I'm a Registered Veterinary Technician, and in my field I see my fair share of crazy: crazy clients, crazy dogs, crazy cats, crazy doctors, even crazy ferrets. One of the things that makes me crazy is when people insist on buying purebred dogs, or insisting that a purebred dog is inherently better than a mix.
If you want a dog who's going to live forever and never get sick, get a mutt. There are over 300 health problems (either congenital or acquired) that relate to being purebred. Everything from skeletal abnormalities to joint problems to heart problems to difficulty breeding and giving birth to skin problems to behavior problems to breathing problems to pancreatitis. The list goes on and on.
Purebred dogs are bred for profit. That means their sole reason for existing is to make money for the breeder. They aren't bred for companionship or showmanship. And a special note about the AKC registry: it is simply a registry of genetics. All it means is that the mother and father were both AKC registered. It doesn't mean the dog meets the breed standard, it doesn't mean the dog has particular personality traits the breed is known for, it doesn't mean the dog has been screened for health problems. It doesn't even mean the dog is a particularly NICE dog.
I don't want this to sound like I categorically hate breeders. I don't. There are some good breeders out there. If you're looking for a purebred dog, you need to make sure it comes from a good breeder. How can you tell? Well, I'm glad you asked. A good breeder will not advertise in the paper. He will not stand outside Wal-Mart with a sign. He will not sell his puppies to a pet store. He will not place an ad on Craigslist, and he will not sell you a puppy for less than $1000. A good breeder is not looking to make money. He is looking to improve the breed. He will make sure both the mother and father are not only AKC registered, but have been checked for common hereditary problems by a veterinarian. He will carefully select his breeding pair for not only physical soundness, but also temperament and behavior patterns. He will maintain the integrity of his breeding stock by retiring females while they are still young enough to appreciate their quality of life, and he will spay those females to prevent them from getting pyometra, or infected uterus. Good breeders are few and far between and often difficult to find.
Pet stores are not a good place to get puppies. Most will tell you they don't get their puppies from puppy mills, but take a look at your paperwork. If the puppy's breeder of origin is somewhere in the midwest, chances are good it's from a puppy mill. The AKC has a list of certified breeders on their website, which is a good place to start. Most breeds have a local club for showing and breeding. Check with them to see what breeders they recommend.
When you look into a breeder, there are some guidelines to follow to ensure you are not compounding an already devastating problem. First, make sure and visit the breeding facility. Is it clean? Do the animals have access to food, water, and shelter? Are the puppies in a cage or running free to learn what it's like to live in a house? Is it the kind of place you would be comfortable bringing your dog back for a visit?
Second, both the mother and father should be on site when you go. You should get a chance to spend time with both parents to get an idea of what your puppy may be like when he or she grows up, both in size and temperament. Do the parents look healthy? Have they had regular veterinary care? Do they look well-fed? Are their hair coats in good shape?
Third, make sure and ask the breeder lots of questions. Have the parents been screened by a veterinarian for common hereditary problems? We all know health problems can be inherited, but 90% of a dog's behavior issues will also be inherited. Has the breeder ever noticed any problems with aggression? Obsessive behaviors? Anxiety? Do the parents have any obedience training? How did they do with that? How many litters has this female had? The answer should be only one or two in her lifetime.
Lastly, any puppy you buy should be seen by a veterinarian prior to purchase. A good breeder will be willing to pay all or part of this expense. A good breeder will also allow you to choose the veterinarian you prefer, rather than insist you go to one they prefer. If you don't have a veterinarian you prefer yet (perhaps this is your first dog) ask the breeder if they have one they like and go visit the doctor's clinic. What do you think of the place? Would you be willing to continue here?
Sound like a lot of work? It should. You should also realize that animal shelters have many beautiful, purebred dogs who have been screened for behavior problems, if not health ones. Before they put animals up for adoption they are tested for aggression and personality quirks you may want to be aware of. When you adopt a pet, you save two lives: the life of the pet you adopted, and the life of the one who can take its place in the shelter.
Shelter pets won't have papers to prove they're purebred, so if owning a purebred dog is still important to you and you want to make sure they've "proven" they're purebred, look into a rescue. There's a rescue for almost every breed out there, and all you have to do is Google the breed and the word "rescue" along with your zip code to find one near you. Rescues that specialize in purebred pets will do some of the prep work for you so you know what you're getting into when adopting from them. They all require an adoption fee that you won't be able to get back, but you WILL be able to claim on your taxes. Make sure you understand the terms of the adoption before you sign including the fee as well as any return policy they may have. Many rescues require you return the dog to them should the match not work out so they can find another home for him or her. They will usually offer you another dog in return. They will have an application for you to fill out, and many require a home visit so they can see the environment where the puppy will grow up.
If all this purebred stuff sounds way too complicated, and you still want a dog, take a trip to your local animal shelter and give them a shot. Most mutts have the best of all their breeds mixed together without the health issues. Whichever way you turn, make sure you're informed. It's an important decision.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Infertility is Not the End
In watching the 700 Club the other day, I was outraged. Now, for those of you making the, "Uh... what?" face, relax. I don't routinely (read: ever) watch the 700 Club. I had just turned on the TV and some decent network had the misfortune of airing the lunacy to which I'm about to refer. They happened to be talking about infertility, so I stopped to listen for a moment.
So many Christian leaders (I debated putting those words in quotations and decided to give them the benefit of the doubt) act as though if you just pray hard enough, and have enough faith, God will "overcome" your infertility and you'll conceive. And if you don't, well then God has spoken: He doesn't want you to have children and that's your burden. Now you need to pray for Him to help you carry it.
