Nursery

I've been trying to distract myself by working on Jack's nursery. It's been a weird project, because the control freak part of me wants everything to be perfect and lovely when the little man moves in, but the superstitious/jinxed/jaded side of me is afraid to do too much. Hence, nursery limbo land, where everything is chosen and purchased, but not entirely assembled. Reality: with less than 18 weeks to go, it's time to get moving! Plus, with the added incentive of Jack's entire biological family now following the blog, there's additional reason to deliver- Gotta keep these lovely people convinced that the Barnes casa (and NC in general) will be an awesome place for a boy to thrive and grow! A janky nursery would make this a much harder sell.

For the decorating scheme, I was really stuck. For a girl it would have been so much easier- there is soooo much cute girl stuff out there. Boys are a little trickier. I know I'm going to offend someone deeply when I say this, but I really loathe the whole firetrucks/sailboats/blue theme that seems to be so common with boys rooms. Yes, you want it to be distinctly boyish, but the whole blue thing is so overdone. And probably the whole reason it's overdone, is because there aren't a lot of choices out there for boys. Look at me. The smug expert on nurseries all the sudden.

What I did choose ended up being a theme I'm completely used to. You'll see what I mean below:

Woodland creatures. Soothing earth tones. I'm totally cool with this. The collection is called "Tree Tops," by Carters. I've since chosen a complementary fabric and recovered the cushions on the glider, and lined the laundry basket I bought. Yes, little things to be sure, but enough to keep me distracted from all the things I have no control over.

No, there's nothing to be alarmed about. Things continue to go well, and Kelli has good days and bad days. This pregnancy hasn't been an easy one for her, so I try to root her on from the sidelines. I know she's doing the hardest part, and that's a weird feeling to reconcile. That feeling that there's diddly I can do to help her out. She's a good kid. I hate watching her struggle.

Anyyyyyway. I hope you like the woodland creatures. I think they are adorable, and a good way to get Jack prepped for all the time he will spend in the woods with his dad and grandpa. I apologize for the glossy, staged photo. As soon as we make a little more progress (still need to paint! arrgh!) I'll post the finished product. Now that I'm the expert on baby nurseries, and how not to get them done in a timely manner, please feel free to contact me anytime for fabulous ideas!

Elisa

Here we go again!

Hope you have a strong stomach, because adoption is a rollercoaster!! I'm excited, and scared, and nervous, and happy, and relieved to be writing this post again: A baby boy coming in March!! The superstitious part of me has been postponing this moment for as long as I can, but I'm about the point where I'm going to burst if I don't tell someone. You're all going to shoot me when I tell you that we've actually known since August, but I know you'll forgive us considering the fiasco that was last April.

First of all, let me tell you that we are working with a wonderful birthmother. Her name is Kelli, and out of respect for her privacy, we won't be sharing much more than that. Her story is tough and intensely personal, and if the situation were reversed, I wouldn't want my struggles spoken about so casually. Kelli is the 6th birthmother that we've worked with, and from the moment she contacted us (the day after my birthday!) we knew that she was different from the others. It just seemed more comfortable and natural than all the others. We have an easy relationship, and are in contact almost every day.

Perhaps the most exciting part of this journey so far has been my recent visit to her state to spend a few days with her, and be present at her 21 week ultrasound visit! Daron was gracious enough to stay home so it could be a real "girls weekend." We shopped, we ate, we talked about the future. I was also lucky enough to be able to spend an evening with the birthfather's family, and really get to know their story. Perhaps the most wonderful realization of this visit: this isn't a story about an unwanted child- this is a child that is wanted by everyone, and loved enough to be let go. That thought humbles me more than you know. So many people could (and want to) step up and keep this child, but Heavenly Father must have known how much WE need him.

His name is going to be Jack, and the middle name is still up for discussion. If you humorously submit to us names like "Rabbit," "Daniels," or "Hammer," you're putting your shower invitation in jeopardy. Consider yourself warned!!

Please keep our family and Kelli in your prayers. She needs love and support, especially in the next couple of months. I already feel guilty for being so happy, when she is going through such a trial. I'm sure extra prayers for her peace and comfort couldn't hurt.

Now the cat's out of the bag, we will keep you posted!

Love to you all,
Elisa

Birthday Fail

I know you’re going to find this hard to believe, but once in a while I make a critical error in judgment. The error I’m about to describe in painful detail surrounds the birthday of one Daron Barnes, and will go down in history as “The Great Birthday Incident of 2010.”

