I hope you all will forgive that this post has been in draft all week…the good news is that you get more info since it has taken five days to get up.

This past Monday, October 19 at 3:30pm we got THE call…a newborn baby boy (straight from the hospital) who needs a foster home.  Based on the limited, but very positive information given, we said yes…and spent 24 hours doing the mad dash to prepare.  After all these months of preparation, we realized how unprepared we were. (The hazards of preparing for age 0-6. It makes it hard to know what to prepare for!)

So Tuesday was spent cleaning and shopping – diapers, wipes, bottles, formula, etc. And at 5 o’clock, there he was on our door step.

After an hours worth of paperwork, the CPS lady and our Catholic Charities worker left.  And there we were…with our baby.  Honestly, it is really strange for someone to drop by your house, stay for an hour, and leave a baby behind!

Since Tuesday evening, we’ve grown comfortable with our little man; and he seems to be taking to us quite well too.  He eats really well (and fast), sleeps like a champ (especially when swaddled), and well what goes in, comes out in due course.

Yesterday, we braved the germ factory/pediatrician waiting room (for hours) to have his first check up, which he passed with flying colors. And we had our first bath (I was as wet as he was) and he had his nails trimmed (not as horrible as I was led to believe, and less intimidating to me than me “chewing them off” which was one recommendation).  He is a very happy baby and we are very happy people, who are learning to be parents.

Since I know you all are wondering, we are not sure of the forever potential. After some initial really positive signs, newer information has contradicted what we thought we knew. This is not uncommon. So we are really where we have been “planning” for all along, we just don’t know.  And we won’t, most likely, for months, maybe longer. What we do know is that we have a beautiful, healthy, happy baby boy and our job, and our joy, is to love him and care for him to the very best of our ability.

I think my friend Meg summed up our feeling really well…we just pray that the Lord’s plan for this relationship comes forth on earth as it is in heaven – nothing more, but nothing less than the Lord intends. And we’re trying to be cool with that, and that alone.  Whether we have weeks or years we’re going to love little J. just as much as we possibly can.

One last comment, just to help set expectations…because our boy is a foster baby, we are going to be very cautious about putting his name and photos out in the public domain – so no blog pictures or Facebook for now.  And I won’t be using his name either (so if you know it, please work with me here).  There may also be things you’d like to know, that we can’t discuss. All questions are welcome but if we can’t say, we hope you’ll understand.  So thanks in advance for bearing with us as we protect and nurture our little bundle of joy!

After an extraorindarily long hiatus from blogging (sorry about that), I am back to tell you I went to the coolest concert ever last night!  Chris got floor tickets on Monday for Houston’s U2 concert at Reliant Stadium (never been to a stadium tour,by the way).

I (very reluctantly) got talked into going at 5pm so we could try to get into the pit (although U2 calls it the “inner circle”). I must also confess that I have never quite understood Sarah and Brian’s fascination with the pit – until last night.

The opening band, Muse, was like an old school British 80s rock band – right down my alley. So the night was off to a good start.  And our mediocre position in the inner pit improved greatly when the bathroom weenies left between Muse and U2.  We went from say 3 o’clock to 5:30 baby.  It was great.  We also moved back a bit, so we were 1 person deep from the outer stage (and those people were so short!!!).

The bridges from the main stage to the outer ring move around and were 4-6 feet away at least three times…it was so a-w-e-s-o-m-e!  It almost pains me to write it cause I sound so much like Sarah writing about Springsteen.

So here are some pictures – no slide show from me (sorry, don’t know how and Sarah is busy with work so she won’t fix me this week either); no page jump either.  It’s low tech week at the Garden

And before I go, if U2 hasn’t come to you yet – pay for the babysitter and pony up for the floor – its sooooo worth it!!!

PS.  I hurt from head to toe (especially toes – heels are necessary for added height but not good for the jumping and dancing How does Bono do it at 49, and Bruce at 60?

Today, in the service of a fun project at work, I officially humiliated myself on the internets. (Note the entirely un-slick manner in which I read my lines off the giant white board.)

You can find the virtual attendee site here, or follow my work tweets (which may, in some cases, be shockingly similar to the personal tweets fed into the  sidebar) here.

If there has been one thing I’ve been saying too much here on the blog, and even more in real life, it’s “I’m too tired.” For the last — I dunno, maybe two years? — I’ve been growing increasingly weary. I’d come home from work on Friday and not leave my apartment again until brunch on Sunday; Saturday was often lost in a haze of dozing. And at least a couple of days a week, I’d come home from work and fall asleep on the couch almost immediately, before having dinner. I still managed (as most of the posts here can attest) to go about my life, but I was crushingly exhausted a lot of the time.