And that is when I changed the channel, and came here: the only place I have to speak out, educate the public, and spread a little tolerance.
I prayed long and hard, and with many tears to conceive. I prayed in every style and fashion I could think of, to every god, goddess, icon, and idol I came across. I lit candles, I recited from books, I said rosaries and Hail Marys. I called on the elements, I opened and closed circles, I did acts of faith. I sacrificed, I bargained, I sobbed, I raged. The only things any god chose to "bless" me with were infertility, early paramenopause, and polycystic ovaries.
I refused to believe two things: 1) The lie that God did not want me to have children, and 2) the lie that the only way to have children is to conceive. My husband and I chose adoption, and God (of any kind) had nothing to do with it. We have a son because we followed a prescribed process of steps, a committee liked our profile, and a woman chose drugs over her child. And as for the notion that everyone who applies for adoption conceives, I offer the following reality check: that only happens in a whopping 5% of cases.
I'm broken, defective, a disappointment to myself and many people around me. And you would have me believe that God wants me to settle for that? Then you and I are accquainted with very different Gods.
Someone actually said to me one day: "It's great you can adopt, but it's too bad you can't get pregnant." Really? Too bad? I don't have to endure swollen feet, night sweats, heartburn, or elevated temperature. I don't have to sacrifice my body and my energy. I don't have to torture the people around me with my mood swings and unreasonable demands. I don't have to endure childbirth and all the decisions that go with it: hospital or home? hot tub or not? Lamaze or epidural? vaginal or C-section? doula? doctor? midwife? You know what? You're right! Given the choice, who wouldn't take all that on?
And bonding? Don't even get me started. My son has no bond with his birthmother. He wouldn't recognize her if she were right in front of him. He may wonder later, but the fact that she carried and delivered him means nothing. He tested positive for meth at birth, that's how much she cared. You know who he is bonded with? My husband. Myself. His grandparents. His face lights up when we get him up in the morning. He stops crying when we hold him. So don't tell me it's too bad I can't get pregnant. Our family is exactly what it was supposed to be.
So many Christian leaders (I debated putting those words in quotations and decided to give them the benefit of the doubt) act as though if you just pray hard enough, and have enough faith, God will "overcome" your infertility and you'll conceive. And if you don't, well then God has spoken: He doesn't want you to have children and that's your burden. Now you need to pray for Him to help you carry it.
And that is when I changed the channel, and came here: the only place I have to speak out, educate the public, and spread a little tolerance.
I prayed long and hard, and with many tears to conceive. I prayed in every style and fashion I could think of, to every god, goddess, icon, and idol I came across. I lit candles, I recited from books, I said rosaries and Hail Marys. I called on the elements, I opened and closed circles, I did acts of faith. I sacrificed, I bargained, I sobbed, I raged. The only things any god chose to "bless" me with were infertility, early paramenopause, and polycystic ovaries.
I refused to believe two things: 1) The lie that God did not want me to have children, and 2) the lie that the only way to have children is to conceive. My husband and I chose adoption, and God (of any kind) had nothing to do with it. We have a son because we followed a prescribed process of steps, a committee liked our profile, and a woman chose drugs over her child. And as for the notion that everyone who applies for adoption conceives, I offer the following reality check: that only happens in a whopping 5% of cases.
I'm broken, defective, a disappointment to myself and many people around me. And you would have me believe that God wants me to settle for that? Then you and I are accquainted with very different Gods.
Someone actually said to me one day: "It's great you can adopt, but it's too bad you can't get pregnant." Really? Too bad? I don't have to endure swollen feet, night sweats, heartburn, or elevated temperature. I don't have to sacrifice my body and my energy. I don't have to torture the people around me with my mood swings and unreasonable demands. I don't have to endure childbirth and all the decisions that go with it: hospital or home? hot tub or not? Lamaze or epidural? vaginal or C-section? doula? doctor? midwife? You know what? You're right! Given the choice, who wouldn't take all that on?
And bonding? Don't even get me started. My son has no bond with his birthmother. He wouldn't recognize her if she were right in front of him. He may wonder later, but the fact that she carried and delivered him means nothing. He tested positive for meth at birth, that's how much she cared. You know who he is bonded with? My husband. Myself. His grandparents. His face lights up when we get him up in the morning. He stops crying when we hold him. So don't tell me it's too bad I can't get pregnant. Our family is exactly what it was supposed to be.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Carson is Home, and Other Noteworthy Thoughts
Around November of last year, we pulled ourselves together and asked our social worker to put our names back on the adoption waiting list, much to the surprise of some of our friends and family. With our previous experience, we weren't sure we would be willing to go back to the County. However, we were cautiously encouraged by the many people we encountered (including our own social worker who has been doing this quite a while and has only had 2 failed adoptions, ours included) who said it "never happens", and decided we were willing to give the County one more shot. And since we hadn't won the lottery, or as yet found $30,000 under a rock, it was really our only option.
About a month ago we were matched with a 2-month-old little boy. He's the 10th child of his birthmother, and the 2nd of his birthfather. All the other kids have been adopted. He was 6-7 weeks premature. No one really knows for sure how many because there was no prenatal care. He has some very normal preemie health issues that are resolving themselves quickly. He was having problems with the suck-swallow-breathe sequence it takes to eat, and he was diagnosed with Reactive Airway Disease. "What's that?" you say. Well, we don't really know, and the doctor looked at me like I had three heads when I told her someone had given him the label. But it caused his first doctor to prescribe a nebulizer at first every 4 hours, then every 6, then every 8, and now just every 12. He also had some issues with apnea. For the uninitiated, that means he would stop breathing from time to time. This meant he was on a monitor that would go off if he stopped breathing. When we first met him, it was going off once a week. Since he's been in our house, it hasn't gone off at all. The leads were irritating his skin, so at his last visit the doctor said he only needed to wear it when he sleeps. She also referred him to a pulmonologist (read: lung doctor) to see if he still needs the nebulizer. It looks like we'll be able to shed the machinery in the very near future.
