Family Braggin'

I subscribe to Google alerts. It's a fun thing I do to learn more about my family. Thanks to these alerts, I found my aunt & uncle's tablecloth in a museum and some other really cool stuff.

Today in my inbox I found a great article about my father in the New York Times.

Yes, my father lived in tzarist Russia. Yes, he arrived in the US in 1926. No, I'm not 90 years old. My father was 68 when I was born. Awesome! My mom was 39....they married when she was 25 and he was 54. They met in Los Angeles, at the Trocodero. I've been told that the Daily Variety had an article the next day, as my father stood up and said - in his loud, Russian voice, "My heart is on fire." Truly a great love story.

The picture above was taken before I was born. The little imp on the left is my brother, Bill. He was 16 when I was born. this is what he looks like now: The other boy, gazing lovingly at my mom, was my brother, Tony. He died in 1991 of bone cancer. He was 19 when I was born! At the hospital, the nurses thought HE was my father!

Thanks to the internet, I've learned more about my wonderful, unusual family.

Can I just use the title from my last post?

I was the one in the senior yearbook that said I wanted to be a mom - with 12 kids.

Unfortunately, I had a few issues.

I didn't marry until I was 38 years old. Let's just say I had some abandonment issues that led me to push people away before they could leave me. Let's just hope I'm over that one.....

I married a man with a step-daughter. His ex-wife and step-daughter had left town, so he didn't get to see her, but he always carried her picture.

I'd struggled for years with endometriosis. I'll spare you the details, but I was left with poor odds according to my doctor: 25% chance of ever getting pregnant, and a 25% chance of carrying that child to term. And my age only made it worse. My ex-husband was born with a birth defect that, while not life-threatening, required numerous painful surgeries to correct. He had the first at age 3, and the last in high school. He was left self-conscious of the scars, and with constant pain, and didn't want to pass it down.

We decided that maybe kids weren't for us. We were busy with our careers and extremely active in theatre. That's how we met, actually. I had just moved to Redding, and auditioned for a play, and we were both in the same cast. So that's what we did - one show after another.

About 4 1/2 years later, his ex-wife and her daughter moved back to town. At least I got to be a stepmom. I first met Jen when she was 14. Tall, and beautiful, with braces and bony knees. She's still so close to my heart and we talk all the time.

Not long after she came back into our lives, I thought of adopting. Not wanting to overwhelm my husband, I prayed about it. Less than two weeks later, he came to me and asked if maybe we could adopt a little one.

We were in the middle of building a home, so decided to wait until we moved in. In the meantime, I researched everything on adoption I could find. We were seriously looking into a Russian adoption, since each of us happened to be half Russian.

One day, at a local event, we ran into some old theatre friends who had adopted. I asked them what agency they'd used. Turned out it was Shasta County - fost-adopt. A light went on in my head, and I looked at my husband and we both smiled. I'd been a foster child for five years. What better way to enlarge our family?

Two days after we moved into our new home, we called (it would have been one day, but it was a holiday!). We found they were having an informational meeting in just a few weeks.

Soon we were wrapped up in classes, and forms, and new friends. Home studies, and so many questions. We decided that health problems didn't scare us, nor did mental problems. We decided that at our age, an infant wasn't "necessary."

We went down on the list for a boy, aged one to four.

While we waited, we got a phone call. A three-year-old boy was living in a guardianship. His guardian was overwhelmed with his behaviors, and it was decided he should be offered for adoption. They wanted a home without kids to observe him for a few weeks.

He had the biggest smile I'd ever seen. And was the only child I'd met who could scream for 8 - 10 hours a day. His mother had used cocaine during her pregnancy (her 9th) causing her baby to have mini-strokes while still in utero. She drank to come down from the high, causing Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Who knows what caused the cerebral palsy, or the retardation.

He blossomed in our home, but we knew that he needed far more experienced parents that we were. Love doesn't fix everything. An adoptive home was found within a day of his internet posting (I wrote it!), but it would take months for the paperwork to go through. Of course, he would stay with us until it happened. No way were we going to have him move again. I eventually (eight months later) traveled with him to his new home in Missouri, and remain close to his adoptive family.

