Jumping in the Big Woo...Adopting from Ethiopia

Son of the Magical Xmas Grumpus

2009-12-20T18:46:00.000-08:00

Hello Woo Land,

Seasons greetings to you sporadic visitors of the land of Woo. Apologies for the absence, but I've been a wreck since the return from Ethiopia (which was an awesome wonderful trip by the way). Basic recap of symptoms: a serious bout of jet laggardness, potential viral poisoning by Dutch flight attendants, and an unabated rejection by an infuriated Mr. M for my 10 day absence in his life. Or that's how it felt to this guilt ridden mother figure. To compensate, I paid him off in crisp $20 dollar bills (left over Canadian from the Toronto trip), along with Martha Graham inspired guilt-dances accompanied by passive aggressive monologues about my so-called "importance" in his life. With colored scarves, no less.

He should be fine now.

This weekend was Mr. M's second Santa visit. And oh my goodness, the joy in his eyes. He seemed so enthralled with the magic of Xmas. Here's the evidence.

I swear, this is a happy child, all giggles and smiles before and after these shots. But seriously, he knows this "natural beard" Santa is a fraud. I applaud Mr. M for his well poised intuition and rejection of convention.

Here's what really made his boat float one hour later...

The train display at the Hitchcock building. That's what the holidays are all about. Public transportation.

Last Day for NoPloMowhatever...

2009-11-30T12:36:00.001-08:00

30th day! And wouldn't you know, I can't get directly into blogger. Will keep trying. Trying the email route to see if it works. If not, what a friggin bummer. Anyway, Addis update - Katherine and i were on Ethiopian TV today! The local news covered the conference, and us with chins in hand looking interested. Got to find the footage.

Misho, Mommy is an Addis superstar.

Shelby

Rear Window Redux

2009-11-29T13:32:00.000-08:00

Mama is on the new flower. Dada and Misho are recreating classic movies. Next week, Daisy as Harvey.

Honey Wine and Oromo Beats

2009-11-29T13:03:00.000-08:00

Full day one in ET has gone splendidly. Took a road south and wandered around some crater lakes. No vultures, but encountered big ass pelicans, fish, skinny cats, and a gaggle of Ethiopian air force dudes. We had a wonderful dinner with Ethiopian dance show. Lot's of seemingly painful shoulder poppin. I joined in this venture at an embarrassing tableside dance post honey wine.

Video to come.

I'm in!

2009-11-28T13:16:00.000-08:00

Ethiopia has let me in! Blogger is available and I can do some updating. It's just a bit before midnight here so I've made the deadline. Two more days to go!

We are here in Addis. KLM was groovy and Dutch. I sat next to the cast of Trainspotting. I think they made a 6am Amsterdam club decision to hop on a flight to "somewhere in Africa!" At least that's what I heard. And smelled.

More tomorrow. I've been traveling for over 20 hours and just accidently bit my finger. That's a sign to go to bed.

Love you Mr. M and Big D!

Shelby

Off to New Flower

2009-11-27T11:12:00.000-08:00

30 days is coming to a close but I have to leave the grid for a quick trip to Addis. Will try and update as I go. Big D has committed to helping me reach the 30 day 30 blog entry mark, but I can completely understand if it doesn't happen. Expect some photos - probably embarrassing ones of me.

I've set up the email blog entry function, but you never know what will make it through the big net.

My friend Katherine (from the best baby shower ever) and I have some exciting work and meetings next week. Should be a hoot. First things first, we taking a day trip on Sunday to the Oromo region to vulture watch. Yes. We chose this trip.

Anywho, happy thanksgiving again to all! I'm in denial about leaving Misho but I have plenty of photos to share with the people who first took care of him.

Here's a blast from last Thanksgiving.

Gobble and Cluck

2009-11-26T18:42:00.001-08:00

A lovely holiday meal. Cooked by others, delivered to the door, already displayed and ready to go. Fantastic idea! Never going back. Not sure what this means since I've never cooked a Thanksgiving dish in my life, but it was so less stressful not having to watch others cook.

Ethiopia tomorrow. Holy crap. Packing, preparing, and in a general tiz. Not much left in the old noodle to write so here are some photos of little man in the suitcase. Looks like someone wants to come along...

Ethiopia

2009-11-25T20:51:00.000-08:00

Can't wait to hear this up close again.

If I had to marry a muppet...

2009-11-24T19:40:00.000-08:00

...who would it be? I'm torn. Here are the first round of options:

1. Elmo

Clearly the most popular boy in the bunch, the most impressive on my arm on the red carpet kind of fella. But the voice could start to grate and he is a bit simple. He's probably self centered in bed to boot.

2. Telly

OR is it...

As mentioned last week, the sexiest of all muppets. But he tends to be a bit neurotic, and two neurotics in one couple never works. That's why in reality land I married the most laid back man in the universe.

3. Grover

The daredevil, a "keep you on your toes" kind of blue thang. But too many extreme sports and risk taking ventures for my taste. I wouldn't know if he'd make it home at the end of the day.

4. Big Bird

A tall drink of water to match this tall drink of water (for those not in the know, I'm frickin tall). He can read, and that's a plus. He's sensitive, but he's dialing it in lately. Rumor has it he's a bit of a toker, and I just don't need that at my age.

5. Murray

This one might fit the bill, but he has a thing for sheep, which again, at my age might be too much work.

I'm not even going to entertain the "me, Burt and Ernie" triad. Children frequent this blog.

Anywho readers, advice or thoughts?

P.S. Notice I didn't mention Cookie Monster? There's a history. I can't talk about it.

In Homage to Comfort Food

2009-11-23T19:10:00.000-08:00

Because sometimes, that's all there is.

At Least They're Not in His Nose...

2009-11-22T17:20:00.000-08:00

...yet.

So here we are, building a relationship with real live vegetables; frozen peas. It's more like casually dating, cause little man is not giving the milk away for free.

The "bowl as hat" was the brain child of Mr. M, offering him the freedom to be him and the option to eat the peas on his own terms.

Big D is in charge of the technical components of this campaign. I cheerlead and dance around the high chair for moral support.

Most of the peas ended up on the floor, much to the chagrin of the dogs. A couple hit the target.

Tomorrow: there may be corn.

Dance Casualty

2009-11-21T18:22:00.001-08:00

Dance over 40 is not for the weak of heart. Or for those over 40. Or for those who just turned 40. Anyone?

Flamenco'ed today at the Museum of Science and Industry. Not sure if we were the science or the industry. But do know that my feet have swollen to twice their size. Class/rehearsal in the morning, and the show in the afternoon. Wouldn't have phased my 25 year old self, or even my 35 year old kicker, but now we're on a whole new middle aged playing field. The huge plate of ravioli, martini and basket of bread following the performance didn't help.

I can barely form a sentence. Blog entry will focus on the evidence. Notice how one foot is trying to soothe the other...tender, really. It feels worse than it looks, or I'm just a big princess.

I'm not too tired, however, to realize that I fully opened the oven door on that one.

Hello Day 20

2009-11-20T19:11:00.001-08:00

I'm not going to force it. Here's what I was thinking about today...

1 Week to Ethiopia

2009-11-19T18:52:00.000-08:00

I'm headed to Ethiopia next Friday. My inlaws are not buying the stated business purpose of the trip. Yes, I really am attending a conference, not picking up an additional grandchild.

"Right," they wink slyly, "sure it's a conference. We'll pick you up at the airport with a carseat. Just in case. Have fun at your 'conference', wink wink."

So no. Really. It's not a trip for adoption #2 but I am hugely looking forward to it. There is, of course, this little big problem of being away from Misho for 9 days. No worries. I have multiple strategies in development for keeping Misho in my camp. I've been speaking with the folks at Hasbro about some Mama action figures. With kung-fu grip no less. Or maybe big life size photos of Mama to hang over his crib like a big Mama mobile. And then to cap it off, a sizeable donation to Misho's therapy jar!

I'll have more tidbits of the methods for keeping Mama on Misho's mind in the days ahead. Have to spread out the blog content - only 11 more days to reach the finish line for the NoBlowhatever it is.

The conference is called Children's Rights at a Crossroads, sponsored by UNICEF and a host of others. The purpose is to develop recommendations for future policies, programming, and outreach to vulnerable children and youth in Sub-Saharan Africa. Supposedly, and fingers crossed, there will be direct participation of children and youth in the conference and the final product. The way it should be.

Here are some some of the folks we'll be talking about:

Sexiest Man Alive

2009-11-18T18:04:00.001-08:00

It's that time of year again, and as usual, I've been thinking: who is the sexiest man alive?

Okay, J. Depp. I get it. I'm with it. You're pretty, you have hats, you live in France. But I think there is a segment of sexiness not acknowledged or frankly understood by People magazine.

I'm at a different, more coherent place in my life now. Sexy means something different. Or maybe not. Maybe this is what I've always wanted. What was always missing from my life. Maybe now, I know the truth.

Telly Monster, in my libro, you are the sexiest man alive.

Congratulations.

Total Eclipse

2009-11-17T18:14:00.000-08:00

Today took my brain away. Alot of multiple multitasking. Multiple work schtuff. Multiple preparations for Ethiopia trip next week. A board meeting where I skillfully muted the background sounds of joy from Mr. M - mouth to butt.

I need a lite blog entry. Someone needs to do the heavy work today...someone like:

Kiki.

Handsome Boy Mondays

2009-11-16T18:11:00.000-08:00

I've named it - the next boy band.

And I'm calling it: Misho is Justin (the dude they've selected for the solo career once the boys break up).

The First Read

2009-11-15T18:35:00.000-08:00

Finally home and safe from Canadian angst. Spent most of the day re-meshing and kissing up on Mr. M. Got some new books and DVDs. The Xmas faves are out already, so the household is now studying the dance moves of Sir Heat and Cold Miser.

Little guy also enjoyed his first read of Where the Wild Things Are. Seemed quite smitten. You could smell the soup and sandwich coming off the last page.

Momma just returned from a similar location, where she was wildly rumped and sent to bed without supper.

Viva la resistance, Max!

Rotary Whacked

2009-11-14T18:29:00.000-08:00

Wow, angry Rotarians are a lethal force. Presentation (to those of you that know what I'm talking about) went great. But the dinner was nasty. Canadian nasty, so not really nasty. Not Texas nasty, which is a whole other ball of nasty wax. And mind you, it was actually an American in the group that really led the nasty charge. They were pissed off at the Foundation, I was wearing the Foundation mask, so became the obvious target. I think I involuntarily put my head down on the dinner table at one point. I don't hide disgust very well - though I did take it for the team. Felt like I worked for the IRS. What can you do? Put on the armor and plan for the future.

For those of you who don't know what I do or talking about, here it is in a nutshell: I'm the economic and community development specialist for The Rotary Foundation - yeah that Rotary, Rotary clubs, polio Rotary, your father's Rotary. The Rotary Foundation is trying to revamp its grant structure and fund larger more sustainable projects in specific areas of focus, one of those is economic and community development. Microfinance was the theme of this conference. I talked about how the Foundation will fund microfinance and other economic activities in our new grant structure. Some loved it, some thought it sucked. I ducked when the latter group took aim and barfed out their grief on me. At some point, someone put a glass of wine in front of me, I don't know who, but clearly a kind Canadian comrade. Now I'm back at the hotel, and I think safe. I may need armed escort to leave the country. Who knew I could cause such scandel in such a seemingly kindhearted place. It's like I pissed off Hello Kitty.

Here is my Canadian-played evil avatar for the night. "And strategic partners will cost.......$1 million dollars...wahhha.wwaaahwhaaaaaaa....(evil laughter continues on). This is clearly an inside joke for my Rotary comrades.

And Abby, if you're out there, I received the "back rub." Ewww.

Canada...it's like another country

2009-11-13T18:41:00.000-08:00

Hello American Comrades! Woo has crossed the border, invaded the hordes of the north, landed in the land of flannel - and whatever other stereotype one could drop in this sentence. That's right, I am in the friendly confines of Toronto. Here to present at a conference and investigate these peoples I've heard so much about and whose couch I threatened to sleep on at various points during the 8 years of the Bush administration.

Now here's the problem. I have alot to say about Canada. It fascinates me. Canadians fascinate me. The accent, so like our own yet not, distracts the bejesus out of me. I have to sit on a panel and entertain questions about microfinance, with all the "aboots", and "oots", and the other stuff. I'm at the hotel tapas bar and the "aboots" are flying through the air. I don't even know what's politically correct to make fun of or talk about. I feel like I should have been given a manual on what to say and not say in the presence of our more civil north american brethren.

They look like us. You could almost swear you were in Chicago. But, instead of the lighthearted fear of random crime, there's this heavy feeling of niceness, civility, and safety looming over the city. It's actually downright threatening in an innocuous kind of way. I feel like I could possibly even relax. Walk naked down Bloor Street and not be given a howdy-do. One more martini, and we'll see.

I've traveled to Syria, Angola, East Timor and Ethiopia, yet I am befuddled by the slightly different, but not really, culture of Canada.

Aww. They just brought me mayonnaise with my frites. Would they freak if I asked for ketchup? Where's my American to Canadian manual!!!???

Until tomorrow, I'm going to bed to the sweet soothing sounds of Canadian cable.

Below, some of my favorite Canadian men.