He's not having any trouble eating anymore, and he eats a high-calorie formula to help him gain weight (he's still on the small side). We expect him to catch up with his peers in weight by his first birthday if things keep going the way they are.
And last week he started sleeping through the night (yay!) 8-9 hours at a time at night, and he seems to have settled into 2 distinct nap times during the day. We still feed him on demand and he hasn't quite settled into a pattern for that, but he's got some weight to make up for so we don't mind.
As far as legality goes, we're just waiting around for the process to happen. The County has heard nothing from either birthparent since he was taken into care, so we just have to go through the motions and wait. State law says we can't finalize the adoption until he's been in our house for at least 6 months anyway, so we'd be waiting it out under any circumstance.
Having him home has brought to my attention some things that I have always known but have recently affected me a little more personally.
One is that some people (some of them my very good friends) are childless by choice. I have no problem with this decision. I respect, and even admire, the ability to recognize that parenting is something they're not interested in for whatever reason. I taught preschool for 6 years, and I can testify to the fact that not everyone is cut out for parenting. It's not some kind of character flaw or personality disorder. It's just something that not everyone is good at. Sort of how I could never be an accountant. My clients would all sue me for getting their taxes wrong. Just not something I'm good at. Understanding you're not made for parenting is just as important as understanding that you are. And I admire anyone who chooses not to have children out of a sense of obligation or because it's expected of you. It's a sign of maturity and knowing yourself well. Both very good things.
However, some of these people (not the ones who are my very good friends) have taken this choice a dangerous step further and have decided that NO ONE should have children. Or that if they do, they should never take them anywhere public. Set aside for the moment the insanity of being locked in your home with a small child all day, every day. Really? Children should never be anywhere that adults are? How would they learn the self-control necessary in adult-type situations? How would they learn to sit nicely in a restaurant (even if they don't want to)? How would they learn when to touch and when not to? How would they learn to wait their turn?
It's fine for you to choose not to have children. Good for you for understanding it's not your thing. But I'd say that if your goal is to never be AROUND children, you'd better start ordering in a lot. Taking children out into the community is an important life lesson, as well as a necessity in some cases. Sometimes you have to run to the store now, and you can't wait until hubby gets home to babysit for you. Sometimes you're a single mom who doesn't have anyone to babysit, hubby or not. And you know what? No one is going to pay a sitter for the 2 hours it takes to go to the dentist or the vet. Kids are everywhere, so deal with it. People are not going to stop having children because you have some strange idea that taking kids in public is somehow inappropriate.
The second thing I've newly noticed is how desperate everyone is for our kids to look like us. Really? Is that what matters? Reality is there's very little chance our kids will look anything like us. And why does it matter? This is about a family, not DNA. Carson has a place on our family tree because we chose him for it, not because he got stuck with our genes (which aren't that great, may I say). I'm not connected to my son because I gave birth to him. It's because I chose to be connected. He's not attached to me because I gave him life. It's because I meet his needs and make him feel secure.
Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone, but still very much my own. Don't forget for a single minute, you grew not under my heart, but in it.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Ruminations on a Another Year Gone By
I have spent a lot of time in the last few months proudly proclaiming that I would be perfectly happy if this year just didn't exist at all. That really what I would like to do is go straight from last year to next year and just forget that good old 2010 ever happened. I mean, let's just catalog the reasons why this would be a good idea, shall we? Come with me on a trip down Misery Lane as we discover why this year should be made a gap in history.
1) I found out I am infertile. Now, I want all of your out there to try this for me to understand the weight of this statement. Imagine that you are a 29-year-old woman, who has been "trying"- as they say- to conceive for almost 2 years. Every month you think, "Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the month we got it right." And every month, you're still not pregnant. You begin to wonder if you've done something wrong. Something you don't remember doing and you're not sure why you're being punished. Every month you scrape yourself off the floor and try again. Along the way, you try to keep your marriage together and keep your husband from feeling like an unwilling participant in some sick biology project.
Finally you ask for help and seek out a specialist. Surely this person can help, can't they? This is what they do. Look at all the thank you notes in the office. Look how many people have been helped so far. Surely this is the right place. Turns out, it is the right place, but there is no help for you. And there you are, a young, vibrant, eager, hopeful mother-to-be, in an instant reduced to broken, flawed, helpless, and useless. This thing that so may people do by accident, you can't do at all. These people who take for granted that they can have children (of course they can... who can't?) all around you. Your friends who are trying to decide if they "want to have another one" and you'd give your right arm to have just one. And as a bonus, you find out you get to have menopause 10 years earlier than anyone else around you. And no, you can't have a hysterectomy, even though you now have a reminder every month of that worthless lump of muscle in your abdomen.
2) Our adoption application almost got stopped because I have epilepsy. I have had epilepsy for going on 5 years now. I've been seizure-free for 4 of them. I was up front on our adoption application about this condition. Our social worker's supervisor wanted a guarantee from my neurologist (who had already written a letter saying that there was no reason I couldn't be a mom, that she considered my seizures very well controlled, and that I was a compliant patient who did everything I was supposed to) that I would never have another seizure again. This is, of course, impossible and we told her as much. We ended up going to HER supervisor with our case, and suddenly the doctor's letter was just fine, application approved.