One day, a few months later, I got a call. Though I took notes, I don't need to refer to them, because I remember every word. The worker who'd done our home study wanted to tell us about a little boy.

He was a little younger than we were on the list for - only six months old. He'd been in care since birth, since his birth mother struggled with tremendous demons, and the hospital feared for his safety. While pregnant, the birth mother had attempted suicide. During his first six months, the county had tried to reunify him with his birth mother twice, only to have to remove him again due to abuse. It didn't look like she'd be able to parent him, ever.

His birth father was in jail, and wouldn't be released for at least a year. They weren't a "couple."

He was blond (not really) and blue-eyed (ok, she got that one wrong completely).

And he was so serious. He rarely smiled, and had never laughed. He could pull himself up to standing already, but he didn't have a single tooth. And he couldn't bear to ride in a car.

We met him a few days later. He sat solemnly on his foster mom's lap, thumb in mouth, gazing at us like he was trying to figure out why we were there. I asked to hold him. A few minutes later, a worker asked if we wanted to consider taking him home. I answered honestly. I'd fallen in love with him the minute he'd been placed on my lap.

His long, lovely lashes, his hazel eyes (just like mine). His serious expression.

It didn't take much longer for my ex-husband to fall in love with him, too.

It wasn't an easy road. His birth-father got out of jail much earlier than anticipated, and decided he wanted to parent our little one. His mother was pushing him hard, as she'd been adopted at birth, and they declared they'd never let our little one be adopted. We spent months trying to help him reunify, months of dread, prayers, and tears. Eventually, his demons got the best of him, and even he decided that we could offer a better home.

At nine months, our son finally laughed. At ten months, he got his first tooth. At a year, he walked. At age two, we finalized the adoption, and I finally thought he might have bonded to us. But 18 months before that, he'd walked right into my heart. My little boy. My Jacob Elliot.

And today he is eight years old. I love him beyond measure. And he loves me, too. I love his thick hair, his loving heart, the freckle on his knee. I love his determination to collect and identify rocks. His love for animals. His care for those younger and smaller than him. His long silky lashes that frame hazel eyes, just like mine. And when he smiles, and laughs, I'm reminded of those days long ago when he never smiled, never laughed. And I thank God that He has entrusted him to me.

Sometimes life doesn't work out like you planned

Friday night, the Stirring planned "Erase the Dark," a music, art and film festival to benefit Cypress School.

Close to my heart, it is. Last summer, my ex-husband and I hired a nanny for our kids. Less than a month in, she decided she didn't want to spend her summer working. She offered up her sister, who lasted about two weeks. We were stuck. Have you ever tried to find summer child care well into July? Not easy. We found that Cypress School offered a summer childcare program, had openings, and was surprisingly affordable. I went there, and met the director, and she was fabulous! Caring, well-educated, and with a true heart for the kids. We made plans for them to start there.

I picked up the kids after the first day, and Jake asked me if I could make him two lunches the next day. Now, he is NOT a big eater, so my curiosity was peaked. He wanted to share one of the lunches with his new friend, K. K's lunch that day had been a rice cake. I spend the rest of the summer packing each of the kids' lunchboxes with several sandwiches and snacks.

One Wednesday they had planned an outing to the Aquatic Center. All the kids were so excited, but the day broke cold and drizzly. A quick change to the skating rink was made, but there was a problem. As the teachers called the parents to let them know of the change, it was discovered that half of them didn't have socks - required for the rink. I made a quick trip to K-Mart, and the trip went on.

Several of Jake's favorite toys disappeared that summer. The mystery was solved when I saw Jake putting them into his backpack to give to his friends who he'd found had no toys.

That's how our summer went - with my kids receiving a greater gift than I'd planned. Sure, they were in a safe place, filled with laughter, learning, crafts, and play. But they learned that there are kids right here in our town who don't have toys. Who don't have food. Who don't have clothes.