So yeah, birthdays. Daron and I both have a birthday and our wedding anniversary in a 30 day period. Because of this, we typically don’t make a big deal about it. For me, birthdays usually are a time to negotiate a purchase that I’ve been scheming and planning in my head for months. Birthdays sometimes provide that little bump of leverage I’ve been seeking- the bump that can push a “want” firmly and safely into the “purchase” category. Beyond that, a birthday has outlived its usefulness. It’s quite possible that Daron cares even less than I do, but even so, I wanted to at least acknowledge the fact that he’d made it another year. Problem is, I don’t have the Ken Carlile creative party gene, and I’m painfully inadequate when it comes to gift ideas, etc. Then it occurs to me: How about a massage? A surprise massage! He’s never had one, and I bet he would think it was heavenly. Simple equation: Elisa loves massage, therefore Daron must love massage. Easy Cheesy.

We pulled up the massage joint, and what happened next can only be described as unfortunate. You know the look on kids faces when you take them to get shots? It was that look. I wish I could say that bringing him was the only critical error. My second, and ultimately fatal error was trying to explain to him in the few hushed minutes we had in the waiting room, that most people will undress completely, but he didn’t have to do that etc., and I had something for him to wear in my bag. “You have my WHAT IN YOUR BAG?!!” At this point, any and all composure on his part deteriorated, and I think that may have been when I started to sniffle and dig around in my purse for a tissue. “I never should have brought you!” may have escaped my normally well-controlled tongue (stop laughing). It was then that my masseuse showed up, so I did the only thing I could do: I huffed out, and left him there to figure it out on his own.

The aftermath: I was secretly hoping that he would enjoy it so much, that he would beg my forgiveness for not trusting me, and so on and so on. When we were finally in the car leaving, I asked him how it was. “OK.” That was all I got. He then told me if he could have paid someone to scratch his back for an hour, then it might have been worth it.

Lesson to be learned here: Don’t EVER take a country boy for a massage. They don’t understand it, and they can’t relax enough to enjoy it. And for the love of everything good and holy, DON’T try to make it surprise. Daron is a good sport about a lot of things. If he couldn't recover from the shock in time to embrace something new, then your country boy won't stand a chance.

Live and learn!
Elisa

5 Things....

Today's post is titled, "Five Things You'll Never Catch Me Doing.."

• Scuba Dive. Breathtaking expanses of coral and other sea life. What’s not to love? How about crushing expanses of water, weighing down on top of you. Sort of like when Timmy McClanahan trapped me inside a refrigerator box when I was 6. Except with drowning. I wasn’t a fan of claustrophobia back then, and I sure as heck am not going to pay for the experience as an adult. But it is soooo relaxing!! No, not for people that have a healthy and natural fear of watery graves. I’ve seen ‘The Abyss.’ I don’t have any of that magical liquid that Ed Harris’s character breathes like amniotic fluid. MY BODY WILL NOT REMEMBER. (Extra credit for you if you get the obscure Abyss reference…)
• Get a Tattoo. Contrary to popular belief (Hi Dad), I do not have, nor will I ever get a tattoo. True, I enjoy watching some of the tattoo shows on TV, but purely from an artistic point of view. There are some really beautiful tattoos out there. Approximately 3% of them. The other 97% were done by a guy named Spider, who learned how to tattoo while serving time. Let’s face it, there’s a certain cross section of society that turns to tattooing as a profession, and I’m telling you, there are no budding Caravaggio’s or Rembrandt's there. I have zero interest in being someone’s practice canvas. Besides, I’m the girl that has to wear completely different jewelry EVERY day because I get bored. How could I commit to one image, poorly done, in the same spot, for all eternity? Me personally, I can’t wrap my brain around the thought of being 86 and in the nursing home, with my rock and roll themed tramp-stamp being exposed every time they change my Depends. Have you ever seen a grandma with full tattoo sleeves? Me neither. But if I did, I would find it hilarious. And sad. And then hilarious again. So please, parents of mine, can this finally settle the does-she-or-doesn’t-she question regarding any alleged tattoo? Gracias.
• Be a Journalist/Reporter. There’s no part of me that could write/report about anything that I remotely had an opinion on. You’d see me on the news, the words coming out of my mouth, but listen closely- that’s a faint snicker you hear. Oh yeah, and maybe a well timed eye-roll. Could I seriously report on Lindsay Lohan’s first day of jail today without hinting to you that that’s exactly where the child needs to be? While we’re at it, give the two adjoining cells next to hers to her parents. But I digress. Some of you were born with good looks, smarts, ability to resolve conflict, etc. I was blessed with opinions. Lots of them. Many props to all of you who suffer through hearing them day in and day out.
• Teach High School. I love kids, I really do. I love them when they are small and charming. Appreciative, even. High Schoolers are big, and smug, and hopped up on hormones and Red Bull. Want to know what I remember from High School? That AquaNet achieved the greatest bang height, and that boys made better friends than girls. And that S***** Barnes (name bleeped to protect the not-so-innocent) was a beast. Yes, so I now share a same last name as my nemesis, and that’s what you call IRONY, people. Anyway, think of the blood sweat and tears that go into teaching. Low pay, high drama, and parents constantly calling your methods into question. I have two teachers that stand out as somewhat influential (English and History), the others I can’t even tell you their names. Is that the legacy you want to leave as a teacher? That the only thing I learned in a year of Chemistry class is that sulfuric acid will burn the crap out of your hand? (True story). Also true story: I ran into that same chemistry teacher at the grocery store a year or two after I graduated. He proceeded to ask me out for dinner, which completely weirded me out. Although, it did clear up a lot of the mystery of receiving good solid B’s in a class where I couldn’t even spell stoichiometry. It was one of those lightbulb moments.
• Sing Karaoke. Of some things, you can count on. The rising of the sun. The tides of the ocean. The very assuredness that you will NEVER have to endure my singing in a Karaoke environment. No illicit drug or substance would be enough to convince me of any sort of singing aptitude on my part. Will. Not. Happen. …Ever.