3) Ryan's pay got cut 15%. I know we've all heard about the State budget and how in debt we are. One of the ways the government has chosen to alleviate this debt is by cutting State employee pay. This is because MOST State employees are paid from what is called the General Fund which is the pool of money the State has at its disposal. It does save a lot of money to cut the pay of employees who are paid out of this Fund. However, Ryan is not paid out of this Fund. His department generates their own salary from the citations they write. Therefore, it makes NO SENSE to cut his salary. But cut it they did, and we spent most of this year wondering how we were going to pay our mortgage.
4) I took a pay cut when I was unceremoniously fired and took my present job. I took the first job that came along because the job market in my chosen field is not good right now, and it is a managerial position. The responsibility was a step up, the pay was a big step down.
5) We had our children returned to their convicted-felon birth parents. And the social worker on the case had the balls to say she understood who hard this was for us. A woman with her own children who treated us as if we were nothing but a thorn in her side the entire time we dealt with her. She was rude, she was unprofessional, she refused to give us information we asked for, she didn't return phone calls or e-mails in a timely manner. She didn't understand anything, let alone how hard this was for us.
6) Car and house projects abound. These things are always around, but added to everything else, replacing the roof on the back patio, 2 car radiators, some broken sprinklers, and a couple of broken door handles were the sprinkles on the cookie of disaster that was this year.
However...
1) My sister got married this year to a wonderful man who treats her with all the respect and tenderness she deserves. Their wedding was such fun and seeing the family we don't get to see very often was a blast.
2) My new job is a fabulous one with a staff of people who care about each other and the practice so much that I don't miss the money (much). My boss is the best one I've ever had. He appreciates the staff, and has our back no matter what happens. The associates are fun to work with and ask for opinions rather than dictating orders. The staff genuinely likes each other and it shows. And when I needed to take time off both when we got the kids and when we had to give them away, they were so understanding and helpful. And when I came back to work, no one forced me to talk about anything. I wanted to get back to life as usual and they understood that.
3) In the face of this year, my marriage has gotten firmer and richer. Things I never would have been able to be honest about before, I can now. Conversations I couldn't imagine happening do.
And here we are, staring another holiday season in the face. What do I do? I have a choice. I can be angry and bitter and depressed, or I can be hopeful, positive, and a little wiser as I go forward. I choose the latter.
Bad things happen. I know that better than most. If I don't choose to learn from them, I can never figure out why they happened. So maybe I still wish this year hadn't happened. But the lessons I learned and the wisdom I gained are a small but rich reward.
"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.'" -Jeremiah 29.11
1) I found out I am infertile. Now, I want all of your out there to try this for me to understand the weight of this statement. Imagine that you are a 29-year-old woman, who has been "trying"- as they say- to conceive for almost 2 years. Every month you think, "Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the month we got it right." And every month, you're still not pregnant. You begin to wonder if you've done something wrong. Something you don't remember doing and you're not sure why you're being punished. Every month you scrape yourself off the floor and try again. Along the way, you try to keep your marriage together and keep your husband from feeling like an unwilling participant in some sick biology project.
Finally you ask for help and seek out a specialist. Surely this person can help, can't they? This is what they do. Look at all the thank you notes in the office. Look how many people have been helped so far. Surely this is the right place. Turns out, it is the right place, but there is no help for you. And there you are, a young, vibrant, eager, hopeful mother-to-be, in an instant reduced to broken, flawed, helpless, and useless. This thing that so may people do by accident, you can't do at all. These people who take for granted that they can have children (of course they can... who can't?) all around you. Your friends who are trying to decide if they "want to have another one" and you'd give your right arm to have just one. And as a bonus, you find out you get to have menopause 10 years earlier than anyone else around you. And no, you can't have a hysterectomy, even though you now have a reminder every month of that worthless lump of muscle in your abdomen.
2) Our adoption application almost got stopped because I have epilepsy. I have had epilepsy for going on 5 years now. I've been seizure-free for 4 of them. I was up front on our adoption application about this condition. Our social worker's supervisor wanted a guarantee from my neurologist (who had already written a letter saying that there was no reason I couldn't be a mom, that she considered my seizures very well controlled, and that I was a compliant patient who did everything I was supposed to) that I would never have another seizure again. This is, of course, impossible and we told her as much. We ended up going to HER supervisor with our case, and suddenly the doctor's letter was just fine, application approved.
3) Ryan's pay got cut 15%. I know we've all heard about the State budget and how in debt we are. One of the ways the government has chosen to alleviate this debt is by cutting State employee pay. This is because MOST State employees are paid from what is called the General Fund which is the pool of money the State has at its disposal. It does save a lot of money to cut the pay of employees who are paid out of this Fund. However, Ryan is not paid out of this Fund. His department generates their own salary from the citations they write. Therefore, it makes NO SENSE to cut his salary. But cut it they did, and we spent most of this year wondering how we were going to pay our mortgage.
4) I took a pay cut when I was unceremoniously fired and took my present job. I took the first job that came along because the job market in my chosen field is not good right now, and it is a managerial position. The responsibility was a step up, the pay was a big step down.
5) We had our children returned to their convicted-felon birth parents. And the social worker on the case had the balls to say she understood who hard this was for us. A woman with her own children who treated us as if we were nothing but a thorn in her side the entire time we dealt with her. She was rude, she was unprofessional, she refused to give us information we asked for, she didn't return phone calls or e-mails in a timely manner. She didn't understand anything, let alone how hard this was for us.