Squeezed Dry and Stomped Out

2009-11-12T19:15:00.000-08:00

It's day 11 and things in the brain have screeched to a crawl. I just did one hour of yoga, followed by more than an hour of flamenco. The feet are throbbing. Not much left of the old gal. A trip to Toronto is on the docket this weekend, so perhaps the land of Kids in the Hall will shake free some musings.

So, as invaluable filler until the return of my brain, for those of you that are not acquainted with the beauty, the eff-you, and attitude of flamenco, here's a small, good looking tidbit. Obviously not me. She's about a third of my size, horizontally and vertically.

Flamenco is a gorgeous dance form. It speaks to my inner diva, my personal Gaga, my drag sensibility. It's satisfies my hidden drama puss. Well, not that hidden.
Enjoy.

Oh Ed Earl...

2009-11-11T18:15:00.000-08:00

Some business first. Many squishies and love to Big D for hacking into the Big Woo and responding to my request for response to his preferential treatment from Little M.

Love. Warm. Heart.

Secondly, thanks to those on Facebook and other whereabouts who responded to my call for feeding advice. Tender and wise you all are. I've written down a list and am trying it all out. Description of results to come. I particularly like the ice tray suggestion. And those sickos who suggested an IV. Or maybe, that was just me.

But now...I've got nothing. I'm stuck between a place of wanting to write about real day to day stuff, and not wanting to become a one note wonder. Hmm. It's like high school journaling all over again.

Life in the Woo is solid. Let's just leave it at that. Day 11...you're killing me.

Here's something fun. Burt Reynolds AND Dolly Parton.

She gets him. She leaves the whorehouse and goes to the legislature.

Shelby

Mamaaaaaaaaaaa...ooooohoohooohooooh

2009-11-10T18:28:00.000-08:00

Let's see. Day 10. Hmmm. When Misho calls for me across a crowded room, he emits a very familiar tune, especially if I don't hear him the first time around. He repeats. The crescendo builds.

It's day 10 people. Time for Queen.

I would like to believe I'm mothering the reincarnation of F. Mercury.

Fingers crossed.

Eat. Please eat. A Big Woo cry for help.

2009-11-09T18:16:00.000-08:00

It's official from "The Board of Toddler Eating Habits." Misho is the world's pickiest eater. For years, I thought I owned the toddler title. He doesn't like bread. Bread? Who doesn't like bread? I'm about to lose my mind. Mac and cheese? No can do. Are you serious? Most children would bathe in mac and cheese if they could. Tonight, I threatened to duct-tape him to the high chair until he at least licked a chicken nugget. A simple meat in nugget form. He likes NOTHING in nugget form. Who can't get on board with a nugget? Was this child sent from PETA as a propaganda tool?

We've tried all the methods: feed him what he wants at all times, plan to introduce new things at least 1000 times before he likes it (myth), don't force it on him or appear in anyway coercive or he'll never eat again, buy the most expensive thing from Whole Foods because then he's sure to like it, sit back and let your child starve.

I know. I sound like a rookie mom. And I am. But this is above and beyond. I've fed, cared for, and dealt with kids, toddler to teen for most of my life. I'm not quite sure where to go on this one. I pulled out the "you're killing your mother" chant for the first time. Well, the first time in a serious, involuntary manner.

Oh and by the way, his likes: pistachios and capers. The pistachio and caper jar was empty tonight.

Remember this face from blog entry past?

This is what I look at every night at dinner. Help me.

Re: Nov. 7, 2009 Post,Sub-Point #5

2009-11-08T20:12:00.000-08:00

Mama,

Do not be deceived. I am of little consequence. Not a serious contender. The boy isn't blind. He knows I am just a larger, even more reckless version of himself. An over-sized peer. This is fun and good to have around, especially for getting away with stuff, or getting candy after 7 p.m., or teasing the dogs for a laugh, or learning that not every bump is a disaster, because that big bald guy never seems to notice when I fall down unless there is blood. But he knows, as every boy knows, what side of the parental unit really butters the toast. He knows who is the fearsome (meant in that kind of she-cat "what what what?1" way) don't touch my baby unless you're giving out magic dust guarantor of his remaining and ever-becoming one of the good ones. That's all you mama. And thank goodness, 'cuz I couldn't handle the pressure. So don't fret, you're a boy's mama and he's a mama's boy. That's the way it's always been, for as long as there's been boys and mamas. Now, I'm off to steal some more of the boy's Halloween candy, because I can.

xoxo,

Dada

Let's just say your child eats a rock. Maybe two.

2009-11-08T14:52:00.001-08:00

A small rock. Not even a rock, a pebble at best. What happens?

Let's just say that a very attentive (fictional) mother did her best to retrieve the aforementioned group of (two at most) rocks from the gullet of a very beautiful (fictional) child but came up empty. Is that a problem? An emergency room visit? Or a "wait to see what happens later" kind of situation?

As a former mental health gal, I wouldn't slap this hypothetical situation with a diagnosis of pica: it hasn't happened more than once in a month and no pattern of eating nonfood material has been expressed. Additionally, in this hypothetical scenario, there has been no obvious discomfort or avoidance of regular food. In fact, a perfectly normal hypothetical bowel experience occured quite recently. Hypothetically, I think this child will survive.

Hmm. Just a passing Sunday scenario that wafted through my brain. Thought I would share.

Plus, this hypothetical child has bigger fish to fry: staring down some street performing weirdo in a cheetah suit.

Meow.

Message from the "Land of No"

2009-11-07T17:32:00.001-08:00

An Open Letter to Mishamo

Dear Misho,

Okay buddy. We need to talk. You’re losing it and so am I. Tensions are high, misunderstandings amuck. I'm not the good guy anymore. I swear you flipped me off last night as I lovingly lowered you into your crib. My imagination? Or is toddler digital dexterity that advanced? Whatever. Message received.

Here’s the deal - The "House of Mama" was built in the "Land of No." For you my dear friend, I can't be the fun child care worker, the goofy therapist, the kooky aunt. I’m your mother. I throw down the law and have to somehow make it stick. I have a job, and you’re it. Sorry to say, there’s not much flexibility in my job description. I can’t cut corners or let you take your bath totally unattended. I can’t call in good dog Carl to watch you for the afternoon.

Here's my pre-emptive list of apologies for your reading pleasure. If and only if you make it to the age of eighteen without loss of limb, your hair, any of your toe or fingernails, and/or your mind.

1. I apologize for not letting you explore electrical outlets. I know. They’re fun. Who doesn’t want to put something pokey and metal into small holes in the wall.

2. I apologize for getting mad when you hit me. It sucks and I think you’re kind of a a-hole right after impact but I understand. I’m this big-ass lanky lady towering above you monitoring your every move. It’s all you got in your communicative arsenal to tell me to eff-off. Touche.

3. I apologize for the involuntary menu of foods and nibbles. Actually, no. I don’t apologize for this. We’re trying to feed you. Work with us and give it a shot.

4. I apologize for leaving each day for work and then expecting you to embrace my existence when I get home. This one probably hurts me more than you. But I do work from home, so the commute is short and you do get my squishies throughout the day. So. Yeah. I shouldn't feel guilty, right? You still love me, right? I'm not hurting you or forcing you into therapy, right? VALIDATE ME! VALIDATE ME!

5. I apologize for resenting Dada because you like him better. Who the hell does he think he is? He comes home at the end of the daily rituals, swoops in and looks like the fricking hero. Dada should write Mama a letter.

6. I apologize for not allowing you to insert things in the orifices of our dogs. This is non-negotiable. You don’t believe me now, but the consequences would never be good. I must resist.

7. I apologize for wiping your butt with a cold moist toilette. That just sucks. Plain and simple.

Overall, it’s not that I want or should apologize for these so called parental offenses, I just understand why they piss you off.

Freedom will come once we can talk things out and you are able to convince me that you won’t kill yourself at every turn. You'll see. Compared to other moms, I am downright revolutionary. Go ahead, hold a pencil in your teeth while climbing the stairs in no slip socks, scale the couch like Jason Bourne about to pounce, eat many things, not all, but a lot of things right off the floor, stand on table tops and find glasses of something for me to rhyme with floor.

Dude.. I rule. You’ll see. And if you don’t, my time will be spent devising ways to embarrass you until my last dying breath.

Go ahead. Test me.

Love Mama.

Desperate for Disneyland

2009-11-06T18:23:00.000-08:00

I've been to Disneyland - The Anaheim Disneyland - at least 25 times. My grandparents took me every year until I was 12. After that, I designed my own pilgrimages accompanied by a variety of friends, hired extras, and those that caved: "okay, shut up. I'll go with you." I think I went by myself once. In summary, I acquired a bad habit of running away to Disneyland (so did Bridget Haverty - she has the best D-Land stories. Ever. Homage to B.)

For the grandparent trips, we traveled in an orange 1977 Westfalia poptop VW camper. Photo in green below:

Can't find an orange version online. I think the government outlawed them.

We never stayed at the Disneyland Hotel or even a Super 8, Econo Lodge or Peter Pan Inn. We camped. In Anaheim. At the local Disney-accessible KOA campground. For your 15.00 per night, you're assigned a slab of pavement to park on and a slightly rusted BBQ pit for your meat. Guests can BBQ between certain hours of the day and you're kindly asked to scrubbed down the pit before you leave. There's free laundry, a 24 hour soda machine, a cordoned off area for sex offenders, and a prison-grade playground for the youth. Children would burst out of vans as they checked in late at night. It was interesting. But at least you could see the Matterhorn.

Anywho, back to the present, I'm itching for D-land. Haven't been there in over 10 years. And I'm not talking about D-World. Stop telling me how great Disney WORLD is - that's directed at you Big D. D-World can suck it. D-World had more cash, a brand, and besides, poor Walt had already cashed in before it opened. D-Land started on nothing but grit determination and a desire to run down orange groves and walnut trees.

Anyway, I want to go back. Misho is ready. The Plan begins: Disneyland 2010.

My Brief Love Affair with the Federal Government

2009-11-05T19:56:00.000-08:00

I heart my federal passport agency and there is not one iota of facetiousness in this day five blog entry (or whatever day it is). What a delightful group of people. The task without negotiation this week was to renew my passport which went way sour in early September. Of course I procrastinated and left it unchecked in a variety of to do lists: on my white dry erase board to do list, my tiny black leather book for thoughts and to do lists, my work notebook to do lists, and a post it that got stuck in a variety of places over the last few months, my forehead being the most memorable. The least effective, the bottom of my rain boot.

So I had to do this quickly with a looming trip to Canada next week (what the hell Canada, the driver's license isn't good enough for you anymore? Thought we were neighbors. Jackasses.) and then off to Ethiopia at the end of the month. Thought this would be a field trip into the butt end of hell. But these federal folks were not only charming, funny and average looking, they were also the most sincere people behind glass on the planet! I think I was called "sweetheart" not once but twice, and I'm a sucker for nicknames that make me feel girly and physically tiny. Some construction worker called me "baby girl" and I didn't know whether to slap him or giggle.

Anyway, no wait in line, got served pronto, compliments on my photo, offers to give me the "bible passport" that has over 1000 pages to fill. Lovely folk. Started the day off well and it really just got better.

And, looking down from the federal agency wall, was the most charming federal employee of all.

He made me feel girly.

Haiku Wednesday

2009-11-04T18:20:00.000-08:00

A special guest appearance from Big D Woo (the husband). Here's what he sent me via email yesterday. Footnote: Ulysses is our big ass dog who found us in 2007. Or as we call him, the homeless man that came to live with us.

Because only haiku can capture something so furious, so complex, and so short -- a toddler

Gloaming -- calm sets, too
Fisted, stomping, fury-love
Run, Ulysses, run

Running out of coherent steam...

2009-11-03T17:53:00.000-08:00

Day three of thirty will be a quickie. Two thirds of the Woo are sick. A little Woo and the female Woo. Mr. M has had the nose runs for the past few days, thought it was on its way out but looks like something a little more sinister has come on board. Back swine! Back! Mr. M's combined naps added up to 5 hours today and he just crashed into a coma a few minutes ago.

I'm close behind. Took two Benadryl to dry up the fluids. Yes. I'm blogging about fluids. It's day three people.

I started careening downward about 6pm or so, making nonsense remarks at open play time at Bubbles Academy (it's a real place), like "Misho, no tongue when kissing that baby." Things that cause other parents to carefully guide their children into an accordian tunnel to hide. Then I came home and started putzing around the house, putting things where they don't belong, shoes in the fridgerator, books on the bookshelf (that rarely happens in this house), clothes on the dogs. When I get sick I act like I'm drunk at a college fiesta; finding lame things hilarious (anyone remember the night I replayed the Logical Song by Supertramp over and over at least a 100 times? Good times), and always end up making out with someone by the end of the evening. I have two dogs and my husband to choose from. All are scared.

Achoo!

Here's a cute pic from the past to get us through the night.
Dog and baby. A love story.

Neil Diamond Fills My Empty Brain

2009-11-02T19:06:00.000-08:00

Day 2 of 30. Was hoping for something a bit more meaty to write about. I was so excited to share the minutiae of my work and toddler upkeep duties. How fun, right? Wouldn't you all like to ride the back of the Woo through the ins and outs of this celebrity lifestyle?

As exciting as it sounds, not much happened. All quite lame actually. Maybe blogs don't need a daily commitment, but keeping an open mind, let's see. I'll pull out my bucket of judgement at the end of this informal reality venture.

