A Cause Worth Considering

I don't normally preach about social issues. This won't take long, and if you don't care to hear about the problems of others in the world and how you can help, fine. Skip to the next post. Given my track record, the next post might be in 8 years, but do what suits you, eh?

As you're getting ready for whatever holiday you celebrate or don't celebrate this winter, I'm asking you to consider, for a moment, what you have in the way of family, friends, enough food to eat, someone to share your laughter and tears with, enough money to pay the basic bills, etc. Most of us have enough. Maybe not a lot, but enough. Now consider the thousands of children in the U.S. alone who are in foster care, parental rights already terminated, who may have a roof over their heads now, but no permanent family to love them or give them a future. Yes, foster families take care of the basic needs temporarily, but when no permanent family is found, these children are moved from home to home, never sure who will tuck them in at night or who will be the reassuring voice on the other end of the phone when they're old enough to strike out on their own.

A lot of people think they don't have what it takes to adopt. I say there are more people who could. Sure, these kids come with baggage. Don't we all? They need love. They need a permanent bond. I'm the first to admit that I don't have all the money in the world. I do, however, have enough love to share, a stable home, enough room at my table to set an extra place, enough space for one more bed. I can make a few sacrifices if it means that a child won't grow up wondering why they don't have a mom or dad or both like everyone else.

Financial concerns about adoption put off a lot of people, too. Yes, domestic adoption of infants is expensive. Yes, it's pricey to travel to China or Russia or Guatemala to adopt a baby. Do you know what it costs to adopt a waiting child from your state's child welfare agency? In mine, the only cost is the attorney fee to finalize the adoption, and grant money is available to cover that expense if you apply. Wow.

I don't want you to think that I take this adoption thing lightly. It's not for everyone. You need to be ready to handle emotional issues, and you have to have the means to provide the basics - food, clothing, shelter. And you need time to bond with a child. It won't be sunshine and roses, but no one ever promised that parenting would be, right?

All I'm saying is think about it. Really think about it. Look into it. While we're wrapping gifts and making holiday plans to hang with friends and eat pie with family, there are thousands of little voices (and some not-so-little voices) wishing that they just had a family of their own to love them this Christmas. They really aren't asking for that much. They don't care if you're wealthy. They don't care if you're single or married. They don't care if you're young or old. If you've got some love and patience to spare, you could be just what some child is hoping for this year.

Whew! Finally.

I'm terribly sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. Hey! Wake up! I know you want to know about this fabulous news of my incredibly interesting life. I often wondered if I'd *ever* get to say this, but we moved into our new house. About a month ago, actually. I'm sitting here in my nice, warm living room, gazing lovingly at my Christmas tree with pretty, pretty lights on it. For the last 3 Christmases, we didn't have room for the big tree, you know. Things are going pretty smoothly now, and we should close on our construction loan soon. I've been cooking up all kinds of wonderful things in my spacious kitchen and taking luxurious baths in my new, giant jetted tub. Ahhhh. Home sweet home. I would take a picture to share, as I promised Robin, but all six of my nieces and nephews were here for the last two days, so there's a toy explosion happening all over the house, and my nephew let the dog in this afternoon just as the snow was good and melty so there are hound-sized muddy footprints all over my beautiful, cream-colored carpets. Then, my niece let a cat in for good measure, so there are kitty-prints winding around the doggy variety. My living room looks like some kind of inter-species animal dance studio. Maybe I should take a pic of that, because after all of my work to keep these carpets clean, it's really sort of funny that it all came down to one afternoon with the little ones.

Christmas is coming, and I'm seriously the best wife in all the world because I bought my husband a pool table for our soon-to-be-finished basement rec room. Last year I got him a snazzy electronic dartboard, so the rec room should be fairly entertaining when it's done. Yay! Since many of our early dates were spent playing pool in smoky dive bars near campus, I'm looking forward to challenging my sweetie to a game and remembering the wanton days of our youth. Ha! How old do I sound now? Let me take out my dentures and play some pool, Grandpa. I'm 28. Sheesh.