6) Car and house projects abound. These things are always around, but added to everything else, replacing the roof on the back patio, 2 car radiators, some broken sprinklers, and a couple of broken door handles were the sprinkles on the cookie of disaster that was this year.
However...
1) My sister got married this year to a wonderful man who treats her with all the respect and tenderness she deserves. Their wedding was such fun and seeing the family we don't get to see very often was a blast.
2) My new job is a fabulous one with a staff of people who care about each other and the practice so much that I don't miss the money (much). My boss is the best one I've ever had. He appreciates the staff, and has our back no matter what happens. The associates are fun to work with and ask for opinions rather than dictating orders. The staff genuinely likes each other and it shows. And when I needed to take time off both when we got the kids and when we had to give them away, they were so understanding and helpful. And when I came back to work, no one forced me to talk about anything. I wanted to get back to life as usual and they understood that.
3) In the face of this year, my marriage has gotten firmer and richer. Things I never would have been able to be honest about before, I can now. Conversations I couldn't imagine happening do.
And here we are, staring another holiday season in the face. What do I do? I have a choice. I can be angry and bitter and depressed, or I can be hopeful, positive, and a little wiser as I go forward. I choose the latter.
Bad things happen. I know that better than most. If I don't choose to learn from them, I can never figure out why they happened. So maybe I still wish this year hadn't happened. But the lessons I learned and the wisdom I gained are a small but rich reward.
"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.'" -Jeremiah 29.11
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Facebook | Gaelic Storm Concert
Facebook | Gaelic Storm Concert
So here it is people! Pictorial proof that I have met Gaelic Storm. In fact, fiddler Jessie came before the concert and taught me how to use the credit card machine. I had a dorky-fan moment because she came up to the booth and asked if anyone had taught me how to use it yet, and I said, "Oh my gosh, you're Jessie Barnes!" Like she doesn't know who she is!
I worked with a very nice young man named Scott and his dad Les who was kind enough to watch the booth so that Scott and I could go see the show. And what a show! During "Me and the Moon" Steve and Patrick divided the crown into 2 groups (difficult with no center aisle): the whiskey group and the light group. I was in the whiskey group. During the line "I brought the whiskey" we shouted out the line and Bob Fossey'd the heck out of our little jazz hands. The other group got the line "he brought the light" and they sang the line and waved their cell phones. In the end my group won the enthusiasm contest based on pure bias, I'm sure. Whiskey? Light? Seriously, who would win that bout?
I was totally enlightened about Patrick's Russell Crowe story. All this time I've been telling it wrong! I owe Paddy a deep apology because all along I've been telling people he punched Russell Crowe in a pub brawl without really knowing who he was. I WAS SO WRONG! Not that he'll ever read this, but I'm sorry, Patrick Murphy, for ever implying that you would have gotten into a bar fight with Russell Crowe. The real story is so much more interesting, and I'm hoping I get enough of the details right here to do it justice.
Patrick used to manage a pub in Santa Monica called O'Brien's and back when L.A. Confidential came out, Russell Crowe, and his people were all there for the wrap party. Mr. Crowe (I can't call him Dickhead, as much as I would like to, since his people might be trolling Internet looking for people who do such things to sue for Defamation of Character, even though everyone knows he IS a dickhead) sat at the bar and lit a cigarette. Now this was right after the law passed that prohibited smoking in bars in California, so Patrick told Mr. Dickhead - I mean Crowe - that he had to either put his cigarette out or smoke it outside. Mr. Crowe said something unintelligible through his cancer stick and his body guards started beating Patrick to a pulp. At some point, Patrick points out that this is an infair fight, beaing that it's 3 against 1. The Gladiator agrees and says, "Let's go, you and me, and I'll even let you ave the first punch."
Patrick, being unsure whether this real, or some sort of sick joke, says, "Really?"
And Russell Crowe, apparently never having dealt with an Irishman before, says, "Yeah. I dare you to punch me."
Hello!!!!!! Dare an Irishman to punch you? What do you think is going to happen???? So Patrick popped him in the nose.
And what does Maximus do? He tells his body guards, "Get him."
Patrick's friend Chucky hands out the most fabulous and completely obvious advice in the history of mankind when he says, "Run!" So Patrick takes off and manages to outrun Aussieboy's thugs.
The whole night was so fabulous, and the band came out to mingle afterwards among the commoners. I came away with a free shirt (my wages for the evening), and my very own copy of the album What's the Rumpus? which includes the song "The Night I Punched Russell Crowe" which I paid for. But I saved my allowance for it like a good little girl so I won't go into debt over a CD. Yay me!
I have a new goal in life. I am going to be the crazy Southern California fan who will always sell merch at Gaelic Storm concerts if they are within driving distance of my home. I will go down in history as the most reliable fan ever. They can always count on me to help out when they're in my area.
So here it is people! Pictorial proof that I have met Gaelic Storm. In fact, fiddler Jessie came before the concert and taught me how to use the credit card machine. I had a dorky-fan moment because she came up to the booth and asked if anyone had taught me how to use it yet, and I said, "Oh my gosh, you're Jessie Barnes!" Like she doesn't know who she is!
I worked with a very nice young man named Scott and his dad Les who was kind enough to watch the booth so that Scott and I could go see the show. And what a show! During "Me and the Moon" Steve and Patrick divided the crown into 2 groups (difficult with no center aisle): the whiskey group and the light group. I was in the whiskey group. During the line "I brought the whiskey" we shouted out the line and Bob Fossey'd the heck out of our little jazz hands. The other group got the line "he brought the light" and they sang the line and waved their cell phones. In the end my group won the enthusiasm contest based on pure bias, I'm sure. Whiskey? Light? Seriously, who would win that bout?