I could bore with a mundane rundown of the day. Not that there's anything wrong with that but I was hoping to squeeze some juice out of these 30 days of self induced assignment. I could tell you about the well coifed, pin-striped bow tied man on Lake Shore Drive intensely watching and waiting for his two pugs to do their business. Just a bit too intensely. Uncomfortably intense. Or I could tell you about the chicago cop talking on a cell phone who slowly rammed his squad car into the Honda in front of him outside of a Starbucks, got out (still on the phone) checked for damage, left the cars in a bumper kiss and proceeded into the 'bucks for a latte.

I pray to god it was a latte.

Or I could let life be, unwritten, unexamined and link to some real meat. Neil Diamond. The Diamond is the oracle that rocks my world. It's like he's singing right to me. It is now the official theme song for the Woo.

I've become "a grown up girl." Not a woman mind you, a grown up girl.

Just where I should be.

Suck it George Vernon Hudson

2009-11-01T19:12:00.001-08:00

Whoever invented the daylight-standard time rodeo obviously did not have children, specifically toddlers experiencing their first post-Halloween candy, tiger print hangover. Here's the Wiki situation on this.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daylight_saving_time

B. Franklin had 17 children. He's somehow tied to this catastrophe. Ole Ben must have stored his numerous tots in the barn on this day and let the cows tend to them. George Vernon Hudson (the true architect of the disaster) had no children. So there you go. The bastard had spare time to screw around with the well being of his broody neighbors.

Thank you Wikipedia for useless nonesense related to daylights savings time.

Now back to present time. Holy crap. Misho awoke bright and frisky on the dot to what would have been his normal time of wakening and woo. I caved and sent Big D to do the morning needful. I stayed in bed, with a sore throat, attempting to make myself sicker than I was. I was sick. I am sick. I'm not kidding. But I did feel guilty. And then the day just spiraled downward from there.

Misho was cute. He's always cute. Evidence below:

But then he got sort of evil. Like the play on time made him realize his evil powers as a toddler. His nails instantaneously grew five inches. Blood spouted from his nose (he actually had a nosebleed from the runny nose he's been sportin for five days). He spoke in tongues. He went for the eyes. His head spun. I blame the timechange, plain and simple. Out of sorts, longer time till first nap, strange fall to winter lighting - good for a movie but not good for playtime - sun quitting early, parents wanting a nap desperately, perhaps just five minutes of this precious additional time so graciously bestowed to us by bastard George Vernon Hudson.

It was rough. Not real rough, but rough enough to provide some material for day one of "30 days and 30 blog entries." Some exaggeration allowed.

But serious, this is what I stared into most of the day:

Those eyes were staring at my throat. So cold...i'm so cold...

Boo!

2009-10-31T17:54:00.000-07:00

Misho's first cognizant Halloween. Viva la difference:

Last Year - 2008

This Year - 2009

He still retains suspicions of animal costumes put upon him. Who wouldn't? But he's definitely more relaxed and a gamer. Laid chill in his ride (stroller) for the trick or treat parade. Said, "thank you" in the most charming of ways to each house, except ours. Dada got a grunt. Ate a toddler's fill of candy. This had the expected effect - hallucinations, screaming, cold sweats, requests for water and cold towels, lots of "I love you man" and then he crashed.

All in all a great H-ween.

Here's some highlights:

A tiger roar or bowel movement. Not sure.

Mama having to be weird.

Again.

His m.o. for most of the trickertreater cruise. "so this candy is 'free'?" kind of look.

Mama in her nighttime candy distribution outfit. Or, Blanket Jackson escaping Dubai.

Happy Halloween everyone!

30 posts in 30 days

2009-10-30T10:10:00.001-07:00

The Big Woo has once again been MIA. But now, I've somehow been self-compelled to participate in a blog challenge. 30 posts for the 30 days of November. I'm not sure if this is a wise expectation to place on my head, but I'm gonna give it a shot. If interested in joining blogpeople, here's the link: http://www.nablopomo.com/

I noticed Julie at "the eyes of my eyes..." took up the challenge and she has TWO kids. I would die and be unable to function with two Mr. Ms roaming around the house, so I figure, with one, I could squeeze a verbal burp out at least once a day.

The days are dark and rainy, winter is upon us, and that's the time when the Woo gets weird. And think how much weirder it could be with pressure (of some unknown origin) to write something, anything, every day.

My call for questions reared one. From the delightful PooPooFart gang in Oregon. I'll leave the answer to that question for next week when I'm dying for content.

Otherwise, Mr. M is doing splendidly. He can now walk backwards, or moonwalk, as I like to exaggerate.

More musings to come. And oh yeah! I'm going back to Ethiopia November 27th. More about that later.

In the meantime, here are some pics of the French-Pehlke men enjoying the fun of eyewear.

Shelby

The First Day

2009-10-03T17:28:00.000-07:00

October 3rd, 2008 was the day we met our delightful Mr. M. The event was life changing, crazy, scary, amazing, wonderful, surreal and everything in between. Nothing in your life can prepare you for this. There is video but I can't figure out how to cut it down for sharing purposes. You are escorted into a room full of babies. A very good looking Ethiopian camera man video tapes you. A delightful woman in blue lovingly hands you "your son." Cut to emotional breakdown. The video shows two overwhelmed trembling tall people, pimping their best baby selves to Mr. M, while trying not to break down into tears.

We'll celebrate this day differently each year. Today we hung out over very delicious pizza, attended a b-day bash for Mr. M's BFF Asher, and watched the video of our first meeting. I gathered the M on my lap and clicked play. He gazed at it like something he knew but didn't and then some recognition of the main players took place. He seemed really into it for about a developmentally-appropriate one minute. Smiled a sweet smile the whole time, identified all the right folk, and then abruptly yelled, "car!", and he was off to find one of his rides. We'll try for a full two minutes next year.

Shout outs again to our fabu travel group. Nowhere would my meager, yet timely Sarah Palin impersonation have gone over so well. We were in Ethiopia during the whole the pres/vice-pres debates & global stock market crash fiasco. Ethiopians would kindly come up to us and ask if we had a home to go to when we returned. Frankly, at that point, who knew?

Tried to get a one year anniversary shot for the archives. Well. Here's what we got.

The Family of Spaz.

The Budding Skillbase of Mr. M (and a Big Woo invite for questions)

2009-09-08T13:44:00.001-07:00

We're working on Mr M's resume.

So far, he's demonstrated a real talent and inclination for Swiffing (hence reducing the need to promote my latest invention: The Swiffer OnsieTM). This makes me extremely excited. If I can find a smaller version, his efficiency for cleaning up dog hair could increase by 50%.

He also enjoys inspecting the insides of cupboards or armoires for doggies, cars, or bottles.

We're trying to get M into music but currently he seems more interested in guitar descruction. We thought we'd start him with street performance. Here he is. Busking. We made a couple of quid.

While we're obviously hard at work developing M's skill base, I thought I would shake things up here at the Big Woo and get into some deeper analysis and rambling retrospection about adoption, transracial parenting, and other deeper motherhoodian concerns. Shocking! I know. Where did my commitment to the shallow and mundane go? It will still be there, but I thought I'd stretch my little brain a bit and give some deeper stuff a go. Now, we all know where my commitment to a blog post a day went, so don't hold the collective breath too long. This could be a random post here or there that I bust out like a summer month.

Anyway - to start the party, I thought I would put out a call for questions. Anything really. Many Woo visitors are exploring adoption as an option and perhaps there is something about our experience that you would like to know more about.

Is this how Dear Abby started? Or, should the Big Woo keeps its big lid shut? Let's find out.

Shelby

Big Woo Sick. Outside Rain.

2009-08-28T12:44:00.000-07:00

The Big Woo is sick. Everyone. The whole tribe is hacking like slot machine playing grannies in Reno. I blame the weather. Poor Misho was cheated out of a decent Chicago summer. Only a day or two over 90 degrees! I like it hot. And steamy. I want to be overcome with the vapors and flit around in flowing fabrics proclaiming my desire on some street. I believe Misho has the same desire but the poor kid can't seem to catch a break in the weather department. We've been rained on most of the week, and thank god he's been sick. Didn't feel like going out in the first place. But, the collective pants are getting itchy, cause he's twirling around like a dervish and climbing the walls. Or the bed.

I'm doing weird things to entertain him.

Whether he's into Psycho Mother Butterfly (my name of choice this week) is another thing.

Winter sucked. Summer blowing pretty hard. Don't get me wrong, I hugely heart rain and all it's natural consequences. But now I'm a parent. And there's daily agendas to put together. It's not even winter and we're engaging in weird indoor antics.

Most disturbing, and through no effort on my part, the rain filled air causes my hair to spontaneously bust out into an exploitative baby beauty pageant up-do.

I'll work on my baton twirling.

June (and now July) Bust Out!

2009-08-01T19:38:00.001-07:00

I'm a bad bad blogger. Here's the beef: the warm(ish) weather, multiple weekend Chicagoland festivities, and my own special style of laziness have kept mama far away from refreshing the Woo. On the bright side, I offer a straight-to-the-point, no nonsense recap of what's been bubblin in the land of Woo over the days of June and July.

Visit from the California Peaks!

A fantastic visit from a wonderful family from our ET adoption group: Lyn-Dee, Dan, & the adorable Lincoln (check out their blog - http://web.me.com/sparkie09/PeakSite/Sparkies_Blog/Sparkies_Blog.html). These cats and kitten are so lovely and the best guests ever. Hardy folk they are, through some of the most god awful summer weather we've had in years. Promises were made to perhaps maybe consider Chicago a permanent location? We're holding it to you Peaks! Come back soon!

Referral-versary! 11 June 2008

We heard the name "Mishamo" for the first time on June 11, 2008. It was the first day we saw that cute little mug peaking out from a lacy pink onsie, looking a bit chagrin, but more than confident in his rose-hued masculinity. Love at first site? Most definitely. Exactly how it worked out for me with Big D.

The story in short - I had just dropped David off at home after his first post-back surgery check up and was making my way up to Evanston for work. For some reason, I knew it...as soon as I sit down at my desk the phone would ring with the referral. And boom, there it was. Took the call in my boss' office, looped in Big D and got the first stats of Mr. M. After promising not to look at the emailed photo until I got home, I did a spastic victory lap around the perimeter of the office, whooping, hollaring, speaking in tongues, and bascially descending into a slobbery mess. Got back in the car, amazingly made it home without killing anyone, and jumped onto the computer. This is what we saw:

40th B-Day in Vegas!

What does one do for your 40th birthday and first year as mom? Bring your baby to Vegas! I had doubts, but Vegas and all its horrific glory is like a big inflatable, shiny, sparkly crib mobile. I've said it before, but strippers love my son. Especially those with large inflatable breasts. We were stopped constantly. The most absurd moments (two well endowed ladies fighting over who holds Mr. M, & and an Elvis serenade) happened without camera immediately in hand. Mr M had a delightful time, and won big at craps (tee-hee).

Here's Misho preparing for Vegas:

Here's Misho after winning nickel slots:

Here's Misho and his lovely Oma B:

Here's me waking up, day one, 40 years:

That's right Perez Hilton - Celebs without makeup.

Here's me trying to throw myself out the hotel window on day two.

Mr. M Walks!

A huge benchmark moment that was seriously blog-neglected. Mr. M walks. And runs. And skateboards. He toyed with walking for so long. He teased us. A couple of steps here and there. One weekend, we focused all energy on perpetuating forward upright momentum - employing outlawed Béla Károlyi type training techniques. Nothing. Two days later, he, all of sudden and seriously out of the blue, was toddling all over the local park. Hasn't looked back. And we are doomed. Video to come.

But with mobility comes...

THREE STITCHES

"Hello ER social worker. Yes, this is our son. Yes he did fall by himself. No I wasn't drinking. Yes, I will repeat the story at least three or four times to ensure consistency of events."

That's the conversation I had in my head while I carted a bleeding Mr. M to the emergency room. He was in a fabu mood. A little crying when his head slammed into the coffee table (sound still echoes in my head to this day) but was quickly smiles and sunshine through his blood stained face. Took on as much guilt as I could; I blamed the lame but cute sandals that I bought him on sale. They stuck ruthlessly to the floor as he twisted around, lost balance, and took the plunge head first into wood. Long story short, he's doing fine, three stitches. Even while they strapped M to a restraint board (or a "papoose" as the non-Native American nurses lovingly called it) I remained a delightfully witty, a go with the flow mom that medical professionals die for in the ER. "I so understand how busy you all are. We are more than happy to wait here in a cold examining room for three hours with a bleeding hungry baby. You crazy kids go have sex with each other in the broom closet" - until.

Until, some overarching "doctor of the gods" showed up to inspect the stitchery of the residents. "Wrong stitches," he said. "That's not what I wanted." That is when, at close to midnight, the flesh peeled back from my skull and a sound of a 1,000 hounds came from hell's entrance...or my throat as we call it. Didn't redo the work, but the removal of the "wrong stitches" a few days later was a bit messy.

With medical care like this, I will be arrested one day. It's just a matter of time. Death to K. Heigel!

More to recap to come. I've been working on this for a week and have to post it before Misho graduates from high school.

Happy DaDa's Day!

2009-06-20T18:15:00.000-07:00

Big Woo here - we heartily apologize for the June MIA, but Big Woo family has been spinning the collective wheel for the last few weeks. So much to write about - referralversary, visit from Lincoln and the Peaks, Vegas, and more freakishly, Shelby turning 40.