Then, somewhat lost amid her MS diagnosis was the news that Eileen had also been diagnosed with a thyroid disorder — one where the primary symptom is unexplained tiredness. She told me that her doctor said it ran in families, and in chatting with Mom, it came out that our dad had also had thyroid issues. Needless to say, given this information, I quickly added “is my thyroid OK?” to the list of questions for my doctor.

And then I waited, first for a month or so until I could get an appointment for a physical, and then for another 16 weeks for a new-patient appointment at the endocrinologist. But finally, it has been confirmed that I have the same thing as Eileen has and my dad had — Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, or, as it’s more commonly known, hypothyroidism. (I’m calling it by its full name whenever possible, though. I think it sounds fairly badass, like an opponent of Godzilla or the villain in an anime movie.) And it turns out that it’s responsible for a lot of other complaints I have, not just the tiredness, but little things that I had just chalked up to aging or other factors: weight gain, hyper-sensitivity to cold, forgetfulness.

Hashimoto’s, fortunately, is a manageable disease. I’ve been on the meds — synthetic thyroid pills — for two weeks now, and I am already blown away by how much better I feel. Eileen had told me that they were “life-changing” for her, but given our genetic predisposition for hyperbole, I took it with a grain of salt. But no kidding, these tiny little suckers are freakin’ amazing.

It took a week for my thyroid level to get up to normal, but now that it is, I could honestly dance for joy — I feel that much better. But lest it sound like I, too, might be succumbing to exaggeration, this is what I’ve been up to in the past seven days: Over the weekend, I went to the Maryland Renaissance Faire, a Caps game, and, as already noted, ice skating. I’ve been to a couple of happy hours and went to a party on Friday night. I haven’t once had the urge to fall asleep while watching tv — or during meetings. Freakin’ amazing, I say again.

Now I just need to get past the one side effect my little miracle of chemistry has produced — I am starving all. the. time. From the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep, I am hungry enough to eat my shoes. Rationally, I know that this is just my body adjusting to a new metabolic speed, but holy crap is it hard to not just eat, eat, eat.

Speaking of which, it’s lunchtime.

Yesterday, I made my first-ever trip out to the Kettler Capitals Iceplex, the rink out in Ballston where my Washington Capitals practice. I was not, as you might suspect, heading out to stalk get an up-close view of the players (though I wouldn’t have complained if that had come to pass), but rather to go ice skating with Jen and D, my sister-in-law and older nephew. D has decided that he wants to play Mites on Ice hockey  at a Caps game, but there’s a glitch in his plan — he doesn’t know how to skate.  Yesterday’s trip was his second time out on the ice, and Jen invited me to join them.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I am going to come out right here and say I am a terrible ice skater. I always have been, even when I skated semi-regularly as a kid, and having not been on the ice more than once or twice in a decade or so has done nothing to improve my skills.

You can see where this is going, can’t you?

Things went remarkably well for most of our visit — a spill here and there for D, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Jen and I went around with him most of the time, each of us holding a hand, but he’d also let go for short stretches every now and again. Towards the end, we decided to take some pictures, and that’s where things went off the rails. We slowed down for a moment to let Jen snap one last picture, and D wobbled and fell just as a group of people came around the corner. I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough, and skated over two of his (thankfully glove-covered) fingers on my way down to the ice.

I can’t say with certainty which one of us freaked out more. D was, without a doubt, louder, but I was just as upset. I mean, I skated over two of his tiny little fingers. I hurt one of the little guys I love more than anything in the world. And worse, I did it when he was trying out something new, something that he liked, something that he really wanted to do. I was afraid I’d instantly ruined ice skating for him — squashing his dream of playing Mites on Ice, and thereby denying him his future NHL career. I was heartbroken.

Fortunately, D ended up being a real trooper. After what felt like an eternity of sobbing, he started to calm down. (In reality, he wasn’t hurt all that badly;  one finger was bleeding a bit and both were clearly going to bruise, but they were definitely not broken.) Seeing an opening, I went straight for bribery, offering him chocolate milk in exchange for getting back out on the ice — knowing that it was critical that he skate at least a few minutes more so that he wouldn’t end up permanently afraid. He was reluctant, but eventually the lure of chocolate milk overwhelmed him, and we made one last circuit of the rink.

Once the skates were returned, while we waited for the customization on my Caps jersey to be finished, we sat in the snack bar and D had his reward. And thus, my status as a beloved auntie — as well as  D’s future as a hockey star  — was saved. Phew.