So, here the Stirring was having this incredible event meant not only to entertain, but to enrich Cypress School. I was really looking forward to it.

One of my co-workers came to work Friday complaining that she'd spent the night with food poisoning. About 4:00, I realized maybe she didn't have food poisoning, but stomach flu. How did I know? Because food poisoning isn't contagious.

There went my Friday night.

I'm still not feeling great, but I felt well enough to host Jake's 8th birthday party yesterday afternoon. It was a roaring success. For the first time, every single guest was there. And his dad stayed for two whole hours, and actually played with him, which was probably the greatest gift Jake received.

So I was reading Hal's blog over here and it reminded me of the day I returned to school after the Christmas vacation (yes, Virginia, there used to be a Christmas vacation) in the 5th grade.

I was in Mrs. Tidball's class. She was my favorite elementary school teacher. My mother had died on December 5, and my stepfather and his sister kept me out of school until after the break ended. I was sent to Fullerton to stay with his family. I was anxious to return to class, to my friends, to my favorite teacher. She showed me a larger world, and was the first I'd met besides my mother and me to be a FANATIC reader. And, of course, she showed me that people could have really odd mannerisms (I'd be happy to show show you sometime) and have a really lovely heart.

I remember the day as though it were yesterday. I walked into the room, and across to Mrs. Tidball's desk. I handed her the note my Aunt Bunnie (not making that up, folks) had written to excuse my lengthy absence. I'd been afraid to read it. Apparently, it said:

Dear Mrs. Tidball,

Please excuse Annie's absence from school due to a family emergency.

Sincerely,

The Grinch (ok, that's not how she signed it. but she should have)

Of course, Mrs. Tidball looked at me and asked me what had happened.

I was a very small, very timid, barely 10 year old 5th grader. And I had to stand up in the front of the class and say,

"My mother died."

You could have heard a pin drop. And echo.

"Okay. Well then, Annie. Take your seat. You have a lot of work to make up."

And as I slowly made my way to my desk, choking back the hot tears, I wished someone would have told the school what happened. I wished that Mrs. Tidball would have put her arms around me and told me it was going to be okay. I wished that my mom was there. I wished that someone would let me talk about her. But no one did.

Kudos to the teacher in Hal's story.

This boy knocks me out

Yesterday the Prince had a doctor's appointment. My ex offered to take him, as I had a meeting scheduled at work. The appointment was at 2:30.

At 2:45 I got out of my meeting, and noticed a voice mail on my cell phone. Yup, it's his dad. "Sorry, I lost track of time, I'm leaving my office right now. Can you call the doctor and tell him we'll be late?" They arrived at the doctor's office promptly at 3:10. Thankfully, the doctor was still able to see him. I wish I'd been there - my motherwit tells me I need to talk to the doctor about something he brushed off yesterday, and my ex didn't pursue. But anyway....

After the appointment, the ex was to bring Jake to my work to hang out with me until 5. He'd never been here before, so you'd think he'd walk his son in to the office. We're located in a pretty busy strip mall. Jake's only been here with me, and I use the employee's entrance, always kept locked. But, no. He dropped him off right in front of the door Jake told him to, and drove away before realizing Jake couldn't get in a locked door. Thankfully, my son is smart enough to walk around the building until he found the front door.

I left Jake in my office while I attended to some work. He wanted to use my typewriter, so I got him some paper. He asked to use one of my stamps. When I returned, he forbid me to look at his work until it was ready.

He is so awesome.

I am so blessed.

We are Family

So, Sunday night Nate was talking about family. This hits me hard. Family has always been - well, foreign to me.

Both my parents came to this country before I was born....my mother with her parents and younger sister, all of whom died before I was born. My father came over with his first wife and daughter (his wife died when my half-sister Victoria was 15). His two brothers and a sister all joined him here - Uncle Costia in Los Angeles, where he was music director for RKO (not far from my dad's work at Columbia), Aunt Nadia taught voice in LA, and Uncle Vladya and Aunt Julia ended up in Pittsburgh, where he headed the symphony orchestra. But close they were not.

