Chookooloonks

Spawn

You know how sometimes, when you least expect it, someone you generally like brings their five-year-old over to your house? And you know how sometimes that child is actually not that-someone-you-generally-like's child at all, but some sort of spawn of evil? And you know how sometimes you search for the "666" in the child's scalp, because they are systematically TEARING YOUR HOUSE APART, yes, the same house you just spent all of the Easter holiday trying to put together after living without your things for, count 'em, 2-1/2 whole months? And you know how that Little Bad Seed will push and knock your darling little one-year-old around, and consistently try to pick your little sweetheart up, even though the LBS probably only outweighs your darling little one-year-old by about 10 pounds, causing the LBS to inevitably buckle under the weight of your child and fall EVERY SINGLE TIME? And you know how the LBS completely obliterates your child's room, generally by taking toys out of the toybox and throwing them across the room (narrowly missing both you and your child), yes, the same child's room you posted about not 4 days ago, the one you now have to spend an hour cleaning up, because the someone-you-generally-like doesn't believe in scolding, but more the "self-expression" of a child, and besides, she thinks everything her LBS does is "cute"? And you know how you watch all of this with the same mixture of emotions you've watched the hit TV show "The SuperNanny": horror that any child could be this badly behaved, coupled with abject terror that somehow, inadvertently, you might be raising your darling one-year-old to behave EXACTLY THE SAME WAY?

You know how that is sometimes?

No?

Yeah, well, me neither.

Happy Shouter Baptist Day!

What ... you didn't know?

Grandma the Great

As you may recall, a few weeks ago I posted a picture of Granny the Great, my mother's mother. In the interest of fairness, I now present to you Alex with Grandma the Great -- my father's mother:

I apologize for not getting you a full-on picture of the two of them, but Grandma the Great's house is full of cool stuff worthy of exploring, so Alex was especially wiggly that day.

See?

(Note: For those of you who are thinking to yourselves, "Man, call me crazy, but Grandma the Great looks Chinese," don't worry, you're not crazy -- she is Chinese.

We're a veritable United Nations up in this family.)

Homecoming

Okay, my friends, sorry about the delay in posting, but I’m back. You’re probably thinking that since I’m posting now, we must be fully unpacked and moved in. Not quite. Our bedroom is still a steaming mess, but as I told Marcus, I just couldn’t face another box. So, wonderful man that my husband is, he’s unpacking the boxes in the bedroom while I type this post. I’d feel guilty, but then I think about the fact that I was the one who sorted the 200 books and 800 CDs, and then I get over it.

So, anyhoo… several of you have asked that I post pictures of the house once it’s all set up. I’d love to, but I just can’t bring myself to do it – it’s just too narcissistic, you know? I suppose there’s an argument that if I’m self-absorbed enough to post details of my daughter’s every movement on the web, posting pictures of every room of my house is hardly the huge leap into Vanityville that I think it is, but hey, it’s my logic, and I’m sticking to it. That said, to satisfy the one or two of you who actually are interested in the new place, I’ll go ahead and share pictures of two areas of our home: first, the patio (since you guys have seen it in its empty state), and second, the most important room in the house – Alex’s room.

First, the patio. As you may recall, the patio looked like this:

Now, it looks like this:

This is the covered area (which I learned is called a loggia. And don’t think that I won’t be using that obnoxious word every chance I get):

So, no, we don’t leave the chess set arranged like that all day. Are you kidding? If I did, my daughter, Destructor from the Planet Chaos, would toss those pieces over the balcony the first chance she got. The pieces were set up just for the purposes of this shot.

This is the uncovered area (which I learned doesn’t have a fancy name. I’m disappointed about this. If anyone can make up a pretentious-enough name for this part of the porch, your posting it in the comments would earn my undying gratitude):

Sorry about the glare off the table, there. It had rained earlier in the morning, and the sun hit the damp spots just right. Still, the newly-painted adirondacks turned out all right, didn’t they?

And now to Lady Alex’s room. First, before:

And after:

I still have some stuff to put on the walls, but it’s coming along. As you can see, Alex is pleased enough to be moved to goose-step around her crib.

And speaking of Alex, here she is, saying “Irie – Jah is de Only Way,” while modeling her new hat, designed to keep her flowing dreadlocks in check:

In case you're wondering, this new expression is the one she pastes on her face whenever I say, “Smile!!”