Leave me a comment and tell me something YOU will never do....

Elisa

Young Blood

Yesterday’s post was about how “old” I am. True, I no longer have that roaring metabolism, or ability to stay awake for three days existing on Mountain Dew and Cheetos. What I have retained are some youthful habits and pursuits; some helpful, some ridiculous. Mostly embarrassing. Buuuuutttt, since my readership demands humorous and self-deprecating posts, I’ll compile a real-life, completely true list of some of the things that keep me young. (read: immature)

* I eat all the marshmallows first out of my bowl of Lucky Charms. Only then do I reluctantly eat the little sawdust puffs that remain.
* I drive as fast as I did at 15, when my parents so wisely bought me a ’76 Camaro for a “first” car. Coincidentally, that’s also when I learned you could cry to get out of a ticket.
* I still rate my Saturdays as “good,” “better,” “best,” depending on whether I got to sleep in or not. And how long.
* I sneak contraband into the movies. Once in High School I managed a whole Jack in the Box combo meal, but my personal adult best is a 44oz soda, and king size box of Mike and Ikes. And not in a big purse, but a small purse with a hoodie draped jauntily over my arm. A bold move, if I do say so.
* We tape and watch ‘Penguins of Madagascar ‘ religiously.
* Two words: HELLO KITTY (The husband, who clearly does not understand the obsession has veto’ed the Hello Kitty themed bathroom. So rude.)
* Am currently working my way through LEGO: Harry Potter for XBOX360. Also own Lego Batman, Lego Star Wars, and Lego Indiana Jones.
* Will hop on a plane in a heartbeat to go meet my friends at a concert. The desire has always been there, but having an adult income has afforded me the means to do so. Not to mention, no parentals to tell me how frivolous and excessive this hobby of mine has become. (Has anyone seen the show ‘Intervention?’ Watch for me next season..) This all started with a Rush concert when I was 18, and 13 of us pooled enough money to get ONE room at a Motel 6 in Albuquerque. Where did we all sleep? There was no sleep. (See comment above re: Mountain Dew and Cheetos). Just a warning from the manager that we were no longer welcome at the SIX’er on Montgomery Blvd.
****SIDEBAR: Have seen RUSH in concert 21 times. Next month in Las Vegas will make 22.
* The word “moist” still makes me snicker. Keep in mind, I hear this word at LEAST once a day in my current profession.
* Last family gathering taught my sister’s little boys, 4 and 6, how to make the West Side gang signs. “West Saaayyeeed!” (Bloods was too hard- their little fingers aren’t that nimble. Don’t worry, copious amounts of XBOX will fix that.)
* Stayed up waaaaaay too late last night playing Texas Hold ‘Em on Facebook. On a schoolnight. Rationalized it by telling myself I'd make up the sleep on Saturday.
* Will sometimes open the bag of powdered donuts in the store, because I can’t wait until checkout.
* I laugh uncontrollably when I’m scared. I went through a “haunted woods” last year for Halloween, and I think they thought I was special.
* I have at one time, craved Krispy Kreme at 1am. My female roommates being more cautious (read: smarter) than I was, made me call a male friend to bodyguard us downtown. That bodyguard is now my husband, who these days will not take me out of the house at 1am for ANYTHING. Not even if the house was on fire, and there were $100 bills blowing down the street.

This post could go on ad-nauseum, and I’m losing self respect the longer I go on. In closing, I’ll give you one more reason that I couldn’t possibly be considered a real adult: At 7am this morning, I ate a piece of Kim Carlile’s birthday cake for breakfast. A generous piece. And when I say piece, I should clarify that I didn’t cut myself a piece. I ate it right out of the container like a Neanderthal. I learned that bachelor “why-dirty-a-plate?” trick from Daron. The upside to sugar at 7am, is that it has the same effect that it did when I was 6. The down side is that it had the same effect that it did when I was 6: I had oodles of energy until about 9:30, and have been dragging hiney ever since.

Naptime yet? Have a good weekend everyone….

Elisa