Our soon-to-be daughter lives in Guangdong province, where there's been terrible flooding over the past few weeks. I believe she's okay, because I've been following the travels of someone else who just adopted from the same orphanage, and other than a road outage that delayed the mom's follow-up tour of the orphanage, it sounds like it's just rainy there.
But boy, it makes me even more anxious to get our daughter home.
Last night, our town gave us a call to let us know that PSE&G was holding rolling blackouts because of the heat. (At least this time they gave us a little notice, so we could fully crank up the AC and cool the place down.) And then the wrath of God rained down on our tiny subsection of the 'burbs, downing tree branches, raining sideways, the whole shebang.
But the power didn't come back on. For the rest of the night, the following morning and stretching wellll into the afternoon. We had a heated debate over dumping the ($5 per gallon) milk. We hurried out for ice to stuff in the nooks and crannies of our fully stocked fridge. And we worried about what we'd do tonight if the power still hadn't returned. So there was much rejoicing ringing through our neighborhood's opened windows when the power finally came on at 2 p.m. today. We're still crossing our fingers that we'll keep the power. Here in my section of the burbs, it can't be taken for granted.
Apparently, my family sucks all the energy out of a place. First, we caused a blackout in our area over the weekend. Then today, we head to the next town over to have the docs give our dear daughter her annual once-over. As her doctor and I discuss the impending adoption, and before the doc even lays a cold stethoscope on my daughter, the power goes out...and we're in pitch black.
The ever-resourceful doctor managed to get a checkup done in the dark, thanks to the light on that little otoscope, and our daughter was healthy as an ox (and pleased as punch that this visit didn't entail a needle stick, since the pediatrician is sold out of Hepatitis A vaccine at the moment). We'll be heading to the travel clinic this week to be sure she's up to date on everything she needs...and hope that our doctor's office gets juiced up enough tomorrow to write the letter we need to add to our adoption file.
For most people, the harbingers of summer are things like opening their pool, the end of school for their kids, the blooming of the daylilies. But here in my tiny corner of northern New Jersey, nothing says summer like a bunch of old guys standing around watering their driveways and, of course, the annual power outages. Yesterday, as temperatures of 96 and above scorched our latest attempts at landscaping, our power gave out four different times. The first, for nearly four hours; two hours later, for another two hours; and overnight, once for a half hour, and once for a few minutes or so.
I was particularly peeved, because I was trying to do my best for the environment and the budget: I was only running ceiling fans at the time the power gave out. It was a balmy 80 degrees at the outset, but soon skyrocketed toward 90. My husband and I took turns trying to cool off our panting dog, who refused the pool but tolerated cool washcloths placed on him, and bringing our daughter into our (thankfully chilly) pool.
Apparently, it was a "substation problem," as the PSE&G person assured us over my corded phone. (I keep one of these antiquities handy all summer, because we have to use it eventually.) In the seven years I've lived in my house, we've lost power at least three times a summer each and every year. This was never a problem anywhere else I've lived, including New York City.
So, what gives, PSE&G? By the end of the evening, my tired, hot and cranky daughter was asking "why the not nice people took our power away." And boy, I was wondering the same thing...especially when many times, it turns out that the power's only out for our small little area (as in, a tiny four-block subsection). We pay our bills. We pay you handsomely. And we deserve answers about why we have yet to go through a summer without a blackout.
Last night at 5,we had a horrific thunderstorm—so bad I kept watch on the sky in case funnel clouds started to form. About two hours after it had calmed down, we heard a terrible thud. It turns out that part of a huge tree fell in our former day-care provider's backyard, crushing her neighbor's garage and taking out the little village of playhouses that she set up for the kids.
I was so nervous about it for hours afterward, and had a hard time sleeping last night. If that tree had fallen a few hours earlier—or several later—I just can't even imagine it.
A huge aftershock hit China, heaping more destruction onto an already devastated area. There are so many stories coming out of there that make my heart so heavy—parents losing their only child, children losing their parents (just yesterday, one orphanage took in over 2 dozen children affected by the disaster). And so many people still missing, so many people without food or water, living under a tarp or the bare sky.
We get daily updates on how the orphanages are faring. There are still nearly a dozen orphanages that no one has been able to contact, and they fear the worst. Fortunately, at the rest, no one was injured; but buildings are unsafe and supplies are dwindling or gone.
There are several organizations that are on the ground right now, trying to help in the earthquake zone. Here are a few that I support and would recommend as good charities who will do their best to help those in need, if you're feeling so inclined:
Love Without Boundaries
Half the Sky
Spence-Chapin (our agency, which is working in conjunction with Americares; specify Earthquake Relief)
Yet another unfruitful day of work, as I'm spending much of my day watching stories about the earthquakes in China. I am very fortunate that the people I care about most in China...my daughter waiting for us there, and the people who cared for my oldest daughter...live far enough away from the epicenter that they were unharmed. Please send positive thoughts or prayers, though, for those who weren't so lucky...there are thousands of people dead, and thousands more injured, and likely millions who lost homes and livelihoods in the disaster.
As you can see from the comments on my previous post, after a deluge of angry blog posts, e-mails and calls from the other adoptive moms out there, the sponsors of the "America's Favorite Mom" contest apologized and changed the category name to adopting moms. Which makes it slightly better.
My problem with the new wording? We should never have been singled out in the first place. Adoption is just a means of creating families...but once that family is created, it's no different than any other family out there. Adoptive moms should have been nominated in the other categories--we're working moms and "CEO" moms, military moms and single moms.
We're just like all you other moms out there, worrying about whether our kids are eating enough vegetables, jostling for the front row at the school performances, kissing and bandaging the tiniest boo-boos. We may have social workers instead of stretch marks, but underneath it all, we're the same.
And we're tired of being portrayed otherwise by the unenlightened.
So, NBC is running a contest for "America's Favorite Mom." There are semifinalist categories, where people can vote for their favorite military moms, working moms, single moms, etc. And my favorite category: the "non-mom" mom. Which is for "mothers of adopted children, grandparents and stepmothers." Because, you know, you're a non-mom if you don't actually grow the baby in you for 9 months. Because all those sleepless nights, all those hours of Candyland, all those hugs and kisses, all that time I've been caring and worrying and loving my daughter...that's all just babysitting. I'm not a real mom. I'm a "non-mom."
Guess my husband can call off the celebration this weekend, and my daughter can give the gift she made to someone else. No need to celebrate me...I'm technically a "non-mom."
No, I'm not going to tell you how old I've gotten (though I will tell you that my daughter's guesses included four and seventeen before she got some coaching from her father...and then she added on from there...YIKES!). Admittedly, the day started off a little bit rocky: Our dear dog was monstrously, disgustingly sick overnight...to the point that it reeked upstairs and his illness occurred in his crate downstairs. But since then, it's been all good. A nice relaxing day of work (a bit of it from our front stoop...ah, spring). Sushi and ice cream cake to follow tonight.
I don't dread my birthdays like some people, and I don't lie about my age (though I'm close to being the same age as my grandmother, who still insists she's 39). Mostly, they pass by nicely enough, and I have to think hard when someone asks how old I am to remember that I have turned a year older. Time passes too quickly these days.
It's funny how much difference a decade (or two) makes. Once upon a time, excitement for my birthday started right about when Christmas ended, and I counted down the days until I could be eight and a half instead of simply eight. The magic of birthdays ended just about the time I turned 21. After that, they served no good purpose. My guess is I'll only start getting excited about birthdays again when I get closer to retirement age.
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