But before I get into all that, Mr. M would like to interrupt the normal Big Woo Buzz for a special multi-media piece he's thrown together especially for his DaDa.

To the Best DaDa in the World,

Happy first DaDa's Day dear DaDa! You are my sunshine, my open and shut them, my ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah...Thank you for teaching me to fly off my changing table, feeding me licorice behind mama's back, dressing me in leg warmers and always some sort of plaid, letting me scream at an unbelievably high pitch in public places, deciphering mommy's weird ass moods for me, putting me on your shoulders and not walking into low hanging trees, wiping my buttarsky without mockery, and loving me unconditionally.

I love you Big D. Here's to more DaDa D Days to come!

EDIT - Turn off overused, soon-to-be-changed blog music at the IPod icon on the right hand side bar - to enjoy the montage muzak that Misho picked out for Big D.

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

10,000 +....who are you people?

2009-06-06T18:40:00.000-07:00

New blog entry or just an excuse to get my crazy-ass flamenco puss lower down on the screen. It's freakin me out and I'm sure all of you as well.

Today, Big Woo hit the 10,000 visitor mark. That's about 16 visits per day, on average since the first eruption of the Woo in November 2007.

I have no friggin idea what 10,000 hits means. Am I a popular blogger? A desperate blogger with no friends sitting on the empty side of the cafeteria? I'm sure it's 100 times less than that mom who appeared on Oprah for starting the mom-in-despair blogging phenom. This chick pulls in 6 figures a year for advertising space. I don't think I'm gonna make it to the Oprah couch any time soon or get Gerber chewables to float me some cash for 16 hits a day. But gosh darn it, I'm grateful.

Thank you for coming by the Big Woo when you can. Thank you for your words of support, friendship, disgust, confusion, and harassment. Thank you for being there during the wait when I posted annoying disco (ABBA) videos from You Tube, when the referral came and I spazzed, when we posted the Warhol interpretations of Misho's pink girlie outfit, during the baby prep where I dared to post the requisite nursery decorating photos, when I swore unabashedly, when I dared to think I could rally up enough mother juice to compete with Ms. Cosby, when Misho entered the hospital and almost put me in jail for bitch slapping a spinal tap-carrying ER tech, and during all the other benchmarks and craziness. It's been a ride.

Big Woo will continue to have no consistency, purpose, or theme. I don't go very deep. I don't share my tears, or the really bad crap that happens in one's life. I don't have the writing chops for such action. I stay clearly on the surface; floating on top the oil slick of life while trying to raise a beautiful boy in the best way possible. More importantly, I commit, to each and every one of you, to never, ever write a blog entry before 11pm without a cocktail in hand and without gross grammatical and spelling errors.

First though, I want to know: who the heck are you? A few of you leave comments, and many more just peruse. Please take a look at the survey on the right. It's simple, anonymous enough, and short. Please, grab a cocktail and take part in the Big Woo Survey of Woo-ers.

And always remember, The Big Woo loves you. And we mean it.

Flamenc-ho

2009-06-01T18:48:00.001-07:00

Get a load of this action:

Scared yet? Best get out of the way of this mid-life lady crisis. I am one pissed off flamenco dancing diva with a lifetime of heartache and woe oozing out her feet. And funny enough, as I first predicted 15 years ago, looking more and more like a tired Anjelica Houston everyday.

David just asked if he could be my Jack Nicholson.

And most certainly without doubt, he is (minus the break up and alleged domestic violence).

Do you smell an Earth Mom?

2009-05-29T13:29:00.000-07:00

You should, because she's looking might dirty.

Check this out:

Someone did a little gardening last weekend. Someone got her precious yuppie hands dirty - under the fingernails and everything.

Here I am posing with a prop, I mean a bag of dirt.

David said he didn't want to be part of this "charade" as he took this pic. But, I swear to you my friends, there were no charades involved. I planted things. Flowers. Touched the soil. Got back to the salt, whatever it is you're supposed to do. Misho needs to know that even though her lady pipes don't work, his mama can make the earth put forth. Here's the evidence.

Haven't seen too much action from these buds in the last couple of days, though. Maybe a millimeter at most. Wouldn't be surprised if I ended up killing this lot. But heh, at least I tried.

Here's Big D really giving it the heave ho.

And this poor sap had serious back surgery last year.

To end, what you all come here for in the first place, more Misho...looking mighty chill.

Judging Judgement

2009-05-21T07:50:00.000-07:00

This is sort of an emotional response post. And it may come off a bit ironic.

But here's my beef: what's up with all the judging? It seems like everywhere I turn these days, everyone has something to say about what someone else is doing. Especially in the realms of reality tv-watching and motherhood. Not as a package, (though they do often come hand in hand), but as two areas where people like to judge your choice of everything.

I watch reality tv. I tried for years to stop. I decided I liked it. It provides me with some sort of anthropological thrill in watching humans do odd things in artifically constructed circumstances. Some people think it's groovy and others do not.

I'm a mom. Alot of times I don't do things the way other moms do. Sometimes I do things exactly the way other moms do. I'm sure to peeve someone off by the mom choices I make on a daily basis. I feel your eyes Claire Huxtable - back off.

So my point here is - I'm tired of the judging. People thinking people who watch reality tv are doofus idiots contributing to the fall of civilization. People who think people who don't watch reality tv are fooling themselves and certainly they must be doing it in private. Moms getting on other moms for where your baby sleeps, what he eats, what he wears, and what his butt is wrapped in. I'm not saying that I'm immune from it. I do it, but gosh darn it, I want to stop.

The message from the Big Woo today: Everyone, let's lighten up on eachother.

To paraphrase a great tune: "Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got. Taking a break from all your worries sure would help alot. Wouldn't you like to get away?" From judging?

Now the irony (but is it really ironic or just Alanis Morissette "ironic"?) - I'm judging judgers. Can't I just let the judgers judge (myself included) and be done with it?

What a great question.

And now, a gratuitously cute picture of Mr. M.

Impending Earth Mother Phase and an Ethiopian Pork Chop

2009-05-09T09:05:00.000-07:00

My first Mother's Day is tomorrow. When I think of moms in general, I think of stereotypical crafty ladies who make kitchens smell like cinnamon and bedsheets like lavender....and then I also think of a specific blog friend out there who crafted amazing homemade decoupage frames for photos of her kids while claiming she has no talent - you know who you are (HabeshaHouse)!

Now, if anyone has no talent in the domesticity or crafty department, it's me. This is a proven fact that everyone I know would testify to under oath. I do not posess one ounce of motivation for the housewifery arts. David cooks. And most of the time cleans. I do clean, but in a grumpy, swearing under my breath kind of way. I try to be Zen about it via the following mantra: "this fucking sucks, this fucking sucks, this fucking sucks"....repeat to fade.

Since I met my husband, I've warned him about a soon-to-arrive Earth Mother phase; an involuntary "transition" where I become folksy and crafty, make and bake things, churn butter, shave sheep, do stuff that saves us money, and teaches our children strong do-it-yourself values. He has heard this warning more than once; on the night we met, when he proposed, on our wedding day, on the honeymoon, during the aftermath of the ruptured ectopic pregnancy, as he was wheeled into back surgery, when we got our referral for Misho, when we picked up Misho, when we got home with Misho, and this morning. There is a snowball's chance in Rio de Janiero that I will ever enter this phase. As I mentioned to someone earlier, the most Earth Mother thing I've done recently is shower less.

And yet, the myth continues. Sometimes, I try. I get wind in my whistle and decide to bake bread, scramble an egg, or braid my hair. Recently, I was forced to cook a pork chop. I bought this pork chop expecting David to cook it for me, per usual, however the bastard had some sort of "responsibility" at work where he had to stay late and subsequently neglect my immediate needs. So he suggested, sheepishly: "you know, you could perhaps try and cook it.....yourself." If in a worse mood, I may have told him to eff-off, however, I had some wind in the aforementioned whistle, and I said: "alright comrade, you're on." Being the man who knows me best, David proceeded to send email instructions on how to cook the pork chop; hilariously detailed instructions, clearly written for someone who had never seen a kitchen, like a feral child who just came out of the woods.

Here are these instructions for the world's review. Let me take you moment by moment through these instructions as I actually prepare and cook a pork chop. An Ethiopian pork chop no less.

Pork Chop

1. Take a small plate and spread a thin layer of flour on it it (flour is in bottom shelf of fridge)

ME AND MY THOUGHTS: This was helpful. I really had no idea where the flour was.

2. Sprinkle some salt, pepper, and whatever herb (thyme is good) or spice (berbere is good -- I would do both) you want over the flour and mix it together a little with a fork.

ME: Multiple spices - does he know who he's dealing with here?

3. Chop up a shallot (if we don't have one, just do onion -- you only need a quarter of an onion)

ME: What's a shallot?

4. Get the garlic out of the fridge and ready to go

ME: Go where?

5. Get the half and half (or whole milk) out of the fridge and ready to go

ME: Again, is there some sort of refrigerator field trip?

6. Open up some white wine, have a glass, have the bottle handy and ready to go

ME: This I can do - no need to remind me to have a glass. The garlic, half and half, wine and I will have a splendid journey together. Look how happy I am about overly detailed instruction #6...

7. Have spatula and wooden or teflon spoon next to stove and ready to go

ME: I would have put these items next to my bed so thank god David steered me to the stove.

Cooking the Chop

ME: Oh god, now we're going to cook it?

1. Put fying pan (non-stick one on the stove right now is fine) on stove and pour some olive oil in the bottom (2 count is good -- tip, "one...two" untip)

ME: Thank you for helping me pour from a bottle. This was a toughie that would have stumped me for hours. Luckily, I had already practiced with the wine. Repeatedly.

2. Turn stove on to medium high (6 or 7 should do it)

3. Pat the pork chop with a paper towel

ME: Or give it a loving hug.

4. Lay the chop on the plate of flour

5. Turn chop over and lay it on the other side -- kick up some flour onto the sides

ME: I literally kicked up the flour. S'fun.

6. Wait 30 seconds or so to make sure the oil is nice and hot -- spread it around the bottom of the pan a little with the spoon or spatula (remember -- no metal)

ME: I was using a metal wrench at first, so thank you for the safety reminder.

7. Lay the chop in the hot oil and cover pan with the grease screen (it will pop and sizzle)

ME: This earth world is so strange - things sizzle when hot. Must report back to home planet.

8. After 4 or 5 minutes flip the chop and take note of the color -- if it's a nice browning in a couple of spots, then just cook another 4 minutes on the new side; if it's a little dark, let it go a little less on the new side; if th color is not brown enough let it go a little longer on the new side and maybe put it back on the originial side for a minute or two after the new side is done (read this again, its really not as confusing as my lame instructions make it)

ME: I read it again and it's still lame.

9. After the new side is done, take chop out and put on a clean plate.

ME: I would have put it on the floor, so thank god I married this man.

10. Turn heat down to 4 or 5

11. Throw in onions or shallot -- stir around for a minute or two depending on how small they were chopped (you'll know when it's about enough when they just start to turn all shiny and translucent).

ME: I literally threw the onions in the pan and was sprayed with hot oil. Must return to #7 for review.

12. Toss in a small spoon of garlic. Stir for 30 seconds.

13. Pour in a 1/4 cup of wine, then pour in 1/4 cup of cream (milk)

ME: But they left on their field trip.

14. When sauce starts to bubble a little put chop back in.

15. Leave chop in, stir and ladle sauce over it every once in a while, watch the heat -- if bubbles really start going turn the heat down, just want to simmer. Flip chop every once in a while. About 4 to five minutes in the pan should do it (for about 12 to 15 minutes total cook). If you're nervous you can cut the middle and check for doneness (a hint of pink is okay).

ME: I was nervous. I read and reread this instruction over and over. Who wants trichinosis?

16. Eat it.

ME: I actually want to shalaque it and save it for posterity.

I'm not sure how I make it through the day without Big D. I'm also not sure how Misho didn't wake up during this whole process with all the whooping and hollering as I sprayed myself in the face with hot oil, planned my getaway with the half and half and wine, hugged the pork, and chanted my inappropriate mantra.

It looks gross in the photo, but the pork chop was pretty good. However, seriously. Not worth the two hours that went into it.

Ah elusive Earth Mother, perhaps we'll meet another day...

Haregewoin

2009-04-12T20:46:00.000-07:00

March and April are always the cruelest months. I don't sit well with the beginning of spring for some reason. People I know, care about, and love die during these months. Not sure what it means, probably nothing but a mere observation and connection of coincidences and mishaps. But then again, who knows. Probably the reason for my blog silence. I'm white knuckling it through. Let's just make it to May, and dance on into summer ASAAAP.

Recently, a wonderful woman named Haregewoin Teferra died. She was the subject of There is No Me Without You by Melissa Faye Greene. The book has served as a sort of launching pad for families looking to adopt from ET. Haregewoin gave hundreds of children a safe landing pad in Ethiopia. Her story brought me to ET before I got there and gave me a better understanding about how Ethiopians love their children and how I can love their children.

Attached is a link that provides information about how to help out the kids who remain in her care.

http://www.thereisnomewithoutyou.com/blog?op=view&id=63

The upside - Misho was born in March. Maybe March and April are getting a bit better afterall.

