We have a scheduled hearing tomorrow at our county's courthouse to readopt Mr. Na in the United States. And though, in theory, this should go a lot smoother than our court hearing in Ukraine last January (and even that wasn't so bad), I'm just beside myself with anxiety. I feel like I have so much more at stake right now because I've become so attached to this little guy, and I don't know what I'd do if I lost him.

The reason why we've chosen to readopt Mr. Na here in the states is so we can get a U.S. birth certificate; but more importantly, our only proof that Mr. Na is our child, is a foreign decree from a country that's steeped in crisis right now and if Ukraine had any cause to revoke foreign adoptions, we would be at the mercy of their government if we didn't have a U.S. birth certificate for him. We also live in a state that doesn't recognize foreign adoptions decrees (currently, there are only 26 states that do).

As I mentioned in previous posts, Mr. Na will retain his dual citizenship until he reaches the age of 18; however, Ukraine only recognizes Mr. Na's Ukrainian citizenship. And every year until he's 18, we have to fill out a four-page questionnaire and submit 10 photos of Mr. Na to the Ukrainian Consulate so they can keep tabs on his whereabouts (small price to pay for having the most awesome little guy in the world!)

On the plus side, tomorrow's hearing will be very cool (if all goes well...and I can't vouch that it will because I was too cheap to hire an attorney...so I could have fucked up every single piece of paperwork). Thinking about it reminds me of our hearing in Ukraine in January. The judge (who was a woman, by the way..and I thought that was pretty cool!) turned to me and said,

"Do you promise you will give this child a loving home? That you'll care for him and restore his health?"

My eyes filled with tears as I said yes.

So far, so good--but I'm in this for the long haul!

My Thankfuls

This has been such an awesome year and so it's only right that I list my thankfuls:

I'm thankful for my husband, whom I've nicknamed Buckaroo Banzai. He's handsome, funny, schmart and talented in so many ways. He's also generous, kind and completely unselfish and as I've come to learn this year, he's an awesome Papa!

I'm thankful for my beautiful, sweet and SCHMART Ukrainian prince, Mr. Na. And though I've only known the kid for 10 months, I feel like he's been here with us forever. I feel so damn lucky.

I'm thankful for my friends because without them, I'd have given up on my manuscript many times over; would never have written a smut piece that would be published in a smut anthology (Spring '05!) My friends have shown me unconditional love and overwhelming support--especially now as I'm facing this daunting readoption and am really scared shitless about Ukraine's future (my son will remain a Ukrainian Citizen until age 18).

I'm thankful for my health and though I've faced a lot of perimenopausal challenges this year, my symptoms are easing. Giving up caffeine was definitely a step in the right direction and I've been sleeping like a baby!

More thankfuls:
Valerian Root, lowfat soy nog, presidential term limits, Fifi, naptimes, good books, a kickass running soundtrack, personal trainers that kick your ass, Mother-in-Laws that spoil their grandkids, Ugg Boots, The Emerald City, longtime friends who come to visit, the O.C., occasional freelance jobs, s'mores, the ocean, and re-connecting with high school friends.

There's a Rat in the Basement What Am I Gonna Do?

We have a rodent in our basement and, judging by the size of the shit he leaves behind, it's a rat. This sucks on many different fronts, namely that the basement is where all of our extra food items are stored (luckily in a metal, locked cabinet) and it's a place where I do laundry on a daily basis.

It's pretty gross, too, because I'm finding rat shit on top of the washing machine every day and it makes my skin crawl, wondering where the fucker's hiding. Is he staring at me with his beady little eyes from the rafters? Behind the dryer? What if he curls up in the laundry basket among my socks and underwear? That's just fucking nasty.

This problem just makes me mourn the loss of Aspen all the more. I mean, we still have our sweet Golden (whom Mr. Na rightfully nicknamed Fifi), but she's not Aspen. Aspen was the Mouse King.