My daughter wants a horse for Christmas. Specifically, she wants a "water-poofing horse." We don't know what that means, and she can't tell us. Not that she's getting a live horse of any variety this holiday season, but I'd sure like to know what "water-poofing" is and how it relates to the equine world.

I've lost 40 pounds now, and I'm inching my way closer to what I weighed when I got married. My holiday treat for myself? Wardrobe additions, of course. I have a closet the size of Rhode Island now. It must be filled. I recently bought a very foxy pair of black leather boots - mid-calf high with skinny heels. I love these boots. Other women admire them but ask how I can walk in them. Clearly they don't understand that sometimes, for the sake of looking and feeling really sexy, a little foot pain is a small sacrifice. I'm thinking that I need to revisit my stance on footwear. Previously, I decided that I would curb my shoe shopping because A) I don't really go anywhere exciting anymore, and B) No one here cares if my shoes are Manolo Blahnik or Walmart Special. I'm admitting it now, though. I love shoes. I see a shopping trip in my future, and I think pretty soon the people of my small hamlet will be exposed to loftier foot fashion once again.

It's OK! I'm Still Alive!

Yeah, I know you were worried in my absense. You checked my blog every day, didn't you? And if you didn't, shame on you, because I could have been in serious trouble. And who would have rescued me all the way out here in the wilderness? Not you if you weren't checking in here to see if I was gone. I'm disappointed.

So, I'm a little ashamed that I've neglected my blog. I'm not sure I can recap the last 5 months or so in any form that you'd want to read, so I'll hit the highlights, or lowlights as they may be called.

1. No, we still haven't moved into the house of hugenormous proportions. OK, it's not that big, but it is five and a half times bigger than the shack of impossibly small proportions where we currently reside. And I used a calculator for that computation, in case you know me well enough to giggle when I've committed math. Anyway, after waiting 3 months for the basement to be poured, and waiting for the buckets of rain to dry, and waiting for the house to be liveable, we are now waiting for the utilities dude to hook up the water/sewer/gas connections. The electricity works, so Maya is no longer flipping light switches in vain. To be more specific, we are waiting now for out water heater to be installed. Apparently, there is something so miraculous about a water heater that it holds up the entire rest of the utilities system. The toilets can't even be installed. You may be wondering, as I am, what the toilets have to do with the hot water tank. No answer on that just yet, but suffice it to say that after 7 week (yes! Seven!) of waiting on this stupid pipes/waterheater/toilets/faucets nonsense to be resolved, I'm fully ready to become known as the county bitch, because I don't think people should have to suffer poor customer service just because it's a small town. Oh, I was going to give you the brief version, wasn't I?

2. I had a birthday recently. It was kind of a crappy day. No one really remembered except my mom. I even got an email from a friend on my birthday, asking me to participate in a big birthday surprise for another friend, whose birthday is upcoming. OK, that actually did make me laugh a little, because I'm nothing if not a giggler at irony. That is irony, right? I get confused after Alanis Morrisette's whole irony misuse thing. I didn't have a black fly in my chardonnay, so I guess I'm good there.

3. I've lost 30 pounds or so since May. I think I've mostly seethed it off, really. All of this pent-up rage over the house situation must have some positive metabolic effects. See, while I'm calling the utility contractor a lying manwhore sonofabitch in my head, I'm burning calories! Whee! If you see me on the street and I look like I'm concentrating really hard, don't disturb me. It's like my own personal Gold's Gym of snarkiness and hatery. Regardless of whether it's the anger or the countless hours I've devoted to my elliptical machine and the impossible bendiness of Winsor pilates, I'm lookin' pretty damn good these days. And these? Are pre-pregnancy jeans. Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about.