1st Birthday, 1st Shampoo Mohawk

2009-03-23T18:58:00.001-07:00

Mr. M turned the big ---- ONE -----today! We celebrated officially yesterday with a trip to the zoo and fun and games at home. Highlights of the day included a personal serenade by a classical musician, a stare down with a silver back gorilla, a couple of naps, a birthday cake attacked by a none-too-well-behaved dog, balloons galore, friends and family bringing fun and goodies, and a fat lip. Here are the images that capture the day.

Starting the day...

Embarassing hat...

Zoo outfit...

Personal serenade...

Best birthday and birthday cake ever...until

The dog cake attack and a face plant on the stairs...

Despite the canine antics and lip swelling, Misho had a wonderful first birthday. We are so overwhelmed to have this beautiful boy in our lives. It almost doesn't seem real.

Finally - we send never ending love and gratitude to Desalech - we love you more than you will ever know.

Mickey and the Triple D's

2009-03-07T16:06:00.001-08:00

As predicted, I am really bad at meeting my ill conceived commitment for producing a blog entry a day. Why you ask? Here are the excuses at the ready:

I've been sick.

I've been in Miami.

I was kidnapped by the real housewives of somewhere.

I've been fielding nannies (I know. I said nanny. I'm totally one big ass yuppie now)

I'm getting ready to go back to work.

Yikes people! Real live grown up work. Luckily though, it's work from home. Couldn't have asked for a better situation. So many thanks to those involved. You don't even know how grateful I am!

Things I've neglected in the last couple of weeks - I would like to take a moment to acknowledge a special moment in our nation's history. I am so pleased that Misho and I were able to take in the specialness of this historic change of events together as mother and son. I know one day Misho will look at me and say: Mama, where were we when this happened? What was I feeling? What were we wearing? I made sure to capture this moment on film.

I'm talking about the unbelievable and unexpected return of Mickey Rourke to the Red Carpet of the Academy Awards.

M. Rourke was robbed. We were unable to see any of this year's nominated films but although I love love love Harvey Milk, and wouldn't mind having a martini with S. Penn, I so wanted to see the oracle that is M. Rourke give an AAwards acceptance speech. It might be Beverly Hills chihuahua movies for the big guy from here on out so there might not be another chance. I believe in you brother, but the industry is rough.

In other news, Daddy D and I made a quick trip to South Beach for some sun and sanity. It was the first Misho-free trip and all went well. We missed him fer sure, but we surely appreciated the opportunity to swear openly and drink adult like libations without guilt. The sun was also a pleasant addition.

My favorite thing about Miami - triple D mannequins.

Most store displays used these big busty plastic tools to sport their wares. For the love, from which developing country factory do they spit these babes out? It certainly reflects the clientele base so nothing innacurate about it. But we had to take a look at this one for a long time to make sure it wasn't breathing. Not a lot of difference between behind the glass and in front of the glass.

Overall, an awesome mini-break.

My Bloody Valentine

2009-02-20T18:01:00.001-08:00

I haven't been so true to my promise of one blog entry per day. Been living in a somewhat hormonally depleted fog, combined with rapid fire baby needs and knick nack paddy whacks. I'll keep trying though. I'm sure there are Big Woo fan clubs in Montana and Idaho holding out for true commitment.

Had a wonderful and pleasant Valentine's Day last Saturday. Mr. M looked me square in the eye, said "Mama" in a clear and endearing voice, clutched my jaw, and then...proceeded to bite my face. Our love is silent like a lamb. He's discovered his teeth. The gentle face sucking sessions are a thing of the past. Four teeth now protrude like ivory fangs ready to plunge into my fleshy bits at any moment. It's like living with Bat Boy.

Though, obviously Mr. M is a helluvalot cuter and not going to burn in hell.

Looks like I'm back on my way to work March 9th. Have a great new position at Rotary - working from home - best of both worlds. Will share the working mother guilt with you all later.

Time to enter into the next snow storm. 4 to 6 inches due tomorrow. Another diary entry for the "Encourage Husband to Move to Warmer Climate" file.

Misho is ready to disrobe and go. Or he's auditioning for an ensemble role in South Pacific.

The Lady's Baby

2009-02-07T17:44:00.000-08:00

Misho has discovered his own delicious image. Mirrors and anything that reflects are now his best friend. He looks longly at himself as if to say - "Damn, I am one good looking babe." And to reinforce this, the general public seems to agree with him.

As my husband just said - "Come on. Is it narcissism if you actually are just tremendously good looking?"

It seems that our Mr. M is one hot item with the soon-to-be-very-drunk, 20-something young lady crowd. We went out to dinner tonight at the regular baby witching hour of 5pm and dozens of trixied-out babes kept hitting on our baby. One of them actually squealed. Like a "I've seen a Jonas Brother" kind of squeal.

David and I think we could start a racket of picking up chicks for babysitting. Go out. Dress up Mr. M in lapels and spats. Sit next to a crew of ladies drowning in Michelob Ultra, looking for whatever they're looking for. Divert their hormonal instincts for a brief moment, bring them home and there you go - they're playing googly eyes with M-man and we're off to finally see "Milk." Of course we'll ask for references or a quick check of their Facebook pages, but I'm sure they're all upstanding young ladies in tight clothing.

Another update - Mr. M has also discovered baby humor. He thinks it's tremendously funny to bite and hold onto the spoon when being fed. Here's a couple of images of the moment.

He laughs hysterically under his breath while clamping onto the spoon. Slaps himself on the knee, snarfs, the whole bit.

Funny and good looking. Mr. M is turning into quite the package; a package that I had absolutely no genetic contribution to and yet I boast. Because really, who wouldn't?

Rewire Success!

2009-02-03T08:16:00.000-08:00

We hit a home run! Though as I write this of course he is protesting a bit on the morning nap. Actually a lot so I was just on the phone with my husband talking me down from the ledge. But up until this morning, the rewire took hold. He never cried (except briefly for the first night) when left in the crib. We've secured an evening ritual (brief nightcap, political recap of the day, vision boarding and the like) and oddly it all seemed to work. Right away. 11 to 12 hours not waking up each night. Down for naps with no problem. Freaked the bejesus out of me. I was actually scared to give an update since I thought that would surely jinx the success. But with this morning's brief setback, I feel safe enough to brag.

If he totally breaks down from here on out, I'm never posting good news again. It will all be angst and Morrisey moaning and desperate cries for help.

Here's my recent O'bamafication photo that really says it all...

The Great Misho Rewire of 2009

2009-01-31T07:40:00.000-08:00

It's time. Mr. M needs to learn how to fall sleep. He sleeps okay, but not for very long, and not without alot of resistance. He still needs to lie on me for both morning and afternoon naps - I've now included "professional mattress" on my resume. He sleeps through the night about 50% of the time, so the other 50% he's dragging around kind of crabby and out of sorts. In full though, he never really gets more than 7 to 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep each night. I've started to notice bags under his eyes and his before bed behavior is getting a bit loopy. He looks rather drunk, laughing and crying in the same breath. Twirling around like a Sufi, slapping us on the head with his baby claws.

Suffice it to say, Mr. M is totally sleep deprived.

So we're launching into full reprogramming mode this week. We found a baby-friendly sleep method that we initiated last night. He took to it well. A few cries but was out, and out for 12 hours. He woke up more refreshed and alert than I've seen him, well, frankly, ever. So we're trying the same method for the nap. He's napping now - or rather exploring the nap possibility. If I can get him to sleep in his crib for both day naps I may get to that full length play I've been putting off - or more likely given my level of depth, able to clear the DVR of all the past shows I'm waiting to watch. Just wait Dog Whisperer, I'm a comin.

Here's a photo of the reprogramming launch last night.

He looks like he knows something is up.

We equipped him in Spidey pjs (thank you Molly!) for extra strength and superpower. Hopefully he doesn't web-shoot himself out of the crib. We'll look up and he'll be straddle-gripping the ceiling above our bed.

Wish us luck. I'm effectively hiding out in the back office for the time being. David is taking on the initial launch of this program. If I hear the least bit of distress, I'm more likely to break the code of silence and whisk him back into old habits.

It's very quiet upstairs. Too quiet.

Shelby

Inauguration Recap

2009-01-29T17:22:00.001-08:00

I'm late on this. But like my ongoing relationship with trend and fashion, I'm always the last to put on the sparkly jumpsuit or stovepipe jeans.

Last week was amazing. My super crush Obama - whose hand I personally shook and I think involuntarily licked - was brought into office. Many families (especially Ethiopian adoptive families) took a memorial photo of their baby/child standing in front of the TV while President Obama took the oath of office or sang out his inauguration speech. This seemed like a fantastic idea to me so I did the same.

However, I did not realize the set up and baby balancing that would need to occur to get the perfect shot. I didn't realize the level of injury my child would have to endure to get that perfectly balanced photo of a young baby of African origin taking in the momentous occasion of the first AA pres of the US coming into office.

I propped Misho up in a standing position in front of the TV with my feet while I manipulated over 100 digital photos. I suspended him with wire and bungy cords from the ceiling. I delayed a change of poopy diaper because god damn it, Obama was speaking and his poo could wait. I told him him to look excited that someone of direct origin to a Kenyan/Ethiopian tribe was president. He looked at me blankly. Did his best to stand up straight, and farted. Really really loudly.

It was an appropriate response for a baby. I will tell it to his first date. I recorded the sounds of the inaugural fart for posterity. Someone is going to be embarassed in 2020.

Here's a photo of real emotion - me crying every two seconds during the whole parade. Me heart Obama.

One blog entry per day...

2009-01-27T18:34:00.001-08:00

...or at least I'll try. I need some sort of assignment to keep my baby numb brain from falling into complete decay. Not that I'm not enjoying every last delicious second of my stay-at-home-mom-dom, but I don't want to become so disoriented that I end up inventing some sort of contraption for wiping up baby poo or writing a baby seal coming-of-age book ala Madonna or Jamie Lee Curtis.

So today's hot topic - the coagulation of medication for latent turbuculosis. Visual below.

I know that's why most people visit the Big Woo - medical information.

Misho has to take this gooey guck for the next year. He has latent TB mind you, not symptomatic TB that require scratchy wool blankets and sanitoriums in Arizona. We've had 5 bottles of this crap delivered to the house and each bottle ends up coagulating like 20 year old toothpaste. There is no way in hell I'm serving this goo to my innocent little TB (latent mind you) ridden baby.

When I first called the pharmacy about the issue, they said it must have been a "bad batch." A "bad batch?" I'm serving up a "bad batch" to my 10 month old son? Needless to say I've taken copious notes and kept every bottle in it's potent and gel like form in case the French-Pehlkes need to litigate. My husband litigates for a living so we're covered.

Anywho, I've stopped the medication once again until we can get a "good batch" that stays in what is supposed to be a syrupy form.

My lesson for the day: if a baby has to chew medication, don't give it to him.

Just cuz...

2009-01-22T21:50:00.001-08:00

Bedlam

2009-01-13T21:11:00.000-08:00

Photos of a a flu-ridden husband and a darling son.

I've turned into a word-lite, photo heavy blogger. But honestly, I can't juggle much more than the basic human need to pee plus the anxiety of oncoming infant poo and tears. I'm not a good lady-mother who can do it all.

With all do respect Claire Huxtable, you can kiss my ass.

I'm very good at watching my son for movements of genius or Jenny McCarthy level concern. I can focus on non-infant activities like email until Misho pelts me in the back of my head with babyspitballs launched from the pack and play.

I used to think I could handle things. Complex things. But Mr. M has taught me otherwise. I am of simple mind.

Poo.

Cutest Baby in the Universe

2009-01-09T20:55:00.001-08:00

I am shameless. Egotistical (even though I have no reason to be). Brazen. Confident. I mean, come on...this photo melts me. I've officially entered the obnoxious stage of motherhood. My baby is cute. Way cute. Too cute. And smart, and ambidextrous, and working on the Middle East peace issue, and reading my palm every morning so I can be well prepared. It's grotesque how much I love this child. And unfortunately for all of you, it's being made public. What next? Baby beauty pageants? Could I stoop so low? It's possible. Love blinds you to common sense.

Laughing Buddha Baby

2009-01-07T20:45:00.000-08:00

Full fledged infant hilarity. Please ignore the trash just to the right of this scene of familial bliss. We did eventually take it out.

Holidaze & the Like...

2009-01-02T20:36:00.001-08:00

Howdy and hello - hope everyone had a great holiday season and fantastic Dick Clark's (soon to be pillow smothered by Ryan Seacrest) Rockin New Year's Eve!

The holidays appeared to be a delight for Misho-san. Wide eyes, confusion, laughter, screams, hangovers, strange hugs from family members etc. Lots of festivities and construction of foreign toys and the like - hence my disappearance from my normal weekly blog updates. Currently, I'm putzing through the endless holiday video footage for tidbits to post. David and I are kind of like Depression-era computer geniuses - we're really good at Casio and Lotus, but the gosh darn new fandangled things really confuse us.

In short, Mr. M is healthy, moving, shaking, and babbling up a storm. 2008 blessed us well.

More soon!

Shelby

Santa meet Misho, Misho meet some crazy guy in a slightly yellowing beard

2008-12-20T21:50:00.000-08:00

20 December 2008 - Misho had his very first consultation with Santa. Quite the moment. Handled it very well. Stared at him with his now well known "what the...?" look, and then looked at us for explanation that we could not provide. Yes, it's a man in a red suit who smells like whiskey. Ask him for things, and he'll bring them. We don't know why.

