Picture this...

With all the merriment of the Christmas season upon us, it has been easy to overlook the fact my darling hubs and I are expecting another member to our family. After all, I'm not pregnant and thus, I am not suffering from weight gain, hormonal mood fluctuations and odd cravings. (Well, I have been jonesing for some smoked oysters, but I am most definitely not pregnant.)

So when my adoption case worker contacted me and informed me she needed to do an informal home visit before the formal home assessment could be done (gotta love bureaucracy!) I was taken back. I panicked. I didn't feel ready to take on the responsibility of a new child. But I am smart enough to realize that a lot of this is due to holiday stress. I miss my son, and it's hard to think of anything but Christmas morning with no Bug to cuddle with. So I agreed to the meeting and set up a time.

Which was this morning. Of course, that meant hastily running around, stuffing things into closets and doing a quick once over with a duster. I just prayed she wouldn't want an inspection of the kids rooms or my laundry room. All three of which look like a tornado blew through them.

She didn't. No, she was more interested in my parenting techniques. How I discipline the kids (where's my wooden spoon), support them in crisis (suck it up, buttercup), provide them with adequate nourishment and stimulation so that they will grow into healthy and productive members of society (Chef Boy R Dee, I love thee). Imagine her surprise when she discovered the Worm, just hanging out.



Kidding. That isn't my nephew. Just some random neighbor's kid whom I duct-taped to the wall. With her ducky.

After her shock of learning this redneck's technique for time-outs, we quickly settled into a groove discussing our grief, our hope and our goals.

The conversation quickly turned to child matching and what type of child Boo and I hope to adopt.

It's hard to put into words. Sometimes it is just easier to show somebody a picture.


He or she should fit right in around here.


***No children were harmed in the makings of this post. As for the kid in the pic, I couldn't tell you.***

Trust Me, I'm A Good Mom. Now Give Me A Baby

When the hubs and I decided to embark upon the adoption journey, we believed we were prepared for any and all roadblocks that stood before us. We thought we were prepared for the obvious and the invisible. We could handle our families lukewarm acceptance tolerance of the idea of bringing home a special child. After all, they grew to love the Shalebug, they will grow to love our new bundle of joy as well. Or I'll kick their asses.

We can pay our respective doctors fifty smackers each to fill out a medical questionnaire (four questions) to tell the government we aren't crazy, dying or addicted to any harmful substances.

We can forward copies of our marriage and birth certificates and have criminal reference checks done. No problem.

I'll even clean the house and pretend I don't let the dog (or the kids) drink out of the toilet when they come for a home inspection.

What we weren't prepared for were the silly ass questions of the self-assessment report. Or how freaking long it would take to finish the f#*&ing thing.

For example, How would you describe yourself?

As a over-worked, under-paid, tattooed and pierced soccer skating club mom, who has a twisted sense of humor and a passion for fried foods. (Some how I don't think this is what they are looking for.)

How would others describe you?

I don't know, when I've asked people to describe me, they've hoofed it to another room in two shakes of a lamb's tail. What does that say?

Do you use any street drugs?

Why yes. I'm cracked out on some whack Meth as I write this. (Seriously, if I used street drugs, would I really be interested in divulging my addiction to a government agency so they could swoop in and take my remaining two kids instead of handing over another?)

What was your education experience like as a student?

Well, beyond being known as the Carpenter's dream (flat as a board and never been nailed), when I wasn't being stuffed into a locker or being pointed at and the object of whispered giggles, I was busy being in the drama club and running for dear life on the track team. Me and my invisible friend really enjoyed standing at the side of the gym watching the cool kids dance and stick their tongues down each other's throat. But that was okay, because as I aged, I realized I was too cool for the cool kids and shunned them all, reveling in my status as a geeky loner. Yes, I showed them all.

What is your current employment and do you enjoy your job?

Indentured servitude to an unappreciative flock while being a full-time, unpaid babysitter for my seven month old nephew. And why yes, I love cleaning up pee, folding unending piles of laundry, wiping shitty bums of babies who don't belong to me, and serving lovingly cooked, balanced meals to children who shrivel up their noses and ask if they can have ketchup with it. I live for this job, why else would I be asking for you to give me yet another one?

How were you raised and disciplined as a child?

I was set loose in the wilderness to forage for nuts and berries. When I filled my bucket I followed my bread crumb trail back to my home to share with my siblings. When I didn't fill my bucket to the top, my father would march me outside, make me pick a willow switch, watch while he carved it and then suffer the indignity of having him use it on my backside.

All in all, it was a lovely childhood, thanks for asking.

What qualities do you most appreciate about your partner?

Well, I love how handsome he is, but mostly I love the fact that he leaves me for long periods of time to do as I please while he busts his ass to provide me with money to spend freely upon myself. And he never complains when I spend it on more shoes, or to put yet another hole in my body.


How do you resolve stress in your relationship?

I yell, nag and curse. If that doesn't work, I withhold sex. Works pretty well.

Describe, in detail, the kind of child your family would like to adopt.