It is Bruce Springsteen’s 60th birthday, so it seemed somehow fitting to save my musings on Monday night’s concert in Chicago for today. I never cease to be amazed by the energy he and the E Street Band bring to the stage and, if I hadn’t heard it twice in the radio this morning and read it several times online, I’m not sure I’d believe he’s actually 60. Happy Birthday, Mr. Springsteen — and many thanks for sharing your talent with us all these years. Please don’t retire, even though you now are eligible to do so.

***

To say that Brian and I had a certain amount of trepidation about Monday’s Springsteen concert is a bit of an understatement. Because our last experience had been the front-row, elbows-on-the-stage one that every hard-core fan dreams of one day having, we were concerned that we’d never enjoy another show as much. Complicating matters was the fact that we were dealing with the issue in opposite ways — he wanted the best-possible seats, in order to get as close to the same experience again, whereas I had already decided that nothing would ever live up to it, so merely being there was enough. This led to some stress and disagreement about ticket procurement that culminated in us arriving empty-handed at the United Center a few hours before showtime.

A bit more dithering ensued as we weighed the option of buying what was still available (upper level, behind the stage) or waiting at the back of the “drop line” in the hopes that more of the coveted general-admission or lower-level seats would appear. Brian finally said “your decision,” which I knew really meant “I don’t want those crappy seats that you’re fine with buying, but I know you’ll be pissed if I say no, and I don’t want to deal with that. It’s your fault if we have a bad time.” (He’s a man of few words, but voluminous subtext.)

I hesitated for a split-second and then turned to the ticket window and made the buy. Tickets for section 330 in hand, we watched the end of the Bears game through a sports bar window, and then the doors finally opened two hours before showtime. We scoped out our seats and then headed back downstairs to the very same bar, and put back a couple of beers while watching an eclectic mix of giant, silent televisions: the Emmys, the Cubs, and finally, what Brian was after — the Giants vs. Cowboys.

We headed back up to our seats around 8:00, unsure of what to expect. The draw of this particular show was that Bruce & the ESB were going to be playing the entire “Born to Run” album, beginning to end. It was only the second time they had ever done this; the first was couple of decades months ago. Would it open the show? Or close it? Or be somewhere in the middle?

Before we had that question answered, Brian made the excellent suggestion that we move over one section, where it appeared that not a single seat had been sold. There would be no one in front or behind us, which meant we’d have a clear view of our own without blocking anyone else’s. (We like to stand for the entire show and engage in our uniquely-awful manner of dancing.) We were thus ensconced in our own almost-private section — a few others soon followed our lead — when the show began… with “Seeds.” So, BTR was not taking the lead-off position.

After a half-dozen or so songs (including “Hungry Heart” a favorite I’d never heard live before) and the best quote of the night (“I hear the sound… of the E Street Band fucking up!”), Bruce stepped up to the mic and announced the album. As the opening notes of “Thunder Road” began, the crowd went wild. Nearly everyone was on their feet, singing along — and that momentum didn’t fade throughout the entire BTR performance. It seemed that, for most of the audience, hearing that full record live from start to finish, was absolutely transendent.

If that sounds like hyperbole, it isn’t. Imagine this scenario: When you’re a kid, you see a painting in a book and you really love it, and come back to it time and again. Then, when you’re grown, you have a chance to see the painting in a museum — but when you get there, part of it is covered up and you can’t see the entire thing. The next time you go, same thing, only different parts are concealed. After this happens a bunch of times, you show up one day, and there it is — the full painting. Complete and right in front of you, this painting you’ve experienced in print and in pieces is transformed when you finally see it the way the artist intended. And you realize, in the truest sense of the expression, that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

It was like that.

I said to Brian on the ride home, “Why isn’t ‘Meeting Across the River’ my favorite Bruce song?” Tucked into its originally-intended spot between “She’s the One” and “Jungleland,” its simple brilliance shines in a way I had never before noticed.

After BTR was done, the band played another handful of songs before segueing — almost without any break at all — into the encore. The show clocked in at just a hair under three hours, longer than most I’ve seen recently. And from start to finish, it was another stellar performance.

We may have been closer to the gods than the stage, but this show was every bit the amazing experience as Charlottesville. Brian and I were, needless to say, relieved. I’m not sure what we would have done if we found that we couldn’t enjoy a show from the nosebleeds anymore — because it can’t be front row every time.

No, this post was not written by Sarah (DIY would not be shocking for her).

Our nursery has been a project in progress for several weeks.  The theme has been determined for months (safari) but the details have been s-l-o-w in coming together. Actually, so has this post – I started it August 28 and here we are…

I started the nursery project back in July when Aaron Brothers had their buy one frame get one for a penny sale. (Isn’t this how everyone starts a room decor project?) This is when the frames were purchased for the safari animal pictures using pictures taken on my trips to Africa (either  by me or by traveling companions with better cameras).