The best part of the day was the Santa meltdown. Apparently, Santa needed a break and a poor security guard let two more families in line (we were one of them) after break was supposedly called. Santa briefly sighed, and began a rather extensive, and animated hissy fit. Now mind you, this was an authentic looking Santa. Real beard. Old. White. Crusty. So the hissy fit was priceless. When he looked at the back of the line at the two additional families not previously approved before breaktime (I waved at him), he blew a gasket. Got all like "no you didn't" on the elves and white gloved hands were a'flyin and I believe I heard him say "fuck." So, I did not think our "consultation" would go very well. I'm assumed he probably had to pee really bad, and most likely, did not have the prostate to support the urgency. Finally get to the front of the line, Santa beckons us. I'm thinking, we're going to get plummeted by this elfin moron. He takes a look at Misho and melts before our eyes. "This is the most beautiful child I have ever seen. Where ever did you adopt him from?" Proceeded to go on about his love of adoption and how proud he was of us as parents, and blessed our child and us infinitely and beyond.

Now, I know, dear readers. We are the lucky ones. I know the debate about how to handle people who think you "saved" a child. We did not save Misho. We love him and hopefully one day, he will love us. But there is something kind of nice about Santa, a potentially violent Santa with a small prostate, telling you he's sending you something extra nice this year because he thinks your baby is cool. It's a very strange anthropological interchange that truly made the day quite special.

A very strange, yet memorable first Santa visit. Not to mention the family in front of us who dressed their two sweet innocent boys in white turtle necks and maroon sweater vests. I mean, what the..?

The voice of Nat King Cole is the salve for all that ails me.

Just cuz...

2008-12-18T19:56:00.000-08:00

This photo is cracking me up.

Prepping for Xmas and Learning to Multitask with Mr. M

2008-12-17T13:13:00.000-08:00

Oh dear lord the holidays are a comin. And even in the best of times, I'm seriously challenged in the area of holiday prep. I'm talking the basics like shopping, cards, party attendance, tree trimming, decorating a sweatshirt with sparkles and puffy paint, etc. As you can guess, this year it's even worse. My infant multi-tasking skills are seriously in their beginning stages so juggling the regular holiday tasks with the basic infant dance is stretching my gills. Fingers crossed, I'm moving up the learning curve, but most likely at a snail's pace.

Primarily, I've been focusing on the basics. Keeping him fed:

And warm:

Everything else gets left half way done on a table to gather dust while I chase another thought that came into my head. The number of half-organized closets in our house is astounding.

Things left to do for Misho's initiation in the absurdity that is the American Holiday tradition include - scary Santa photo shoot, purchase of crazy holiday onsie, family photo holiday card, a consult with Santa about what Mr. M wants this year, an actual plan for how he will spend the holidays, and about 7 other things I have now forgotten. Not a big list, but things that remind me that I'm no Claire Huxtable, and that remind Claire Huxtable that I am not and will never be C. Huxtable. However, I did get a shot of a Santa with nail polish on:

Teaching Misho that even Santa likes to dress in drag every once in awhile.

We finally got the tree up and decorated. Trying to post a video of the tree trimming haps last night, but having some serious technical difficulties. Here are a couple of photos in the meantime. David looks like a father from the 50s, freshly home from work and bonding with his son. Misho and I look very festive or like we're headed to class at clown college.

Big Woo Appeal for IOFA!!!!!! - in Ethiopia!

2008-12-10T15:23:00.001-08:00

Hi all,

Wanted to interrupt this normally silly and shallow blog for a Big Woo Holiday Appeal to help an incredible organization called IOFA - the International Organization for Adolescents.

IOFA is an independent, nonprofit Chicago-based organization advocating for the rights of adolescents. Our current initiatives include the prevention of child exploitation, especially human trafficking, promotion and support of girls’ leadership, and the empowerment of orphaned youth. Currently, I am serving on the board and working with IOFA and potential partner organizations to expand its activities to Ethiopia, particularly in the area of orphanage transition.

As many adopted parents experience, when you pick up your new son or daughter you see and interact with the older kids. It's probably reasonable to guess that these kids might very well stay in the care center or orphanage without a permanent family for most of their childhood years. The orphanage becomes their home. Most often, when they become adults, they are forced to leave this "home" and make do on their own. Without ongoing support, they struggle with self-sufficiency, including finding a job, managing finances, securing a place to live, health care, finding friends, building relationships, and basically keeping safe. This leaves them incredibly vulnerable to crime and exploitation, including human trafficking, prostitution, the drug trade, and begging on the streets. Every organization I spoke with in Addis, including AHOPE and CHSFS (and a brief conversation with Melissa Faye Greene) said that this was one of the most pressing and most neglected issues in working with the orphaned population.

In response to situations like this, IOFA developed and implemented a creative and comprehensive orphanage transition program called Project Prepare!, first in Serbia, and now hopefully in Ethiopia. Project Prepare! is a multi-facted support program that meets the vast needs of this vulnerable population. The Project Prepare! curriculum teaches youth how to search for jobs and manage finances, how to differentiate between safe migration and human trafficking, how to avoid drugs and violence, and to create a safe and supportive network.

My husband and I had the wonderful opportunity to visit centers where Project Prepare might take place in Ethiopia. Below are some photos of us at Children's Heaven - a wonderful program that works with adolescent girls, providing them a safe and loving place to call home. We would love to bring Project Prepare to these fantastic women!

I know the holidays are upon us and the economy is rough. However, I just realized that Big Woo gets about 150 to 200 hits per day. If each Big Woo reader would click on the link below and donate maybe $5 to $10 dollars to IOFA, we could raise a good amount to support the launch of Project Prepare in Ethiopia. If you have any questions about the program, my experience in Ethiopia, or IOFA, let me know (shelbyfrench2@yahoo.com). All support, no matter the amount is most welcome!

About IOFA - www.iofa.org

To donate - http://partners.guidestar.org/controller/searchResults.gs?action_donateReport=1&partner=networkforgood&ein=13-4093883

Thanks for your support and readership! Now back to gratuitously cute pictures of Little M and my hubby.

Proof that we made it outside

2008-12-07T16:28:00.000-08:00

We did it. You can see tiny little M in the leftside mirror for proof. We're waiting for Daddy to get out of the ChicAveDominicks. We're in the car, but we're out there people...dear lord, we're out there.

Temp at time of photo - 12 degrees.

Condo Fiebre

2008-12-04T10:57:00.000-08:00

Here's what cabin fever looks like today:

We've had a reverse-evacuation to the confines of the condo. Its 20 or so degrees out. We've got unbearable wind chills, little heartiness to the cold from this CA gal, and a baby who prefers, no, demands to be naked. Our skin is about to peel off from the fake dry air. We've run out of things to talk about and the silences are muy awkward. I can't verify this but I think Little M may be petitioning to go back. He didn't bargain for extreme weather conditions that kept him locked up like an ailing hermit.

What would C. Huxtable do in this situation? Manhandle Mr. Huxtable into moving to a more moderate and sensible location.

Fine idea.

In the meantime, I've taken to Little M's method of pacification. It's actually quite nice.

S & M (oh my - just realized that I've been signing alot of things with those initials that represent something a bit different than the mother/son relationship. Nice.)

Prop 8 - The Musical

2008-12-03T16:10:00.000-08:00

Musical theatre trumps bigotry every time.

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

What Kidney Infection?

2008-11-27T20:13:00.000-08:00

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

Home and Clown Free!!!!

2008-11-25T09:19:00.000-08:00

We just got home from the hospital!! Looks like little man had a very resistant form of bacteria and went through most if not all of the more widely available antibiotics - none worked. We had to get some underground, rarely used, antibiotic with CDC approval since all the others were no match for our boy's goods. I think it is the only antibiotic in the US arsenal that could save us from alien attack if the aliens come bearing alien bacteria.

All is set now, he's on the mend but will be on additional alien-prevention-crud for about a year.

But most importantly, we were able to escape the mirth and merriment of the clown rounds.

Thanks again to everyone who sent emails and such!!! We will be in touch once we get ourselves back together again.

Have a great Thanksgiving week!!! Here are some more photos of Little M on the Mend.

Sick but still sweet.

David trying to pull the infection out of Little M's head.

I was known as the bra-less woman who roamed the floors at night spraying for clowns.

Finding the Right Antibiotic Bullet

2008-11-23T10:28:00.000-08:00

Looks like we've finally located the right antibiotic for Little M's seemingly indestructable bacteria. Took a few tries, much to our chagrin, but think we have the right thing now. Still day by day, still in the hospital, but he's in a much better mood and adapting to looking like a scene from a sci-fi film. Tomorrow, he has one more draconian medical procedure to determine the anatomical issue that may be causing the vulnerability to infection. I'll be bringing whiskey; for him and us.

More importantly, we've kept the clowns out of the room.

By the way, I don't watch too much Grey's Anatomy, but enough for me to think that all the medical personnel are doing it in the broom closet all the time. They always come in looking disheveled and with a tell-tale glow. I shudder to think how the clowns are involved.

To erase that picture from your mind, here's our little guy hopefully on the mend:

Pedialyte, laser beams, and Clown Rounds

2008-11-22T13:38:00.000-08:00

Fast update on the Mr. M kidney infection scare situation of 2008.

We're at the University of Chicago, Comer Children's Hospital. Fever is going up and down and Mr. M is still feeling quite funky, but overall is doing better. He's taking some pedialyte (which is seriously gross) and a bottle of formula here and there. Tubes, monitors, and lasers beams are still being applied all over his body. May have to have surgery to repair underdeveloped bladder that could be causing the vulnerability to kidney infection. Daddy got one smile today; he keeps looking at me like this event is bound to come up in therapy, oh let's say 10 to 20 years from now. Not sure when we're coming home since it's an hour by hour, day by day situation where his fever has to stabilize over a period of time before they can release us. We're not quite there yet, but hopefully by the beginning of the week (Mon or Tues).

Thank you to everyone for your love and support, emails, phone calls, and messages - it is hugely appreciated by all of us. This has been one scary m*ther f*ck888 ride (please see post about my potty mouth below). And a big shout out to Tracy, Jeff and Samuel - Samuel and Mr. M slept next to each other at the care center in Ethiopia and seem to have plotted hospital stays at the same time. As Tracy mentioned, we have to revoke their blackberry privileges so as to unravel the conspiracy to kill us via stress.

Now on a more scary note, Comer Hospital is designed specifically for children. This is why I am more than perplexed by their choice to let clowns loose on the floors. That's right: clowns. They call it Clown Rounds. Two women (we think) are dressed up like hobos, or homeless talking mimes as I like to call them. So far, I have protected Misho from these smiling, psychotic beasts, but they frequent the halls and who knows if they can hear us breathing behind the closed door. I'm trying to get a photo of them to post, while not getting too near them for fear of them sucking out my soul. Clowns? Seriously? Wasn't the spinal tap enough for the little guy. Pray for us.

Shelby

Shelby

Mishamo in the Hospital

2008-11-20T23:29:00.000-08:00

Hi all - just wanted to give everyone a heads up that our poor little Mishamo was admitted to the hospital today. After many hours of projectile vomiting and a high fever, we took him to the ER. He's okay now but has a complicated kidney infection related to something in his anatomy. For awhile they thought it might be bacterial meningitis - which is a whole load of hell that we didn't even want to think about and almost threw me over the edge. He's still miserable, still throwing up, but it is a diagnosis that is treatable over the next year. He already has the latent TB treatment so this is another load of goodness to throw on top of that. It was horrible today. He had a spinal tap, a tube stuck down his throat into his intestines, an ultrasound, five or six chest and abdomen xrays, and a catheter.
With this much poking, prodding, and probing, we might as well have gotten his nipples pierced and a picture of the Ethiopian flag tattooed on his ass. It was horrific.

I wasn't sure who to kill first. What would Claire Huxtable do? Exactly what I did I am confident to say; assert my self loudly yet diplomatically (with a dash of "I'm actually truly crazy" thrown in) when my child is almost in convulsions and no one seems to sense the urgency. It was a nightmare.

It's 1:30am, and I'm home dealing with the dogs for a few hours - David's at the hospital and I'll be back there in a couple of hours or so. Please keep us in your thoughts. It looks like we're out of the woods but will probably be in the hospital for a couple of days.

The house is really quiet and sad without Little M. The dogs can feel it.

S & D

The F-Bomb

2008-11-18T17:47:00.000-08:00

It is very possible, very predictable that our son's first word may very well be the F-word. We aren't crude people necessarily, but we do use profanity when and if it is absolutely necessary; which equates to, in this raw city of Chicago, about a dozen times a day. Its a hard world that calls for a hard response.

At times.

So, the trick here is to teach our little guy to use profanity as it was meant to be used; wisely, poetically, and only at the right time.

For example, if you are on the playground and some clod womps you on the head to get to your legos, you don't pull out the f-bomb right away. You wait. Quietly. And if he or she does it twice, internal mental negotiations take place. And you may have to pull out the big guns.

Now, I can feel the hard, judgemental gaze of Claire H. over there on the sidebar: "any child of mine that used the f-bomb would find some sort of mom bomb coming right at them." (that is a direct quote from the Cosby show). Obviously, my profanity strategies would not bode well in the Huxtable household, and I'm fearing my muse is quickly turning into my Superego. I can feel her; assessing me from her law degree-ed, I-can-easily-handle-more-than-one-infant, tightly belted high horse.