When Aspen and I lived in Brentwood, we had a mouse move in from the 405 Freeway. He bore a hole in our sectional couch and made himself nice and comfy. Aspen was the first one to notice, especially because the mouse would sneak out in the middle of the night and poach kibble from his dog dish in the kitchen.

Aspen used to piss me off whenever he'd push something under the couch--which was on a daily basis. Our apartment had hardwood floors and the couch was just high enough off the ground for him to slip dog cookies, bones and toys underneath. He'd sit there and bark at me until I lifted up the couch so he could retrieve his prize. Sometimes I'd look and find absolutely nothing under there, but he'd remain relentless until I'd lift the couch up high enough for him to crawl completely underneath and find a microscopic piece of dog biscuit.

So I started yelling at him for taking his kibble and burying it underneath the couch. He wasn't a messy eater so I wondered why he took on this new habit of dragging kibble out from the kitchen to bury it all the way in the livingroom.

I found the hole when I went to vacuum the floor behind the couch. It was pretty big and I knew right away it came from something other than my dog. A mixture of mouse shit and kibble lay on the floor beside it.

I didn't know what to do at first, so I went to the store and looked at different mousetraps, and settled on glue traps, not really thinking about the consequences.

My bedroom was a loft above the living room and sometime in the middle of the night, Aspen bolted off the bed and ran down the stairs, barking like mad. When I turned on the lights, I saw the mouse--the little bastard--stuck on the glue pad and trying to break loose. Unfortunately, he dragged the glue pad over to the floor lamp and somehow managed to get the cord stuck on to the pad as well.

The three of us looked at each other, not knowing what to do. It was an awkward moment. Finally, I took a broom from out of a closet and I went over to the mouse and said,

"Alright, look, I'll make a deal with you. I'll let you loose outside if you swear to me that you and your homies NEVER come back. Got it?"

The mouse swore at me in his mouse language and I somehow managed to get the electrical cord free from the glue pad with the broom. I then slid the glue pad with the cursing mouse across the room and out on to the patio. The little guy only had one paw stuck on the glue pad, so I figured he still had a fighting chance. He'd either be known in his circle as a hero or a gimp--but either way, he was free.

After that, I never underestimated Aspen's ability to be a good watch dog. If he was still alive today, he'd be cleaning house. As much as I love Fifi, she's a priss and won't go down the basement steps unless we make her. Meantime, we're stuck with the rat snuggling in my gym socks.

He is Sporticus

I'm in love with a children's TV show character...again.

The first time it happened, I was, I think, four--no maybe six. I had to have been a little older because I had a diary and I can remember writing entries about him:



Not the guy on the left. Ew. And no, they weren't lovers. My guy was Butch Cassidy from Hanna Barbera's Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kids. (circa 1973). The dude on the left was his best friend, Harvey who, coincidentally, was voiced by Micky Dolenz. I say "coincidentally" because it was around that same time I was in love with Michael Nesmith from the Monkees, too. (Oh, and another thing...now that I think about it, Butch looks a lot like my ex-husband).

This time, my crush isn't over a cartoon character, but a live action guy named Sportacus on Lazy Town:

Although this Adonis deserves more real estate on my blog than given, I can't seem to find a better photo. But trust me, he's all that and a bag of chips. I'm not the only one who thinks so either. You should get a load of some of the comments I've run across in the Blogosphere. Yep--Sportacus is hot. Funny thing, though, I read the actor's bio on Nick Jr. and in reality...feh...not so hot! Granted, he was a Silver Medalist in something like Aerobics for Iceland (his homeland).

Aside from his yummy physique, Sportacus is teaching Mr. Na (and children around the world) that getting up and being active is important and eating sugary snacks...not so good. So he's perfect in every way.

Lazy Town is pretty bizarre and from the moment I first saw it, I knew it had to have been foreign (it's produced in Iceland). The show is skewed toward 2-5 year-olds yet it has a driving techno soundtrack and the main character, Stephanie, has pink hair. Still, it reminds me of the bizarre crap produced by Sid and Marty Kroft--particularly The Bugaloos and HR Puffinstuff. I would say this was a combination of both, except those shows in the 60s were more about psychadelic head trips and less about promoting a healthy lifestyle.