We also found the crib months ago.

I found the perfect paint (seriously, its “safari green”) about a month ago; and a suitable bedspread for the guest bed (which will stay in the nursery).

Chris’s mom offered to sew curtains and accessories and I have after several expeditions to various stores, I finally picked the fabric (with an assist from Chris). Last Thursday and Friday we had a sewing extravaganza – we made 4 pillows, two bed skirts (one bed & one crib), and curtains for two windows. I’m really pleased with how all this turned out and can’t wait to set it all up properly!

And of course, the girls picked the perfect bookcase to complete the room. (I’m pretty sure Ikea also has the rocking chair I’d like to sit in front of the bookcase.)

So where is the DIY in all of this? The sheet rock was badly damaged up when we had the foundation fixed last fall (including the ceiling). We had determined that professional intervention was necessary. That was until I got the quote for $525 plus paint. Money ain’t growing on trees folks, and after helping my friends Janet and Dave paint in their new house, I decided we/I could do this. I invited a DIY friend to assess the situation and shop Home Depot with me and (after loaning me a couple of pieces of equipment) I had everything I needed to start. (That was the last week of August!)  So far, I have spacled and taped and floated.  I have also stripped and pulled wire.

The plan was to caulk the next day and after a break for Labor Day weekend, retexture and hopefully by the 12th have paint on the walls;  then can get the crib and build it.  I was hoping to be all done by the 20th. So much for that idea.

At the same time, now that my to-do list is out there for the world to see, perhaps it will get done sooner than later. Oh, and then there is the fact that we could get the call any day now.  There is that motivation too [Of course, we may also find that we get a 4 year old to start with, which would really change things up!]

In any case, I shall try to post updates (with pictures) as we go along.  And no, I didn’t take before pictures (oops).

I’m on my way to Chicago for the weekend for some fun family time at Jen’s parents’ house. She, Brian, and the nephews are en route, and her brother and his new wife are in town, too. (Yes, I realize that, technically, they’re not all my family, but honestly, everyone is so welcoming that it seems like those lines have blurred entirely.) There’s going to be golf for those inclined on Saturday and to-be-determined sightseeing for the rest of us, as well as a big party on Sunday afternoon. Topping it off, Brian & I are hitting a Bruce Springsteen concert on Sunday night, which undoubtedly will be — as always — a great time.

But all that fun is not why I’m blogging tonight. No, I’m blogging because I’m in the airplane and there’s free wifi! Woo hoo! So, I’m writing simply because I can, and because I’m just the kind of girl who gets super-excited about Internet! On! The! Airplane!

Think I’m not really in flight right now? Well here’s a picture of the drinks cart (and flight attendant) that just provided me a soda to prove it.

I love modern technology.

Well we got the call this afternoon that we have been approved to foster-to-adopt and perhaps to straight up adopt.  After all the hurry up and wait, and lack of flexibility in the system, the review panel decided that our “parameters were broad enough”* that we might even get to bypass the fostering step and go straight to adopting. This process never ceases to amaze me. 

So now we wait some more, first for the paper work to catch up to the decision (likely about a week) and then we wait for the next call…there are, of course, still lots of decision points when it comes to matching kiddos to us permanently, and we very well may wind up fostering for a while, but realistically we could get a call in ten days or ten weeks. Who knows?! (Glad I am at the in-laws working on nursery accessories today!)

We’ve taken a HUGE step forward today and we are really excited.  And, if I may say so, I look really good for being 8 1/2 months “pregnant.”

We’ll continue to keep you posted.

*our paramenters are that we are willing to take either gender of any race or mix of races, up to age six; and we are willing to take up to two children at a time, so siblings are possible.

Shortly before bed last night, I read the news that Mary Travers, of Peter, Paul & Mary had died. Sigh.  Not only did we grow up on Peter, Paul & Mary but I still love listening to them.  I have even seen them in more recent years in concert and on PBS, of course.

I’ll probably get killed for this, but even my big brother has a soft spot for Peter, Paul & Mary… I don’t know when this started but every night he sings the “Boa Constrictor” song to his boys before bed.  And they love it!  The Minnesota nephews asked me if I knew the Boa Constrictor song when we were visiting a couple of weeks ago. They love it too.

Peter, Paul & Mary have thus bonded the generations of our family, which is what I imagine an artist hopes to accomplish when they set out to create – that their art will be appreciated and live long beyond them. I don’t know if that is true in the larger world (although I imagine it is given their enduring following) but it is in our families.

And, so “the years have gone by too quickly it seems,” and here we are… Rest in Peace, Mary, and thank you for the sweet melodies of my youth. You will be missed.