She's judging me people. I can feel it. What do I do? Ignore it, or continue to have conversations with the Great Claire H in my head until a resolution is reached.

As you can tell by the direction of this entry, I'm sleep deprived. And by the way, Claire Huxtable was from the 80s, so I did break some rules to get her nominated. Bitch.

Shelby

P.S. - I'm assuming I will receive some hate mail for calling Claire Huxtable the B-word. But, I'm in a mood, and she has been given me some high and mighty looks lately, and it's pissing me off.

F-word.

Gratuitous Misho shot:

The Men of the House

2008-11-17T18:18:00.000-08:00

Here they are in all their penile glory. Daisy and I are now outnumbered. All three leave the toilet seat up, use aggressive forms of communication, eat meat raw and off the bone, and are emotionally challenged. Don't feel sorry for us; Daisy and I still have our feminine wiles - plus our cycles are in sync so we attack in perfect precision. Here is an example of such an attack:

Miraculously, my son is allowing me to work on the computer (like I actually have a wrench and am working on the motherboard) and update the blog. Soon I will be starting a weekly segment called: WWCHD - What Would Claire Huxtable Do?

I have many scenarios that need reckoning from my new motherly muse. If only I can live up to the task.

Shelby

Origin of Love

2008-11-14T22:26:00.000-08:00

With all this Prop 8 bigotrycrapsuckitstuff - time to bring out a song that captures depth, love, and heart. Trying not to get blindly angry, but I'm ready to get all Norma Ray on someone. In the meantime, listen to Hedwig.

Big-Ass Shoes

2008-11-13T18:40:00.000-08:00

Holy god. Claire Huxtable? Seriously people? I'm a maternal embryo here and the majority have chosen the mother of all mothers as my inspiration? Did any of you know that she was actually chosen as the mother of all time by the kings of the universe? http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/4892882/ Not that I'm questioning the poll, but it's clear that most participants don't really know me. I'm lucky to keep a plant moist and motivated.

Dear social worker monitoring the contents of my blog, I make this statement purely in jest - there are many organic and living materials alive in my home, including our beautiful new son. Our plants and dogs will vouch for us.

I'm grateful to the two who went with Lillian Munster (thanks Ariel!!!)since on my most mornings, one could mistake me and my house for the housekeeping strategies and tactics of the Munster family.

Anyway, the poll is open for another 50 minutes. Interesting that no one went for Carol Brady or Edith Bunker. Says alot about the state of the nation(whatever that means). New Misho footage on its way this weekend, but here's a new photo in the meantime:

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Mom Icon Survey to the Right...

2008-11-06T19:37:00.000-08:00

Alright. Here are the suggestions from you all on a possible maternal deity (from the 70s mind you) for personal worship. Let me know what you think. Feel free to explain your answers in the comments section. And in the meantime, here's a photo of me at my maternal best and Misho appearing rather freaked out by it. As you can see, I need a protege.

The Night That Made Misho Smile...

2008-11-05T12:56:00.000-08:00

Ever seen a look of satisfaction quite like that before? Thank you Obama for helping us catch the elusive Big Foot!

I'm so happy I could squeal. And have been for the last 24 hours. It's starting to hurt.

Despite the look of happiness and balance above, little guy is still on a rather rigorous sleep strike. I have easily aged 5 years since this weekend. It appears that Mr. M does not like it when I tend to my own affairs such as peeing, tooth brushing, showering, sleeping, breathing, or eating the occasional piece of stale bread. I feel like a hostage with Stockholm syndrome. I've chosen to fall in love with my captor to avoid the deep rooted madness that is hovering around my head like a horse fly. Seriously, I never thought I could be brought to the brink of crazy quite like this. I've brought in reinforcements; Nonnie is here and loaded Mr. M up in the carriage and they're off to Guam or somewhere near there. In the meantime, I'm slipping in a quick blog entry, and checking in on poor Ellen Degeneres who must be so friggin pissed that California has proven itself so backward and bigoted. I mean the other half of California that I never met when growing up there. Cruel and unnecessary.

In the meantime, cheers to my sweet sweet crush Obama and a year where I don't feel the urge to say I'm Canadian to seatmates on international flights.

Shelby

vote, do it, or I'll be angry

2008-11-03T23:01:00.000-08:00

...and while we're at it, vote for the guy I want. The Big O. He is splendiforous. He's a mighty mighty man, whose hand I have had the pleasure to shake. I could go on, but I am going on very little sleep and sanity so my words are few and probably in the wrong order. Mr. M regressed a bit. One too many doctors visits with an unfortunate chest xray. Little M is fine, but he's got a bout of the latent TB. Nothing horrible - no trips to Tuscon wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket for recovery. But still, a bit anxiety producing. Especially for him. It's 1am and I just got him to sleep...and he had one eye on me the whole time.

I have some lovely blog entries lined up but finding the key board in my sleep deprived state is challenging.

For now, here is a random photo of the boys getting their music on. The Jam to be precise.

This Demeans Us Both...(the search for a smile and the ultimate mother icon)

2008-10-28T11:52:00.000-07:00

I've heard the call for more photos! Here's our man dressed in his reptilian finest, with a look that does not hide his opinion of the whole affair. Finding photos of Misho smiles is like searching for Big Foot. I swear to god they exist (he does it often!), others have seen it, but some said it was another baby in a Misho suit (the zipper was exposed).

So in the meantime, I will start sharing the plethora of sour faces that we've captured on film, and there are a number of them.

The Transition of Misho is going well. Well...well and then not so well at times. This poor little one has been dropped into a cold bucket of new smells, sounds, and sights. My family is loud. If any of you are reading this, don't deny it - most family affairs are boistrous events where you have to aggressively vocalize to get into the game. Misho was used to very sweet smelling, sweet talking, respectful nannies who cooed lovingly at him at low volume. Sometimes he looks at us like we're a bunch of uncivilized beasts. I think I actually heard him refer to us as "white trash", but then again it could have just been a gurgle.

Transitioning into motherhood is another to-do all together. Sometimes, I'm sweet smiles, kisses, and lollipops, ready to hold my son for hours while I shower him with smooches and nibbles. Other times, I'm hiding in the closet, rocking back and forth while he launches into his third hour of crying, thinking about when a respectable time would be for the first glass of wine.

I'm looking for a mom icon, a muse, a figure of divine motherhood that I can emulate and pray to. Now, before we start mentioning mother figures of depth (Hindu gods, unmentionable actresses who are way too friggin fertile), I'm going back to the time and source that makes me most comfortable - TV moms from the 70s.

Here's who I'm working on so far:

Anne Romano - aka Bonnie Franklin (One Day at a Time) - single mother extraordinaire from One Day at a Time - I'm not single but this little lady had pluck and a fine looking bowl bob.

Carol Brady - aka Florence Henderson (The Brady Bunch) - kind of an obvious pick, but any woman who could smile incessantly around 6 children and invent the mullet is someone to look up to.

Florida Evans -aka Estelle Rolle (Good Times) polyester pantsuits and a no nonsense attitude. Florida is currently in the lead in my book.

So my friends, help me find my diety of motherhood. Mama needs a mentor. And I promise that once chosen, I will post a picture of me dressed as this new muse; hair, attitude, and all. Leave your suggestions - I'll tally up the results and set out a poll.

In the meantime, please help the mother of this lost little boy find some direction...

Gnomes and such in Ethiopia

2008-10-21T18:34:00.000-07:00

Most of you know about my often debilitating fear of gnomes. I believe gnomes are tiny, nasty little creatures that run havoc with our lives (refer to entries of July and August 2008). Well, just imagine what could have been running through my mind when I ran across a virtual "gnome-fest" at the Sheraton in Addis Ababa. I thought for sure the adoption would have been halted and we would have been arrested by the Ethiopian authorities for some unknown reason. Luckily, nothing of the sort happen, but I was able to capture the pure gnome magic on film. I've also added a few shots of random Ethiopian priests we found tucked away in the church caves of Lalibela. I believe they were the antidote to what could have been a unmitigated gnome-generated disaster. Enjoy.

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Zombie Baby

2008-10-16T08:08:00.000-07:00

Mr M is demonstrating some weird ass behavior. It's all very fishy. I found a post it in his onsie with my blog password, and some notes jotted in Amharic. There may be some sort of conspiracy going on. He's really jet lagged, so take what he puts out there with a grain of salt.

Additionally, he has recently taken to sucking, eating, or devouring my face. I'm thinking he does this with love, but there is a look in his eye that says, "hey lady, I could take off your cheek in one bite." He's either so in love with me that he could ingest me whole OR....he's a zombie baby. David is banking on the latter.

Caught in action. It starts off as an innocent cuddle, and then....well...please see below (not for the faint of heart). By the way, this is me with absolutely no sleep, so do not send this to Perez Hilton for commentary about my lack of personal care & style.

A letter from Mishamo Inc.

2008-10-13T19:48:00.000-07:00

Dear Shareholders (and those with vested interest in Mishamo Incorporated),

This open letter will provide an update on the current state of affairs for the company of Mishamo Inc. As with the rest of the US economy, our portfolio has entered a bearish market of intense fluctuations and seemingly unexplainable changes. For instance, I, as CEO of Mishamo Inc., at one time lived in a comfortable room with 6 or so other CEO's who were fed, diapered, and bathed on a regimented and predictable schedule. This schedule has been abruptly altered, against my will. It appears that I have been victim of a bloodless corporate takeover by two new board members, and abruptly taken to a new headquarters in a land that I know not much about. The aforementioned schedule seems to have been completely disregarded and no longer applies to my clock and parameters of time. Additionally, I'm often required to pose for repeated photos with these said board memebers; individuals that I do not know, nor do I know if they have any vested interested in my work or the interests of the company. I often have strong, vocal opinions, and wish to share these opinions with those who I believe should hear them. I am now often shushed, repeatedly, and bounced around in a swaying and/or up and down like motion, like this will change my perspective or create some sort of comfort and stability in this time of great flux. Moreover, my daily meals have taken on a duller and blander taste and texture. Gone are the days of spice and pungency; replaced with gruel that supposedly is good for the lining of my stomach. I strongly feel this should be my decision, and yet, I am silenced.

I write to you, not for pity, but to alert you to the intense shake up of the basic foundation of the company. I implore you to check in repeatedly to assure that these new drivers of the organization have my best interests at heart, and understand that I still do and will forever lead this company into glory. I am more than willing to adjust to change - because as someone I never read once wrote: if you do not change, you will die (or something like that). I for one, want to thrive. So, with your help and support of the new regime, I feel that this may, in the end, be a win-win situation. Only time will tell. In the meantime, I refer to the photo below:

Yours in service,
Mishamo French Pehlke, CEO
Mishamo Incorporated

We're Home!

2008-10-12T19:28:00.000-07:00

Howdy everyone!! First, I apologize for not posting from Ethiopia. It was certainly not from the lack of trying. I set up the email update account, but everytime I constructed and seemingly sent out an entry, it sat quitely in my sent box and wouldn't go out. Conspiracy theories abounded but I think it was just a slow mouse working in the Ethionet internet power box.

That said, we had such an amazing time!!! Mr M. is the most wonderful little man. He has such a wonderful disposition, and is a dead ringer for Tiger Woods, who may also be Ethiopian, if he would just own up.

Currently, M-boy is undergoing a fun but rather tiring transition period here. He is almost dead set on staying awake and looking at every piece of lint, dot, and flicker of light on the wall. He's truly the CEO of this operation, and we're flutting around like serfs trying to please him. His social report (verified by direct observation) says that he "prefers to be naked", and does not cry for "simple reasons." Just like his mom. We're so in love, it will make you ill. More to come.

I just came out of a 5 hour coma and finally, Little M has fallen into a 7 hour sleeper, with currently no end in sight. I am obsessively checking out his breathing and making sure he doesn't snap a limb in the Cirque du Soleil positions he seems to sleep through. The trip home, or rather the last third was rough. A airplane toilet exploded upon my feet and legs, Misho decided to give up sleep for Lent (early), and I ended up having an "we're almost there" breakdown to some sort of angel stewardess on the last leg. And please, do not let me forget to update you all on the gnomes (dozens of them scattered willy nilly) that I came across at the Sheraton in Addis. Talk about a freak out.

Thanks to all of you for your kind words and support!! More photos on their way!

Big shout out to the rule-breaking, rule-creating October 2nd group! All I can say is that we were "dangerous." You all know what I'm talking about line-crossers.

One more shot....

Love, Shelby, M, & D.

We're off!

2008-09-26T05:19:00.001-07:00

Mishamo Update - Thank you to the Amys!!!

2008-09-25T14:25:00.000-07:00

Howdy all,

Things here in packing central are almost done with less than twenty four hours to go. All is strangely calm before this baby storm. I think it has to do with the last minute consumer frenzy we've entered into. I may have single handedly saved the economy from what I've pumped into it the last few days. I bought those "space bags" that I always regarded leerily during late night TV watching. But oh my god, they're fantastic! My entire closet has been pumped into a carry on. Who knew?

And, for those of you who read the earlier entry re: Babies-R-Us, I actually went back in. That's right, the Babies-R-Us folks actually have....wait for it....alot of baby stuff! Who knew? I found baby accoutrement there that I had given up on finding. However, I did wear full combat gear and took a shot of whiskey before entering, but I was pleasantly surprised by the success of the mission. God bless B-R-US, and that loveable little giraffe.