Still buried

Hello, my little pommes cytheres. A quick note to let you know:

1) I have not forgotten you. It is just that between customs and the shipping company, the movers didn't actually get here until Thursday, when they dumped, no lie, four hundred and eleven boxes in our house. Needless to say, we're still digging out from under them. It came as a not-altogether unexpected shock to us that it takes some time to organize over 200 books and 800 CDs. We're almost there, though, and I anticipate that by Sunday evening-ish, we shall have what some might consider an actual home. Also

2) I am typing this on Marcus' desktop Mac -- a computer which, thank God and all that is holy, has iPhoto AND Adobe Photoshop installed. For those of you who are not MacAddicts, this means that photos are forthcoming, even as we determine how to get my PowerBook fixed on this little Caribbean isle.

So, see you soon. I miss ya, ya li'l buckaroos!

The Call

About this time, say, 16 months ago, Marcus and I were anxiously awaiting The Call. We'd filled out all of the paperwork at the adoption agency, completed our "marketing collateral" (otherwise known as the birthmother book, detailing our lives and plans for parenthood), met with the social worker for our personal evaluations, had our home inspected by the social worker for our living-arrangement evaluation, met with other adoptive families, met with other birthmothers, and had been generally prepped for the adoption process. All that remained (so we thought) was The Call -- notice from the agency that our birthmother book had been picked by a potential birthmother, and that we were to schedule The Meeting. When The Call finally came, I was filled with excitement, anticipation and exhiliration the likes of which I'd never before experienced.

Until now.

Today, Marcus got The Call -- this time, the call was notice that we could finally come down to the port and clear our belongings through customs. Once we do this tomorrow, the movers will bring everything we own (save for about 6 suitcases' worth) to our home, and we'll be officially moved-in.

Can I tell you how filled with excitement, anticipation and exhiliration I am?

It's not that we haven't been living comfortably in our place -- we have -- it's just so empty. And "empty" generally equates to "boring" -- especially when I'm as fearful as I am about driving, keeping me relatively housebound for a while. And while spending time with Alex is certainly its own reward, you can really only read "Big Z, little z, what begins with Z? A Zizzer-zazzer-zuzz, as you can plainly see!" about a gratillion times before going silently mad.

(Note to self: the next move, pack more than 3 of Alex's books along for the ride. Pack about 80. Forego underwear if you must, but for the love of God, pack tons of books.)

And the echo: do you have any clue how much a 3-bedroom fully-tiled apartment echoes? Do you? It's like the Grand Canyon up in here.

So anyway, by the end of the week, God willing, we should have all our stuff. Which means Alex's books and toys will be here. And our stereo will be here. And hell, our bed will be here.

Which also means, by the way, we'll have Marcus' desktop Mac. With the Adobe Photoshop. Which means I can start posting photos again, and surfing the web, and various other internetesque things.

I'll be back in business, baby.

Reason #534 Why It's Good To Be A Parent

This afternoon, while Alex was sleeping next to me, I was engrossed in my new book.  I used to be a voracious reader, but found that with my previous job, along with the responsibilities that naturally come with a new baby, I'd fallen out of the habit -- a habit which I'm determined to reignite.  As we'd just gotten back from a trip to the mall and Alex was exhausted, I decided to enjoy the moments of silence as she slept by getting lost in the words of my latest purchase.

Suddenly, I became very aware of someone watching me.

I looked over at Alex.  She was awake, and staring at me without expression.

I smiled at her.  "Hey, sleepyhead," I said.

No reaction.

Then, all of a sudden, she reached up and grabbed me around the neck, pulling me close to her.  As my face neared hers, she raised her little head, and put her mouth on my cheek.

"MMMMMWAH!!!" she said.

Then she lay back down, and continued staring, this time with a small smile on her face.

So this must be why people become parents.

RAV-ing lunatic

(Ed. Note: The fact that I'm posting within 24 hours of my last post should in no way be interpreted to be good news about the PowerBook -- it's still D-E-D dead.  I've control-alted, I've function-powered, I've even little-apple-symbol-deleted -- NOTHING.  The only reason you're seeing me post so quickly is because after 24 hours without internet access, as soon as Marcus came through the door I shoved Alex into his arms and snatched his work PC away from him.  I think he's still standing in the doorway, stunned.)

So yesterday, we picked up my brand new (to me, anyway) car -- a 1999 Toyota RAV4.  It is absolutely adorable.  It's got low miles, tinted windows, CD player, auto-control everything -- the works.  You might think that I couldn't wait to get behind the wheel and take Alex for a drive around town.

You'd be wrong.