I was totally enlightened about Patrick's Russell Crowe story. All this time I've been telling it wrong! I owe Paddy a deep apology because all along I've been telling people he punched Russell Crowe in a pub brawl without really knowing who he was. I WAS SO WRONG! Not that he'll ever read this, but I'm sorry, Patrick Murphy, for ever implying that you would have gotten into a bar fight with Russell Crowe. The real story is so much more interesting, and I'm hoping I get enough of the details right here to do it justice.
Patrick used to manage a pub in Santa Monica called O'Brien's and back when L.A. Confidential came out, Russell Crowe, and his people were all there for the wrap party. Mr. Crowe (I can't call him Dickhead, as much as I would like to, since his people might be trolling Internet looking for people who do such things to sue for Defamation of Character, even though everyone knows he IS a dickhead) sat at the bar and lit a cigarette. Now this was right after the law passed that prohibited smoking in bars in California, so Patrick told Mr. Dickhead - I mean Crowe - that he had to either put his cigarette out or smoke it outside. Mr. Crowe said something unintelligible through his cancer stick and his body guards started beating Patrick to a pulp. At some point, Patrick points out that this is an infair fight, beaing that it's 3 against 1. The Gladiator agrees and says, "Let's go, you and me, and I'll even let you ave the first punch."
Patrick, being unsure whether this real, or some sort of sick joke, says, "Really?"
And Russell Crowe, apparently never having dealt with an Irishman before, says, "Yeah. I dare you to punch me."
Hello!!!!!! Dare an Irishman to punch you? What do you think is going to happen???? So Patrick popped him in the nose.
And what does Maximus do? He tells his body guards, "Get him."
Patrick's friend Chucky hands out the most fabulous and completely obvious advice in the history of mankind when he says, "Run!" So Patrick takes off and manages to outrun Aussieboy's thugs.
The whole night was so fabulous, and the band came out to mingle afterwards among the commoners. I came away with a free shirt (my wages for the evening), and my very own copy of the album What's the Rumpus? which includes the song "The Night I Punched Russell Crowe" which I paid for. But I saved my allowance for it like a good little girl so I won't go into debt over a CD. Yay me!
I have a new goal in life. I am going to be the crazy Southern California fan who will always sell merch at Gaelic Storm concerts if they are within driving distance of my home. I will go down in history as the most reliable fan ever. They can always count on me to help out when they're in my area.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Working Concert Merch
Has anyone seen the box office smash "Titanic"? In case you haven't (and I know anyone who said they hadn't was lying so the jig is up), it's about this gigantic ship, which was actually smaller than the "Queen Mary" but they want you to think it's huge, that sank about a million years ago that every now and then makes the news again. You know like when some wacky couple decides to get married on it. Whatev. Anyway, the movie was way too long and if you ask me there were far too many shots of Leonardo DiCaprio, but I digress. The high point (as far as I'm concerned) of the whole movie was a scene where snobby-rich-girl Rose, played by Kate Winslet, meets poor-but-handsome Jack, played by afore-mentioned DiCaprio, in 3rd class (look out folks, she's slumming it!) for what has to be the coolest party on the high seas EVER. Except for that time when that guy pushed his fiancee overboard and then pretended she fell. Yeah right. We're all onto you, dude.
Anyway for those who don't remember (and those of you lame enough to own the movie... like me) there was an Irish band playing the party. This was for a couple of reasons. It was to acknowledge the fact that the boat, though owned by an English luxury line, was actually built in Ireland. It was also to point out the irony that not a single Irish passenger could afford to travel any better than 3rd class, and most of them were actually employees of the White Star Line that owned "Titianic". Sell-outs. Anyway, the Irish band at the party was one called Gaelic Storm. They are fabulous!!!!!!
I have a strange passion for Irish culture and music in particular. Don't laugh, but when I listen to Irish music, I always feel like a little peice of me that was out of sync falls into place. Don't get cosmic, people, it's just a discription. Ever since "Titanic" Gaelic Storm has been my favorite band, Irish or otherwise. And since the movie was their big break, yay for me because it means a new album every year or so.
When the band tours, they ask for local volunteers to work their merchandise booth in exchange for tickets to the show and a free CD or T-shirt. That way they don't have to hire anyone, and a few local fans get to see the show for free. This coming Monday, the 18th, they are playing Pepperdine University and were asking for merch volunteers on their website (more on what a pathetic loser I am for following their website at a later date). Guess who volunteered? Stop looking at each other, it was ME!!!!!! And so far I think I'm working by myself, but whatever. I get to see them for free (a $50 value all by itself), get a free shirt, and meet crazy-goofy lead singer Patrick Murphy.
Words cannot explain how psyched I am about this prospect. I was actively trying to get someone to come with me but since it's a school night and I'm the only one I know who's lame enough to be a Band Aid for these guys, it looks like I will be going alone. It's fine. I will have pictures of my experience to make all of you grown-ups who insist on staying home on weeknights extremely jealous.
At the risk of sounding like a drunken college student: Yay Gaelic Storm! You totally rock! I can't wait to hear "Pina Colada in a Pint Glass" in person! Jessie is a fiddle goddess! Patrick is the coolest dancer in the world! Not really, but he said it once in a concert so it bears repeating. I wish everybody had been "Raised on Black and Tans"! And if Patrick can punch Russell Crowe, why can't we all???
More on my concert experience when I get back.
Can I get a whoop whoop?