4. Coffee. www.intelligentsiacoffee.com. Buy yourself some Black Cat NOW! My day is no longer complete without a ginormous mug of Black Cat. BobQ is a coffee god.

Delicious Catty Goodness

OK, I'll admit it. Though I often hide behind a shy and proper alter ego, the true HC is one catty bitch. This won't come as a surprise to those who know me best, of course. My earliest meow moments were shared with my best friend J. We've known each other since 9th grade, and when it comes to the fashion faux pas of our high school and college classmates, we have looooong memories. To the boy named Kelly who wore the Z. Cav balloon pants well into the mid-1990s, I want you to know that you've provided many hours of giggles, and for that , I want to extend a hearty thanks to you and your fabulously huge pants.

Naturally, we show little mercy towards one another, either. Mostly we laugh about it, but I think J may still harbor a touch of resentment for the time I told her that her new brown lipstick was perfect if she wanted to look like she just kissed a turd. And truthfully, it stings a bit that she still brings up the Perm Disaster of 1998 and asks if I still run from the perm smell near the mall salons. Yes. Yes, I do run. And my perfectly straight hair looks gorgeous fanning out behind me as I seek solace in Nine West.

These days, I have to fulfill my snark cravings online or by phone, as my mostly Amish neighbors don't seem to share my love for all things bitchy. Or maybe they do and they're cracking on my Old Navy yoga pants in German. I hope not, because where could I go with that? Return fire with a dig about the apron being so last season? Besides, which is the bigger sin - yoga pants or bloomers?

One of my favorite ways to get a catty chat fix is checking in with one of the many celeb-mocking blogs. I have a soft spot in my cold, cold heart for Snarkywood, because I've known contributor Martha through Delphi forums for a few years now. Not only is she wicked funny, she's teamed up with two others who share the love of verbal celebrity smackdowns, and the result is extraordinary. If I could snark with these women all day, I think I'd die happy. If you're ever in need of a little pick-me-up, I highly recommend the Snarkywood piece on Donatella Versace, in the March 05 archive. If you can look at Donatella's smooshy collagen lips, incredibly tight and not at all flattering wardrobe and bleary but happy heroin eyes without laughing, there is no help to be had for you.

Back, and Badder Than Ever

OK, don't know about that last part, but I am back. You may remember me. The one who hasn't blogged in about 107 years? Yeah, that's me. Time flies when you ignore your blog, apparently.

I'd like to start off with a plea to the powers of the universe. Please stop the rain. Just for now. The crops have plenty for the moment, and dry weather would be good 'cause mama needs a new basement. The rain may fall again in August after the irrigation lake is pumped down and my husband is freaking about losing 900 acres of soybeans (and after the new basement is cured!). Thanks.

I was talking with some friends today about what life would be like if you were a phone sex operator. I'm told I have the voice for it, but alas, I'm a prude. Couldn't do it. Probably would laugh and ruin the moment. I guess some guys find laughter sexy, in which case I'm like Bridgitte Bardot times a hundred, but I digress.... If you were a phone sex operator, it would probably be really hard to find people that you could talk to about your work. And you know that phone sex operators have some seriously funny, and nasty, stories to tell about work. How could you keep silent? On the flip side, though, picture Thanksgiving dinner, the family gathered round the table, your cousin Tom telling hilarious stories about his shenanigans in the accounting office. You decide to share a work story of your own. "So, the other day at work, I was talking to this guy, and I said 'Oooh, yeah, baby. I like that. Spank me again, you bad boy.' And then the guy yells 'chocolate pie!' And I was all, like, what?"

Also, would it be hard to remember to answer the phone normally when you weren't working? You know how if you work at a place where you have to answer the phone with the business name, after a while it's hard not to do that at home, too? What if you're on the city bus and your cell phone rings, and you answer, "Hi, this is Cindy, I'm hot, horny and totally na-ked." Your dad, on the other end of the line, would be totally freaking out.