My father died when I was two. My mother remarried a man who was a wonderful father to me when I was four.

And then when I was ten, my mother died. I've dealt with the outcomes and emotions from this all my life. Hope Edelman even interviewed me for her book, "Motherless Mothers." If you're a woman, and you lost your mom during the years your personality is still forming, it effects you in profound ways.

Unfortunately, my stepfather didn't deal well with this loss, and drank himself to death in about three years. I ended up in foster care, as an OWNAO (pronounced O-NOW). Orphaned with no adult relatives. Not really true. I had two half-brothers from my mother's first marriage who were both adults, and my half-sister, Victoria. But due to strained relations between my stepfather and all of them, I hadn't seen any of them in years.

We did later reunite - but my brother Tony died in 1991 and my sister in 1994.

When I adopted my wonderful kids, I really had no idea if I knew how to be a mother. I know that lots of women feel this way, but it was almost paralyzing to me. Okay, maybe I could mother them when they are little, but what about after they are 10? I don't even have an example.

But I do.

The women that have mothered me along the way (even though some are younger than I) have taught me so much. And I am surrounded by friends that have become family to me. And God leads me, and comforts me, and loves me.

So maybe I can extend my arms and do some more mothering. I've mothered my stepdaughter Jeni since she was 14 (25 now, and on her own in San Francisco). But maybe there's a Life Group that needs a mother. I'm doing okay with the munchkins. And I still have time and love to mother more.....

Anyone at the Stirring need a good home-cooked meal????

It ain't your mamma's Bible, bay-bee

What a weekend. In fact, it was such a weekend, I couldn't even write about it yesterday.

My beautiful, talented, clumsy Dr. Fairy Princess (also known as Princess Jelly Bean, or simply Emme) is already wearing an ankle support. She sprained her right ankle a while back, and keeps twisting it, so we're trying to keep her from having an eternally unstable ankle. Her knees are always scabby. If there's a glass of juice or milk near her - it's goin' down. A plate of food? Upside down, baby (this is probably why we have a dog).

Saturday afternoon we ventured to the movies to see "Horton Hears a Who." Loved it. Then we went over to Park Marina Drive to feed the ducks and geese (and pigeons and seagulls) our leftover popcorn. I look, and Emme is climbing the chain link fence! Now, it's probably not even four feet high, but SHE HAS A SPRAINED ANKLE ALREADY. I immediately order the munchkin down. Unfortunately, her forearm chose to get too close to the raw end of the fence at the top (I'm sure there's a technical term for this, but I really don't care). As she begins her climb down, the end of this pointed, deadly fence goes right into the skin. Of course, her instinct is to keep climbing down, at the exact rate of speed her voice is going up. As she climbs down, the fence is going deeper into her arm. That's right, HER ARM! I immediately try to pull her back up to unhook her arm, but she doesn't realize what I'm trying to do and is fighting me like a demon. I finally get her unhooked (the stupid thing probably went in to her arm a half inch).

I call their dad - he lives only a couple minutes from Park Marina....he's not home. Knowing I have only a couple bandaids left at home, I go to a local pharmacy. The pharmacist took one look at her arm and said that we needed to get into a professional right away.

Now, every urgent care in town is closed this late on a Saturday (well, except for one - and I wouldn't take my dog there). So, of course I call my boss (perks - gotta love 'em). He meets us at Crossroads and cleans up her wound. Emme made me leave the treatment room. Later, I ask her why...."because there was lots of blood, Mommy, and I didn't want you to cry."

Sunday we relaxed. I played Martha Stewart and made pancakes, pot roast and pie (coincidentally, Emme's class is studying P this week). We went to the Stirring at 5. As I'm sitting there, listening to Nate, I open my Bible. As I said in the title, this isn't your mother's Bible. I've got notes written everywhere. Anyway, on the title page for the New Testament, I find a young child's writing.

"I live you so mush!"

I don't know when one of them got hold of my Bible and wrote this, but it just made my day.