Ever since we landed, I've been petrified about driving in this country.  It isn't because of the generally bad driving -- I mean, Houston traffic is no picnic -- but because, as far as I'm concerned, everybody here drives cars with the steering wheels on the wrong side of the car, which apparently causes them all to drive on the wrong side of the road.   And since I left Trinidad before I got my driver's license, I learned to drive in America -- you know, the country where they build the cars with the steering wheels on the side which makes sense.   Every day since I've been here, I've been watching the generally bad driving going on all around me, not to mention watching my English husband handle it all with general aplomb, and taking it all in, as Donald Rumsfeld would say, with shock and awe.

"You do realise," I kept saying, "that I'm probably going to end up killing us all, if I ever get behind the wheel of the car.  I just feel I need to be honest and open about this."

"Oh, pip, pip," said he.  "You'll be fine.  You'll see.  Everything will be tickety-boo."

Could he be more English?

So within a few days, Marcus found what was to become my car posted for sale on the Internet, and made an appointment for us to go test drive it.  We arrived at the home of this wonderful woman, and there it was -- the little Toyota, so cute, so eager to be driven.   Marcus looked at me.

"Well, go on, then!"

"What?  You want me to test drive it?  Are you nuts?"

Marcus looked at me patiently.  "Karen.  It's going to be your car.  I think it's best if you see if you like it, don't you?"

I swallowed.  Hard.  And took my place behind the wheel.

I started the car.  Put it in gear.  "Leftleftleftleftleftleftleftleftleft..." I started muttering to myself, as the car rolled forward.

So here's the thing:  staying to the left side of the road isn't the hard part.  You know what the hard part is?  Having ALL THIS CAR to my left.  I've never had that before.  Which means I have abso-freakin'-lutely NO spatial awareness of the car to my left.  Everytime I went around a parked car, or God help me, a pedestrian I swore I was going to injure the car, me, or some total stranger.  As I mentioned to a friend of mine in a recent e-mail, I'm pretty sure that I clipped this one old guy in the neck with the rear-view mirror as I went past.

Anyway, the car drove great, and we did the deal.  However, there was no way I was driving the car all the way from the seller's house to our house, so Marcus went by taxi to pick the car up yesterday evening.

This morning, after Alex and I went on our morning bike ride, I walked outside and stared at the car.  We needed some stuff from the grocery store, and here was this perfectly good car in our driveway. 

It was time.

I loaded Alex up (considered leaving her bike helmet on, but then figured that perhaps that was a tad paranoid), and off we went.

I'm happy to say that we both made it back alive -- Alex was even calm enough to take a nap on the way back.  Okay, true -- I DID take out a curb turning left around one corner, and there was this one point where I sort of came off the paved road onto the dirt shoulder, kicking up a nasty cloud of dust in the face of some poor old woman waiting for a taxi, but as far as I could tell, I didn't kill anyone.  I even ended up overtaking this slow-moving tractor (do you have any idea how brave that was of me?).  So I actually may get the hang of this driving-on-the-left thing yet.

But the 2-mile drive to the grocery store was enough excitement for me for one day.  We're going to dinner tonight, and I think I'll let Marcus do the driving.

THE BOWELS OF HELL

This morning, my beautiful Apple Macintosh PowerBook G4 decided that it would not start.  I pressed the power button, and NOTHING.  So not only am I relegated to dial-up, I DON'T EVEN HAVE A COMPUTER TO USE IT.

As you may imagine, I am distraught.  I'm typing this post on Marcus' work PC, while he tries to get mine to work.  I know he's trying his very, very best, because I AM NOT A NICE PERSON WITHOUT INTERNET ACCESS.

And so, my dear Internet posse, I'm asking you to do something that I have never asked before:  pray, people.  Pray like you've never prayed before.  Perhaps, with your pious words sent to the heavens, the computer gods will look kindly on my laptop, and my PowerBook will be resurrected.  We can only hope.

I'm going to go drink rum now.  That is all.

Scenes from outside our home which, apparently, block her view of Venus

This is Test Number 2 with dial-up, since Test Number 1 was horrifying, and I want to experience it again, much as one jabs at one's recently-broken ankle, just to test if the pain one just felt was really that excruciating. And seeing as I've been disconnected 5 times already since I logged on 13 minutes ago, this run looks promising.

So here are a couple of pictures taken from our bedroom window:

And here's one of Alex in her brand new bicycle helmet, before riding in the child seat on my bike for the first time:

Is it me, or does a certain Warner Bros. martian come to mind?

I'm just sayin'.