Let's Talk About Dads

When I made up my mind to adopt The Geej, I was single and absolutely 100% believed I would remain that way. It wasn't that I'd "given up," per se. It was more like I'd come to terms with the fact that by entering this new and very intense relationship with my child, the liklihood of me having time or mental energy to focus on developing a relationship with a man was very, very slim. I'd been married, and that whole fiasco had made me gun-shy, to say the least. And really? Once I'd figured out that I didn't NEED a man in my life in order to a) live and b) become a mother, I felt powerful in a whole new way--a way that created a view of my future as a single mom that pretty much just stayed single. Besides, I'd never really bought in to that whole "girls need a father figure" thing because, quite frankly, the father figures in my life had either been absent and ghost-like at worst, or frustrating and maddeningly confusing at best. They hadn't been the strong men who you'd want your daughter to model her relationships after, and my mother had pretty much served as the primary role model in my life when it came to a parental figure.

So there are not words to describe how suprised and thankful I am to have a man like BH in my life. He is the father figure in The Geej's life who I would absolutely want her to model her future relationships upon. He is calm, understanding, patient, funny, loves nature, smart, dependable, loving and just a good, good person. Now that he is my partner in raising this headstrong, girly girl, I have no concept of how I would ever be able to do it without him. He helps me, not only in practical ways, but also in helping me see things through his wise eyes. He talks me through my daily parenting frustrations. And The Geej? She is absolutely crazy about him. She calls him by his first name when she's talking to him, but when she's talking ABOUT him, he is "my dad" or "Daddy."

So here's to BH: For not only putting up with me and all of my craziness, but for also coming in to my daughter's life and becoming her daddy.

I love you and am so thankful for you.

Thanksgiving memories

WARNING: I am about to get all kinds of maudlin up in here, so if you'd rather not go there on this lovely holiday, then look away and come back tomorrow-ish.

Thanksgiving, 2002
Setting: My dad's house, Longview, TX

My dad is dying. He's got stomach cancer. My dad, who is one of the best cooks I've ever known and who has a passionate love affair with food, can no longer swallow solids. The tumors are now shutting off his esophagus, and he can't swallow anything thicker than an Ensure. There is so much food on the table and all over the kitchen, it's overwhelming. Everyone gets their plates and starts loading up. My dad gets a salad plate, and goes through the line putting little spoonfuls of all of his favorites on his plate. I am watching him, but trying to be subtle about it. What is he doing? He knows he can't eat this stuff. There are too many of us to sit around the table in their crowded kitchen, so we all take our plates and sit where we can, balancing our plates on our laps. I sit on the floor, my plate beside me on the coffee table. My dad sits in a chair near me, and pulls up a t.v. tray and places his little plate on the tray. His wife quietly brings a small trash can over and sets it next to the chair. As we all eat our meals, talk, and laugh, I see my father out of the corner of my eye. He is taking small bites, chewing, savoring the flavors of these classic Thanksgiving meats and side dishes, and then quietly spitting out each bite into the trash can.

When I left Longview that weekend, I hugged him tightly, and told him I'd be back in a few weeks for Christmas. The next time I saw him was in the funeral home. In a dimly lit room, I saw his cold, unembalmed body. It was the last viewing by family members prior to his cremation. I kissed his lifeless cheek and all I managed to say was, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Thanksgiving, 2004
Setting: Austin, TX

My stepdad had surgery at a hospital in Houston to repair a bulge on his aorta on Father's Day. The surgery had been a success, but something had happened in ICU recovery. He'd had the oxygen to his brain cut off for a little too long, and so there was some significant damage. Plus, his emphysema from a lifetime of smoking ensured that he would never be able to breathe 100% on his own again. After a long time at the hospital in Houston, he'd been moved to the hospital in Longview. And then, after a long time there, he'd recently been moved to a nursing home. The toll of the long-term stress on my mother was evident. She'd not allowed herself to leave his side for more than a few hours at a time since the initial surgery had taken place back in June. But somehow I'd convinced her to come to Austin for to spend Thanksgiving with me. My aunt, a nurse, would be checking in on my stepdad for my mom, and I think that was the peace of mind she needed in order to get away for a couple of days. I arranged for us to have Thanksgiving lunch at The Driskill and invited a couple of my friends. It was lovely. The next evening, we were having dinner at Chez Zee near my house, and mom's cellphone rang. It was my aunt. She was with my stepfather, and was helping him with the phone so that he could talk to mom. He was more "with it" than had become the norm, which was nice. He asked to speak to me. He was wheezy, hard to understand, but he asked very clearly, "Are you going to Russia?" I answered, "Yes! In a couple of weeks!" And he said, "Go get that baby."

It was the last time I ever spoke to him. He passed away a few days later.

Thanksgiving, 2010
Setting: Our house, Austin, TX

At around 1:45, we sat down to eat. Me, my husband, our kids, and his father. I'd worked my ass off prepping and cooking, and here we were, gathered together. I sat at the head of the table, and looked at the wonderful bounty in front of me: great food, three healthy, wonderful kids, my amazing, handsome husband, and my grumpy-but-lovable father-in-law. As I enjoyed this meal and this time with family, I thought--as I do each Thanksgiving--about the men who are no longer in my life. My father. My stepfather. And I miss them terribly.