Honestly, though, Lazy Town is not such a bad little show--providing entertainment for the kid and eye candy for the mom.

Tales of a recovering junkie

I'm a coffee addict, I freely admit it--but I've had to give it up a few weeks ago because I was suffering from insomnia and heart palpitations. My body just couldn't stand the sudden surge of adrenaline that coffee gave me and I began living on Tylenol PM to try and sleep at night, only to repeat the cycle of drinking coffee the next morning when I woke up.

"Isn't that how Elvis died?" my friend Jade asked me last week.

Indeed.

I thought it would be so tough, quitting the "C" -- but actually, I couldn't be happier. I'm sleeping well at night--best I've slept (without a sleep aid) in months and although I still miss the smell of coffee, I don't miss the havoc it wreaked on me. And I still get a small dose of caffeine every morning, either with a 1/2 cup of chai or a cup of green tea.

My husband's a skeptic (and a fellow coffee addict). He doesn't believe that my coffee addiction is what made me wired but tired. He sent me links showing me the amount of caffeine in a 2 oz shot of espresso vs. a serving (4 oz.) of chai. The 2 oz of espresso has 100 mg of caffeine whereas the 4 oz of chai has only 30-35 mg of caffeine (The green tea chai only has 20-25 mg of caffeine). He proposed that I split the difference and make a split shot of coffee, yielding around 55 mg of caffeine per serving.

I love you, honey, but you're an enabler.

Of course, living in the coffee capital of the world, one would think I'd fall off the horse and go back to the "C". But no thanks, not me. I'm happy not to feel my heart thud in my chest at night and for the first time in months, I'm actually having dreams again, although, I can't say they've been all that great. Last night, I dreamt I was fooling around with David Cassidy (actually as the young Keith Partridge) in his dark room (which wasn't really the Partridge Family Home) in a sleeping bag on the floor. We were constantly interrupted by Danny, who, I think, wanted a piece of the action, and then by Tracy who had a flashlight and tried to crawl into the sleeping bag, blinding me with the obnoxious high beam which in reality was my Timex Big Ben Moonbeam Clock flashing at me to get out of bed for my appointment this morning.

No wonder the love of my life wants me to go back to coffee.

Apologies all around

A week has passed and the Internet is chock full o'election post moterm. So I've noted a few things that made me giggle:

Here's a site that allows people to post apologies to the world, for the big mistake the other half of the country made last Tuesday.
Kinda like apologizing to your friend for bringing your drunk boyfriend to the party, who managed to vomit all over your friend's house.

A friend of mine sent me this link today. It's pretty self-explanatory.

And finally, while I've seen various sites that represent that "re-mapping" of America, based on red and blue state divisions, this one cracked me up most:

Mr. Na experienced his first Halloween on Sunday and I'd swear the kid was a natural. Once he learned that he could score a piece of candy by saying "trick or treat" neither my husband or I could keep up with him. Luckily at his age, it was all about the thrill of the hunt and not the feast. I've seen this child on sugar and it's frightening!

The bad news is, we're sitting at home with three large bags of candy and I'm in the throes of PMS. If that isn't bad enough, Bush was re-elected for a second term. Shit happens in threes.

If you've read my earlier posts about Halloween, you'll recall that the hubster and I grew up wearing poorly-designed costumes made from either boxes or something found deep in the back of our moms' closets. We passed our tradition on to Mr. Na, creating a Thomas the Tank costume made entirely of cardboard boxes and styrofoam. I will say, since it was more his sweat and toil than mine, that the outcome was amazing. Not only was Mr. Na the spotlight of attention at our local shopping center, but I was also the envy of all moms when I boasted about my husband's talent. It's one of the reasons why I married a geek engineer.

I need to gloat about something, dammit, my hope for regime change has been shattered!