Anyway for those who don't remember (and those of you lame enough to own the movie... like me) there was an Irish band playing the party. This was for a couple of reasons. It was to acknowledge the fact that the boat, though owned by an English luxury line, was actually built in Ireland. It was also to point out the irony that not a single Irish passenger could afford to travel any better than 3rd class, and most of them were actually employees of the White Star Line that owned "Titianic". Sell-outs. Anyway, the Irish band at the party was one called Gaelic Storm. They are fabulous!!!!!!
I have a strange passion for Irish culture and music in particular. Don't laugh, but when I listen to Irish music, I always feel like a little peice of me that was out of sync falls into place. Don't get cosmic, people, it's just a discription. Ever since "Titanic" Gaelic Storm has been my favorite band, Irish or otherwise. And since the movie was their big break, yay for me because it means a new album every year or so.
When the band tours, they ask for local volunteers to work their merchandise booth in exchange for tickets to the show and a free CD or T-shirt. That way they don't have to hire anyone, and a few local fans get to see the show for free. This coming Monday, the 18th, they are playing Pepperdine University and were asking for merch volunteers on their website (more on what a pathetic loser I am for following their website at a later date). Guess who volunteered? Stop looking at each other, it was ME!!!!!! And so far I think I'm working by myself, but whatever. I get to see them for free (a $50 value all by itself), get a free shirt, and meet crazy-goofy lead singer Patrick Murphy.
Words cannot explain how psyched I am about this prospect. I was actively trying to get someone to come with me but since it's a school night and I'm the only one I know who's lame enough to be a Band Aid for these guys, it looks like I will be going alone. It's fine. I will have pictures of my experience to make all of you grown-ups who insist on staying home on weeknights extremely jealous.
At the risk of sounding like a drunken college student: Yay Gaelic Storm! You totally rock! I can't wait to hear "Pina Colada in a Pint Glass" in person! Jessie is a fiddle goddess! Patrick is the coolest dancer in the world! Not really, but he said it once in a concert so it bears repeating. I wish everybody had been "Raised on Black and Tans"! And if Patrick can punch Russell Crowe, why can't we all???
More on my concert experience when I get back.
Can I get a whoop whoop?
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Consider Our Adoption Failed
In adoption circles, they say our adoption was "interrupted". It feels like it was ripped away.
Here's the skinny: I've previously alluded to the fact that there has been a new social worker who seems to think everything has been going great with the birth parents and that there was every likelihood they would get their kids back. In an aside, we let OUR social worker know about all of this and she was very forthcoming about saying that she had a bad feeling about this. We trust her judgement, and although we certainly didn't expect our adoption to fail (sort of like how you don't expect to die on your way to work, but you always know it could happen), we did have the opinion of a socal worker we trust to think about. This new social worker told me last week - on the public lobby phone at the CPS office - that an aunt had come out of the woodwork and was willing to take the kids and was looking very promising. Now, federal law dictates that family members trump everyone: foster families, adoptive families, group homes, the works, up to 4 degrees of separation. AS long as they can pass a background check and have a decent living environment, kids go to the family member.
Here's the kicker. She also said this aunt had been on the file ever since the beginning and for some reason hadn't been investigated. She didn't know why because (as I've said before) she's the second social worker on the case and is sort of picking up the pieces of what has become a hugantic, ginormic mess. For the uninitiated (I know there are many, including myself before all of this started), let me digress on a few points to put my rage and crippling disappointment into perspective.
Before a child's case goes to an adoption worker, all known family members have to be investigated. As I said before, that's federal law. Family members are not obligated to take the children, but they must be offered the opportunity and put through the process of fingerprinting, background checks, and home inspections to either rule them in or out before adoption is considered. Somehow this didn't happen with this aunt (I don't know who she is, I'm not legally entitled to know, and I don't want to know because I'd probably go to her house and steal the kids... thus lowering our chances of every getting another kid), and she's just now coming to the attention of the social worker.
So... this means our case was sent to adoption long before it should have been, these children should not have been up for adoption, and should certainly not have been presented as a low-risk placement. Furthermore, the first social worker said that the amount and length of the parent visits were up to the court, meaning nothing could change until there was another hearing. We've recently found out this was not true. In fact, the visits were under the jurisdiction of the social worker and could change at her discretion. Everything just moved far more quickly than it should have, and the first social worker committed some serious blunders along the way that have had some major repercussions affecting not only our family, but our extended family and friends as well.
Long story short, the aunt checked out nicely, and today we dropped the kids off for their parents visits, kissed them goodbye for the last time, and will most likely never see them again.
We are now faced with a few dicisions that we are pruposely not making this week, or next week, or porbably not in the next month or so. The first is whether, and under what conditions, we would be willing to take the children back. If this aunt changes her mind (which she's allowed to do at any time), do we want to be called for another placement? At this point in time, our feeling is that unless something major changes in this case (like parental rights being terminated), we don't want to be involved anymore. It's too painful for us, too hard for the kids, too negative all around.
The second is whether or when we want to be put back on the waiting list. This is something we're not sure about yet. This experience has left such a bad taste in our mouths that we're not sure we want to deal with this staff or this county anymore. And taking out a $30,000 loan and buying ourselves a baby is sounding really good. A birthmom who is willingly making an adoption plan versus parents who are fighting to get their kids back sounds a little more like what we want to deal with. Again, we haven't made any dicisions about this facet and don't plan to while we're still so angry and devastated, but these are the things we have to think about.