And now for the real point of this post, thank you to Amy and Amy; two wonderful adoptive moms who took the time to send some wonderful tidbits about the mysterious Mr. M. Amy is proud son to Baby A., and Indiana Amy is host to a beautiful set of triplets! God bless them for finding the time to send me these wonderful words:

From Indiana Amy:

"I saw your gorgeous son and his easy, amazing smile while we were in Ethiopia bringing home our babies. His "crib" was very near theirs, and they seem to all be very good friends Someone sent me an "I saw your kids" email, and I memorized it during my wait, so I hope that knowing that someone closer than a million miles from here has seen your astonishingly beautiful little boy helps make the next few days fly. He has an absolutely CAPTIVATING smile -- so alert and endearing -- and he plays beautifully with others Take care, and have a wonderful trip. You won't be able to help it!"

From the Amy who lives 8 blocks from us:

"He was asleep when I went in to see him, but the nanny held him up so I could see his face. He looks so amazing!! He has really filled out--you almost won't recognize him. He has beautiful, creamy skin and the sweetest little mouth. When I saw him today, he was wearing an orange hoodie and black track pants. As I was leaving, the nanny whispered to me (in english), "I love him so much." It was such a sweet moment."

These messages practically killed me. So, to celebrate, here is Lauryn Hill and the Fugees, Killing Me Softly (one of me fave tunes).

So dear friends, we're almost there! Thank you for all the love and support. I hope to be able to update the blog via email, so be on the look out for updates and photos!

Bon Voyage!!! (Edit: can one "bon voyage" oneself? - because, well...I just did)

Shelby & David & Misho & Daisy & Ulysses

Round Up the Bedouins

2008-09-16T17:16:00.001-07:00

It's happening! We're packing. And let me tell you, it is quite the camel caravan. As many of you international adoptive families already know, packing for the pick up is quite the scene. We're bringing our own gear, Baby M's gear, and some donations for the care center. It's like a geometric puzzle trying to squish in diapers, tolietries, shiny baby objects, ten bottles of hand sanitizer (donation - we're not that germophobic) and an IPOD.

I would love to figure out how to pack things in another dimension, and then access them through some wormhole when I get there. Could happen.

I think I'm halfway done with Baby M's suitcase. I might even bring him a little baby fanny pack where he can store his passport, Eurorail pass, and clove cigarettes. Frankly, its like packing for Cher. But I don't think Cher's costume changes have to do with pooping oneself. I'm picking some rather bold outfits. For most of the time, he will be covered with a modest baby blanket, but underneath, a fashion plate burps.

The bottle thing has me flummoxed. Many different bottles. Different sizes. Different nipples (stop laughing 12 year olds!). And then there's that poison plastic emission stuff I need to avoid. Now, I lived in California and considered myself rather up on the environmental forefront. I cut the six pack plastic tabs so the dolphins wouldn't be censored. But I'm not sure which bottle is the right bottle. So, I'm bringing them all. One camel in the caravan (named Jeff) is assigned solely to hauling a full inventory of different baby bottles.

Back to packing...

Happy Ethiopian New Year/Enkutatash!

2008-09-11T17:35:00.000-07:00

It's the Ethiopian New Year! Greetings and best wishes to all! We will definitely be sticking this date in our yearly calendar of reasons to have family and friends over to celebrate in messy and inappropriate ways.

This year, it's me and the dogs.

We're laying on the floor, contemplating our Enkutatash resolutions.

Daisy promised to not lick the furniture so much this year.

Ulysses committed to peeing only on the outside of the house, and to read more fiction.

I commit to being the best mom I can be for Misho. I don't know what that means yet being so new to the job. But, I 100% commit to Misho that I will love him unconditionally, always be present, hear his true self, and give him the space to be who he wants and needs to be.

Happy Enkutatash Misho! See you in three weeks!

Love, Mom.

Now, for no reason, here's a gratuitous celebratory video from the 80's, with the mandatory 80's champagne cork shot.

I heart Siouxisie and the Banshees, and so should you.

13 Pound Waterloo

2008-09-05T20:52:00.000-07:00

Fabu update from the Ethiopian home office. My boy - Misho the Magnificant - is now clocking in at over 13 pounds! The sumo-wrestler visualization techniques are working! To celebrate, let's call in the professionals. The sexiest, most charismatic video ever. Waterloo.

Sing it out Sweden.

They said it would happen, but I didn't believe them...

2008-09-02T16:00:00.000-07:00

Today for the first time, reality set in. They, them, those people, said I would one day wake up, probably a couple of weeks before travel to pick up Misho, and truly realize just what we’ve done. I stayed home today due to some uterine issues (no need for details), and as I lie on the couch innocently enough watching The View (official public excuse: in too much pain to turn channel), it hit me like a dump truck full of play dough.

Holy hell. I’m going to be a mom.

This child will be with us for the rest of our days. We are irreversibly attached to and reconstructing our lives to accommodate another living breathing thing. And not a living breathing thing that can rest comfortably in most cases on the floor, pee on outdoor objects, and seem somewhat satisfied with a bowl of kibble. But rather a living breathing thing whose needs will be complex, mulit-layered, and perhaps even a little weird. I will be the primary caretaker of this human being. Or my “son”, as we’re now calling him.

Misho will stare at me and expect things. Holy shit. I’m going to have to know things. Mom things. Where to wipe and what to stick into his mouth. We have to hang out, A LOT, with no option to not. He might think I’m rather odd and smell funny, but whatever buddy, no changing cliques this time. I may be driving down the road, singing my favorite disco hit, and bam, realize that there is a baby in the back seat, and I’m not dropping him off somewhere.

Now, this is not the charming and heartwarming welcome letters that mothers put together for their children on their blogs. This is a declaration of panic. We’ve been trying to start a family for upward of six years now, and boom, we’re finally here. Almost. And will I let him read about my panic? Of course. Just to demonstrate how friggin seriously I took this mommy enterprise. How life altering. How ginormous. How seriously I took the job that I had a panic attack in my dark basement and almost ate an entire jar of peanut butter while the dogs looked helplessly on.

I’ve also noticed that my pants seem to have crept higher up my torso. Even my super hip-hugging pipe jeans seem to be on a journey toward my chin. How did the zipper and button crawl their way up past my belly button? Oh yeah, crap. I’m a mom.

I heart Dolly

2008-08-29T15:11:00.000-07:00

Damn I love Dolly Parton. If I could find a way to wake up and dress up like that everyday....well....I probably wouldn't do it for long. But at least a week!

Saw her in May and she was unbelieveable. Me, my husband, bunch of country-lovin folk, and a whole mess of drag queens.

Here's her new single Shinola.

The lyrics are something else.

I've been spending alot of time on You Tube, looking for fave videos and songs while waiting for the none too timely arrival of Mr. Misho. Expect to see some crazy posts in the ensuing three weeks before departure. Many postings will come late at night.

Beware. Could get weird.

Camels and porn

2008-08-28T20:45:00.001-07:00

OCTOBER 2ND - Mom's birthday, and the launch of our official pick up date of Mr. M. We finalized the travel itinerary today with a departure of September 26th, two nights in Dubai (at a hotel next to a camel racing track - yes I said camel), arrival in Addis on September 29th, lolly gag around Addis, and then torpedo into the care center on October 2nd - actually the 3rd, but it's Mom's birthday, so we're calling it the 2nd.

We'll be flying the Emirate skies which supposedly is the closest thing to nirvana you will ever have. Supposedly, it makes Singapore Air look like Aeroflot. Here is the video for the first class lounge services, in aire, in the new Airbus 380 (though, we would have to sell an organ to fly first class, so no, we're not). I truly believe they recruited an ex porn movie director. The lingering glances and the weird bar loitering cannot be ignored.

Enjoy the "friendly" and strangely choreographed skies.

The Shower. As it happened. No editing.

2008-08-24T19:23:00.000-07:00

Alright kids. Here's the Mono-tage of the best baby shower in the universe. I tried to keep my knees glued together during the present opening segment, but I may have shot out a crotch peek inadvertantly. So apologies to the weak of heart.

Anyway, here tis. We had a most spectacular time.

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Misho, are you ready for your close up?

2008-08-21T15:26:00.000-07:00

We got the birth certificate!!!! And with it, this beautiful photo of our stunned little guy! It's clearly a "what the..?" kind of moment. We don't have a travel date, which is pissing me off to no end. Everyone on the forum who has received their birth certificate got a travel date...except us. Friggin frack. Not getting much detailed response from our social worker except that they're finalizing the travel groups. Finalizing for everyone but us!

I smell a gnome.

For now....enjoy my baby's eyes.

Somebody Kill Me...

2008-08-20T19:47:00.000-07:00

Over four weeks since making it through court. Still no birth certificate. Still no travel date. Is this the work of a gnome? Are there shenanigans going on that will muck up the pick up of our son?

I'll pay the ransom! Just tell me what you want gnomes!

In the meantime, here's some things I've been doing to pass the time...

Mishamoshowerpower

2008-08-18T16:38:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone,

A big woo bowl of love and gratitude to everyone who came to the best baby shower in the universe thrown by my loving and sexy friends; Katherine and Robbyn! Crazy candid photos to come soon.

People were wonderfully ill behaved in a variety of inappropriate and sick ways. Plastic babies were encased in ice! Profanity flew around the room! Cats were chased by heat seeking toddlers! The Mom and Pop to-be didn't pass out but could have if there had been yet one more bottle of wine. And yes, there was even scrapbooking. Now, for those of you who know me, I'm not a scrapbook kind of gal, yet even I melted when viewing the party guest-generated keepsake that will track all of Misho's numerous and record breaking accomplishments.

I'm talkin to you Phelps! (No pressure Misho).

And thanks to everyone who continues to shower us with gifts and goodies! Its like having a secret santa on your doorstep each day.

So here are the latest baby gear stats since I know your all wanting to know my latest product picks:

The closet is almost full. The crib and changing table are here.
We painted the room this weekend. The dogs lovingly rubbed their tails in it. We had a brief color snafu where we almost ended up with "bleak Russian-orphanage blue" (yes, its a color) on the walls. But luckily, the hue died down a bit (probably in response to my mom-zilla tantrum about not wanting "friggin cliche baby blue!!!") and the result is serene, soothing, and satisfying.

I think we've picked out the stroller. Well, at least we've eyeballed it. Still haven't tried it out to see if it (readers, you know where I'm going with this) collapses (refer to earlier entry about bastard stroller that tried to kill me). We'll see how this goes. I may end up carrying Misho around until he's 16.

Shelby

David trying to be "coy" (well, that's what he said) and me with my underwear peeking out of the back of my pants (just trying to start up a rap career people).

Waiting for Misho

2008-08-15T17:00:00.001-07:00

Like for Godot...we wait. It sort of feels like someone is holding my child for ransom. Ethiopia thinks we're his parents, we think we're his parents, I'm 100% sure our dogs think we're his parents (they've sniffed the onsies; they know something is up), and frankly, I think Misho on a subconscious level is hip to the gig (whatever that means).

And yet. We wait.

If Godot shows up instead, I'll be pissed.

And by the way, the photo up above is to find out if my husband is actually reading this blog. Duddie? (And yes, that is David, sitting in a tub, at the Bellagio in Las Vegas)

Shelby (aka Misho's mom - in case the universe didn't hear it clearly the first time.)

Misho as Art

2008-08-07T17:21:00.000-07:00

Well as you can all see, the wait for birth certificate and travel date continues. The silence is deafening. At times, I emit an almost Zen-like patience that the Dali Lama would envy. This lasts for about three and half minutes normally during Project Runway (which I'm none too happy with this season I must say) or a frenzied flamenco class during a tornado, and then its back to the basic level of fret. Not so much fret, but irritated impatience. I sort of understand the bureaucratic reasoning behind the wait, but then I fear the gnomes and what sort of shenanigans they could inject into this process if it goes on too long (see a the Bad Day entry of August 1 for context).

Please gnomes, stay far far away from our son. Find other ways to channel your anger and thoughts of revenge. We'll pay you off, in some sort of gnome-accepted currency; small shiny objects, gingerbread condos, and/or of course, liquor.

Yes. You could say...I'm praying to the gnomes. Its possible. And bound to get worse as the wait continues.

In the meantime, my friends are helping me pass the time by turning one of the only two photos we have a Misho into truly high art.

If you are questioning my current mental state, you have every reason to do so. We're hanging by a thread here people.

Shelby

My Baby Grows!

2008-08-05T16:47:00.000-07:00

We got new stats! Misho has gained a pound and grown a centimeter. He's clocking in at a little over 10 pounds, a little over 55 centimeters long.

Misho is a healthy mammoth boy who will continue to expand in girth, pride, and pleasure!

This is my visualization to assist my young man in catching up from his tiny origins. Not that he will ever or should get that big (unless sumo wrestling is truly in his heart, and then who am I to say?), but it just might give the universe the necessary force to move him in the right, well-fed direction!

Go Misho!

I Heart Texas

2008-08-03T11:47:00.000-07:00

Home again. In case any of my lovely friends from Texas catch wind of my blog entries below, please know that I do heart the people of Texas. You're a lovely kind folk that provided me with enormous amounts of food, clear directions in the airport, and a fine drink at the end of the day.

Yeehaw Texas, yeehaw.

Bar conversation in Round Rock Texas

2008-08-01T17:45:00.001-07:00

Lady at table: "What does your tattoo say?"

Man at next table: "I don't remember."