfectly: I was in a car accident about 8 years ago, nothing serious but my car was totaled and I had to go to the ER in an ambulance, just to be safe (it was very dramatic and I hated it). Derek was at work at I couldn't call him because I was in a neck brace. The kind EMT guy dialed my phone and told D what hospital I would be at. Cut to 90 minutes later Derek arrives in the ER - seeing me for the first time - I am all banged up and the first thing I say to him is "Are you wearing a jean jacket?" You see, it was raining (odd for Tucson) and he had a jean jacket in his classroom that some student left, so he put it on and came to see me. I couldn't get over it. So for 10 minutes we discussed the jean jacket, where he got it, why he was wearing it and how stupid he looked in it. All before we discussed why I was in the ER and why my car was totaled. That my friends is our love.  

So there will be no fanfare, no balloons, presents or cake for his birthday. But know that he is the kindest, most selfless man I have ever met. He spends at least 25 hours a week volunteering, on top of his demanding teaching job. He has taught me to be strong, confident and to do more for others that I may be inclined to do. The love he shares with our kids is deep, profound and moving. He is never too busy, too cranky or too tired for them. I know years from now, all the kids we have had, and will have, will always look back at him and call him dad. And for that I am grateful. 


I have this saying in my living room. And it is perfectly fitting. 

Happy Birthday, Derek. I love you. 

Work It Out

Do you remember years ago, in that famous missing person's case, the woman's husband said she had went out for a run and never came back. Well ladies and gentlemen, if I should ever go missing, (first, check under my desk as I might just be napping) your response to authorities must always be: 

"She just left for a run, like she always does, and never came back."

Then everyone will think that I am fit, health conscious and must have great calves. None of which are true.

As I get older I reflect more on the changes I want to make in my life. I have always struggled with my weight, up and down, obsession after obsession, and eating disorders. Everyone who is close to me knows my love of vomiting (but that is neither here nor there). 

So this year I said I wanted to get back into fitness, really, I was never in it, but what the hell - getting back into something sounds a lot better than starting it. So instead of my normal weight lifting, which consisted of lifting up the handle of vodka, I decided to join a gym (I actually joined three, but again, another story) and start working out. 

As I began my journey I recalled my friend from high school who said "just because you're a vegetarian, doesn't mean you don't eat chocolate". This was in response to someone who was shocked she wasn't a size 2. I face this problem daily, I am not a size 2. I have never been and probably never will be. 

I have always eaten well, we don't have chocolate, chips or soda in our house. We do have snap peas, kale, Kombucha, light almond milk and diet soda stream grapefruit (this is like crack to me, but I limit myself). I don't eat white rice, white bread, fried food (hardly ever), meat or dairy. But what I do like, is carbs. I have never met a potato I didn't want to marry and I crave pasta more than sex. 

Most of my friends are super skinny, which makes me think I need to get new friends. But I have recently found new (as Wendy Williams says) "Friends in My Head", Karena and Katrina from Tone it Up http://toneitup.com/. I have been religiously following their workouts and they are amazing. Plus, super hot, which doesn't hurt either. A little eye candy when you are pushing yourself never hurts- way better than that P90X creep. 

So far, it has been great. Successful and somewhat painless. But seriously, I would kill someone for the ability to eat a pound of mashed potatoes. 

I hate when people notice you have lost weight. I often think "Geez, how fat was I before?". And don't get me started on when people DON'T notice you have lost weight. You want to scream "I am basically wasting away here, damn it!"

So that brings me back to running. I won't run, don't ask me...but if anyone asks you - I am always at the track running and the time I broke my foot, that was simply from a long hard run....not a flop over in my wedges after a shopping trip. 

Ready to break a sweat? Ugh, me neither - sweating makes me break out. And I am way too old for acne. 

Excuse me, I'm on business

I have always romanticised business travel. I grew up picturing myself jetting off in a pressed business suit, a designer laptop bag being pulled behind me. Staying in classy hotels, ordering room service and a second cocktail on the company. New cities, new experiences and frequent flyer privileges. I was in love with the idea. 

Then, I started traveling. 

Let me break it down for you:

Airports - we all know them, we all hate them. When you are on business travel you hate them even more because you aren't putting up with the lines, handsy TSA agents and bitchy passengers, to get to your island getaway. The entire time you are waiting, ushered through security like cattle and scrutinized for your eye cream being more than 3 ounces. 'Hello TSA, I have to prevent wrinkles and it takes more than 3 ounces to look good.' 

Food - Being a vegan basically means I have to eat ice berg lettuce, baby carrots stashed in my luggage and Perrier for 'that full feeling'. The cities I travel too aren't the big ones, so being a vegan comes with an eye roll and search for my ubiquitous hacky sac. 

Hotels - here it gets fun. Some hotels are fine, they have decent beds, a TV to watch the local news (seriously, why don't hotels have better channels?) and workout rooms. Then there are the dreaded hotels, the ones you have to stay in because all others are booked. Case in point, the picture below. Taken from a hotel I immediately checked out of five minutes after arriving. Don't get me wrong, my employer is great and does attempt to get me in decent hotels, but it isn't always possible. And sometimes you have to step over a couch or two. 

Here are my rules for putting up with the woes that may come with travel. 

• Always wear ear buds (in the airport, on the plane, in line for the rental car and in the gym), never take them off or people will assume you are interested in chatting. And you NEVER are. 
• You might as well cancel the trip if you are in the middle airplane seat. Enough said. 
• Protein bars are your life line, and so is vodka.
• Just be lucky you have a job that requires mobility. You could be stuffing lettuce bags on an assembly line. 

So until the next trip.....

Scared to Death

Yesterday was one of those days, weighted down by uncertainty. I kept trying to remind myself that my life is good, I am fortunate and no matter what - we can't control the outcome. 

Any foster parent knows the heavy chest feeling. The feeling that you kiss your kids goodnight and you aren't sure how many more times you will have that chance. You try not to play out the last moments, the inevitable goodbyes and the tears that will flow. 

I often don't share the ins-and-outs of what is going on, as it is to painful to hear "they can't let that happen." and "I would never put up with that." The real answer, we have no voice. We have no say, it isn't up to us. 

If you are reading this you know I have the perfect daughter. She is everything I have ever wanted; smart, sassy, full of attitude and a killer fashion sense. She is my everything. However, it is unknown how the case will play out. For 16 months I have been her boo-boo kisser, her tickle monster, her big hugs and kisses - I have been her mommy. Each day we hear things that in a normal world would make all the difference in the case, but for some reason it doesn't work out that way. 

So we do all we can do - wait, hold our breath and try not to let the tears well up in the thought of a possible future without. 

Foster care is very lonely. Not many people in your circles are licensed foster parents, and it is so hard to know the ache, frustrations and highs and lows of this area without having lived it. I have met only two lovely ladies who I have become friends with, who we can curse and share our stories with - while others sit, gripping their toddlers hands, thinking "I would die without my child." Yes, we worry the same thing too.

I question my strength everyday. I question whether this is the right journey for me, surely there is something easier. I could just get pregnant, have my own baby and hold him/her so tight no one would ever take them away. But I have never been one to take the easy route - I like to do things that scare me. 

And frankly, I am scared to death.