The third, and it is a decision for us, is how to go on. We have many choices. We can choose anger, bitterness, despair, and defeat, or we can choose to scrape ourselves up off the ground, dust off the big rocks, and start over. We can choose to hate everyone and eerything from social workers, to county workers, to God, to the birth parents, to anyone with kids, or we can choose to heal and move on. We haven't yet chosen a direction, it's still too raw, but it will be a plan we'll have to make in the coming weeks.
And now? Well, now we have 2 finished, furnished, empty children's rooms. Ryan has used up a year's worth of vacation time to stay home for three weeks at first. We rearranged our work schedules to make sure we would need very little childcare. We need to inform all our family and friends of what's happened and endure the apologies, the tears, the sympathetic looks, the over-senstivity that we all hate when something truly tragic has happened. I myself am a very private person (blogging about my life notwithstanding) and I was raised not to show emotion except in private. And by private I mean alone, locked in the bathroom where absolutely NO ONE will see me. Perhaps it's less than healthy, but what I want is for life to go on all around me so that I can participate as best I can, and leave the tragedy for while I'm alone. It's also perhaps unreasonable, but it's honest.
The future is uncertain, as always, and I hate uncertainty. But time marches on, as it's wont to do, and we must as well. In the words of Arthur O'Shaughnessy: "We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."
Shuil a rhun
Here's the skinny: I've previously alluded to the fact that there has been a new social worker who seems to think everything has been going great with the birth parents and that there was every likelihood they would get their kids back. In an aside, we let OUR social worker know about all of this and she was very forthcoming about saying that she had a bad feeling about this. We trust her judgement, and although we certainly didn't expect our adoption to fail (sort of like how you don't expect to die on your way to work, but you always know it could happen), we did have the opinion of a socal worker we trust to think about. This new social worker told me last week - on the public lobby phone at the CPS office - that an aunt had come out of the woodwork and was willing to take the kids and was looking very promising. Now, federal law dictates that family members trump everyone: foster families, adoptive families, group homes, the works, up to 4 degrees of separation. AS long as they can pass a background check and have a decent living environment, kids go to the family member.
Here's the kicker. She also said this aunt had been on the file ever since the beginning and for some reason hadn't been investigated. She didn't know why because (as I've said before) she's the second social worker on the case and is sort of picking up the pieces of what has become a hugantic, ginormic mess. For the uninitiated (I know there are many, including myself before all of this started), let me digress on a few points to put my rage and crippling disappointment into perspective.
Before a child's case goes to an adoption worker, all known family members have to be investigated. As I said before, that's federal law. Family members are not obligated to take the children, but they must be offered the opportunity and put through the process of fingerprinting, background checks, and home inspections to either rule them in or out before adoption is considered. Somehow this didn't happen with this aunt (I don't know who she is, I'm not legally entitled to know, and I don't want to know because I'd probably go to her house and steal the kids... thus lowering our chances of every getting another kid), and she's just now coming to the attention of the social worker.
So... this means our case was sent to adoption long before it should have been, these children should not have been up for adoption, and should certainly not have been presented as a low-risk placement. Furthermore, the first social worker said that the amount and length of the parent visits were up to the court, meaning nothing could change until there was another hearing. We've recently found out this was not true. In fact, the visits were under the jurisdiction of the social worker and could change at her discretion. Everything just moved far more quickly than it should have, and the first social worker committed some serious blunders along the way that have had some major repercussions affecting not only our family, but our extended family and friends as well.
Long story short, the aunt checked out nicely, and today we dropped the kids off for their parents visits, kissed them goodbye for the last time, and will most likely never see them again.
We are now faced with a few dicisions that we are pruposely not making this week, or next week, or porbably not in the next month or so. The first is whether, and under what conditions, we would be willing to take the children back. If this aunt changes her mind (which she's allowed to do at any time), do we want to be called for another placement? At this point in time, our feeling is that unless something major changes in this case (like parental rights being terminated), we don't want to be involved anymore. It's too painful for us, too hard for the kids, too negative all around.
The second is whether or when we want to be put back on the waiting list. This is something we're not sure about yet. This experience has left such a bad taste in our mouths that we're not sure we want to deal with this staff or this county anymore. And taking out a $30,000 loan and buying ourselves a baby is sounding really good. A birthmom who is willingly making an adoption plan versus parents who are fighting to get their kids back sounds a little more like what we want to deal with. Again, we haven't made any dicisions about this facet and don't plan to while we're still so angry and devastated, but these are the things we have to think about.
The third, and it is a decision for us, is how to go on. We have many choices. We can choose anger, bitterness, despair, and defeat, or we can choose to scrape ourselves up off the ground, dust off the big rocks, and start over. We can choose to hate everyone and eerything from social workers, to county workers, to God, to the birth parents, to anyone with kids, or we can choose to heal and move on. We haven't yet chosen a direction, it's still too raw, but it will be a plan we'll have to make in the coming weeks.
And now? Well, now we have 2 finished, furnished, empty children's rooms. Ryan has used up a year's worth of vacation time to stay home for three weeks at first. We rearranged our work schedules to make sure we would need very little childcare. We need to inform all our family and friends of what's happened and endure the apologies, the tears, the sympathetic looks, the over-senstivity that we all hate when something truly tragic has happened. I myself am a very private person (blogging about my life notwithstanding) and I was raised not to show emotion except in private. And by private I mean alone, locked in the bathroom where absolutely NO ONE will see me. Perhaps it's less than healthy, but what I want is for life to go on all around me so that I can participate as best I can, and leave the tragedy for while I'm alone. It's also perhaps unreasonable, but it's honest.
The future is uncertain, as always, and I hate uncertainty. But time marches on, as it's wont to do, and we must as well. In the words of Arthur O'Shaughnessy: "We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."
Shuil a rhun
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