One that never talks back, remains cute as a button, never needs to be fed and can change his/her own ass. If that's not available, I'll simply take the most messed up kid you've got; the one no one else wants.

What are your reasons for wanting to adopt?

Well, quite frankly, the idea of growing fat, becoming nauseous, constantly needing to pee and then subsequently squeezing a watermelon-sized infant out of my va-jay-jay just doesn't hold the appeal it once did. That and I'm looking for someone to take the place of my now deceased son, so that the work production in my child labor-run factory is increased. Isn't that everyone's reason?

So you see, dear internet, the real problem here. I have a smart mouth and an obvious desire to use it. So as I'm writing my answers in our little booklet, my husband is madly erasing and trying to politely re-write what I've wrote.

This is going to be a long process. And I'm going to have to buy a bigger eraser for my husband.

Crossroads and Choices

Before our Shalebug flew the coop and grew his angel wings, he was becoming quite the little character. He could hobble about on flat surfaces, he could crawl quick as you could blink an eye and he was an expert at giving high fives. After years of watching him be nothing more than an eating and pooping baby machine, it was thrilling to watch him finally "get" things. As Boo said, it was like watching someone turn on a light switch.

That is not to say he was learning how to tie his own shoelaces or suddenly knew his ABC's. Cripes, he still hadn't uttered a word in his almost five years and I was fairly sure he never would. He couldn't put the pieces of a baby puzzle in the holes and I shudder to think of how hard it would have been to hold a pencil. All that aside, he was learning, in leaps and bounds.

And it was fun to watch. Just like it was when Fric and Frac learned how to walk and talk. Or finally master toilet training. (All though, we still haven't managed to not pee all over the freaking toilet. And it has been nine years, dear internet. That's a lot of pee to be wiping up.)

Somehow, with the Shalebug, the rewards were all the more sweeter. I think it was because I had been around this block before. I was older and wiser and more aware. And I saw my boy struggle to accomplish the very same things his siblings mastered with nary a thought. t was a hard fought battle, and victory was often denied to my boy. But when he mastered something, the world was an amazing, brighter place. For all of us.

We miss that. Not just me, but his father, and his brother and sister. We miss the joy we felt when he accomplished a small task. We miss him.

Part of the reason I took the summer off blogging was to find me. Suddenly, at 30, I found myself at a crossroads, with no visible path. All of a sudden the world was my oyster, no longer confined by the constraints of having a handicapped child. Suddenly, I was free to leave the kids, and just hire the 15 year old neighbor to babysit. I didn't have to worry about car seats and wheelchairs and feeding tubes. Medication schedules or teacher aides.

I could get a job without worrying about finding a daycare to suit my child. I could go back to school. I could do anything - except take care of my Shalebug. Which is the one thing I want most in the world.

It didn't bother me that one day I would have to let him go, perhaps put him in an adult facility. I couldn't predict the future, and I refused to imagine the worst case scenario. I refused to bind him by my imagination. Nor was I living behind rose colored glasses. I fully accepted that I would be chained to a grown up child for the rest of my days, as would his siblings.

But none of this mattered, because of the love we all felt for Bug. It was, and still is, staggering.

Leaving me at this crossroad, scratching my head, and wondering what the hell am I going to do with my life?

So, here in my piece of paradise, I have watched Fric and Frac grow and develop. Laugh, cry and argue. I have sat and spent hours researching jobs, careers, educational paths. I have been offered a reporting position at the local television news station. My career as a professional gardener has flourished into what could be a very lucrative career if I choose. The school where Bug went to has offered me an aide position.

I have options. I have the finances to pursue those options. I have more choices than I could shake a stick at. And the only thing that interests me is being a mommy.

But getting preggers again is an option that can't be placed back on the table. Which leaves adoption.

Many hours of soul searching and nose sniffling have been devoted to the idea. Could we do it? Is it fair to Fric and Frac? Would the rest of the family accept a child that didn't have albino white hair and sky blue eyes? It was a hard battle for Boo and I, to have the extended family accept Bug. Could we ask them to do it again, with a child that had none of their blood running through their veins?

Did we want to?

The answer is simply, yes.

So we have started the adoption proceedings. And our application is being fast tracked because we have applied for a special needs child. None of those healthy kids for us. No sirree. We only want the broken ones, Ma'am.

So I, the Redneck Mommy, who am not a redneck at all, am expecting my fourth child. I'm scared terrified of what the future holds for us. But I haven't been this exhilarated in, well, ever.

We have faced our critics, and been embraced by our supporters. Sad to say, the numbers are even on both sides.

No, we are not trying to replace our dead son. Yes, I'm sure I want another handicapped child.

Why? Why not? I counter. Because the love Bug gave us, and the skills he taught us was a gift I want to be able to share with the world. The strength we gained as a family unit has cemented our bonds of love. It has made us all into better people. He shaped his siblings into very special kids. I don't want to spend the rest of my life just remembering those skills.

I want to use them. As a tribute to my boy, who was the strongest person I knew. He taught us to how to love.

Thank you, Skjel. Mommy loves you.