Be thankful for those you love. I am.

Thanksgiving 2010

Now that the shopping is done*, I'm actually getting excited about all the cooking that's about to go down here at Chez Pine Curtain. BH's dad is, in fact, coming for a visit, so our dining room table (which seats six) will be full on Thanksgiving day. Here is Le Menu (with apologies to my vegetarian/vegan friends):

A Greenberg smoked turkey, a.k.a. "The Holiday Aristocrat"
Cornbread dressing (recipe courtesy of my mom)**
Sauteed sweet potatoes and sage***
Sherried green beans and mushrooms
Camembert mashed potatoes (I know that dressing + sweet potatoes + mashed potatoes = a shit ton of starchy carbs, but I don't care)
Gravy
Cranberry sauce
Rolls (more starch!)
Pumpkin pie with whipped cream
Cranberry apple pie a la mode

*My shopping included a trip to buy a gravy boat (Insulated! Keeps gravy warm for up to two hours!) and an electric knife!
**This will be my first attempt at making this since the Thanksgiving of 1997--my first in Chicago. I made a big dish of this stuff to take to a potluck Thanksgiving lunch there, and although it was good, it wasn't great like my mom's always is. Thankfully, everyone was too tanked up to notice.
***I'm actually using a recipe for sauteed CARROTS and sage, and substituting sweet potatoes here. I wanted to do carrots, but the informal poll of the family I did made it clear that there was a 50/50 split over having regular ol' mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, so this was my compromise.

Tomorrow the boys and the father-in-law arrive, and tomorrow evening, I begin prepping everything. Then Thursday, we eat and give thanks for all we are blessed with. I'll be blogging along the way, but just in case I forget to say it later, Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family!!

Looking back, looking forward.

This time last year, I had just returned from my first trip to Russia where I'd met the baby girl who would, several months later, officially become my daughter.

I will never, ever forget the exact moment I laid eyes on her for the first time. I was tired and very, very nervous. It was snowing like crazy outside, and the orphanage was extremely overheated. I'd been waiting all day to get there, and our trip had been delayed due to some "business" that was going on at the orphanage. So, it was now early evening and already dark outside. My facilitator ushered me inside where we removed our coats and put plastic booties on over our snow boots in a feeble attempt to keep the floors clean. They put me in the sparsely furnished, very warm Director's office and told me to wait. The walls were covered with photos of babies and toddlers who'd been adopted from there. Adoption announcements. Christmas cards. Birthday announcements. I looked at all of them at least 50 times. My palms were sweaty. I was lightheaded. Minutes seemed like hours. I could hear Russian being spoken and lots of movement in the hall outside the door. I kept thinking that they were about to open the door, but no. More waiting.

Then suddenly, a nurse walked in--a large woman dressed in all white--and thrust a baby out in front of her. The translator said, "Here she is. This is your baby." I gasped. All of the air went out of the room. My heart, beating impossibly loudly, leapt into my throat. Tears flooded my eyes. And, in that instant, that micro-second, my heart was hers. I would never, ever be the same after looking into those amazing, AMAZING blue eyes. Her eyes brightened the moment she saw me, as if she could feel my excitement to be in her presence. I timidly asked, "Can I hold her?" To which the translator brusquely replied, "Of course! Take her!" I spent the next few hours just holding her, gazing at her, touching her face, hands, hair. Memorizing every thing about her.

That's the first photo I ever took of her. She didn't smile. I don't think she knew how. No one had ever smiled AT her, so why would she? She was pale and tiny. 4 1/2 months old exactly. Wearing pajamas with bees on them and the words, "Fly away with me..."

I was completely bowled over by the enormity of it all, and the quiet intimacy of it. I was all by myself in this unfriendly foreign country holding this precious, precious child. I know that I will never know what it feels like to gaze upon the face of a child you've just given birth to, but I can't imagine that it feels any less amazing than what I felt on that night in that room.

I will also never forget the enormous pain and emptiness that I felt when I had to leave her there and come back home, not knowing when I would be seeing her again. Everytime I thought of her (which was at least 500 times a day), I felt like I'd been punched in the gut and hit in the heart. It physically hurt to think about her there in that godawful place, wondering if anyone had picked her up that day, if anyone had held her, if she'd had enough to eat, if she was sick, etc. It was mental torture. And as the weeks turned into months, the helplessness and deep ache just became more profound. All the while, I was physically ill, dealing with the intense cramping and bleeding that preceded (and necessitated) my hysterectomy. It was fucking awful.
Last Christmas was not joyous. It was lonely and sad. My stepfather had just died, and my mom was depressed and alone. I didn't have enough time off at work to go home to be with my mom, so I spent Christmas eve with a work friend eating popcorn, getting wasted drinking wine and watching DVDs.
This Christmas will be SO different: My mom, The Geej and me, all together. Hanging out and enjoying each other.
Thank you, Universe.