Real Daughter

But Im a creep...

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 17:33:00 +0000

.....I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here."

No, you do not. No adoptee or foster child belongs in any kind of attachment "therapy".
I read this post a few minutes ago over at "Bitch, you left me", one of my favorite blogs. It is not for the weak, this particular post.

I felt physically ill reading it. I feel physically ill whenever I read about child abuse, especially when the child is an adoptee. Selfish much, Linda, because you care more about the bastards? You betcha.

No child belongs in a setting that forces them to "attach" to strangers. We aren't supposed to "attach" to strangers. We are strangers. We will eventually love you. But we aren't "as if born to you". Because we were not. We accept that we are with a new family. We accept that we are adopted. We accept that we will never "really" fit in. We accept that you are not genetically related to us. Please accept OUR differences. It's the LEAST you can do, creeps.

Adoptee Rights Coalition - the Fight to obtain our Original Birth Certificates: Register to Attend the 2012 Adoptee Rights Demonst...

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 19:04:00 +0000

Adoptee Rights Coalition - the Fight to obtain our Original Birth Certificates: Register to Attend the 2012 Adoptee Rights Demonst...: August 6th, 2012 in Chicago, Illinois Chicago...it's our kind of town! The 2012 Adoptee Rights Demonstration at the National Conference o...

I went to the chapel

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 06:52:00 +0000

I hope everyone had a great holiday. And yes, I say "holiday", because I have friends of different faiths.

Mine was wonderful, only one big family blowup, I'll discuss that in another post. Of course, it had to do with adoption.

Dan and I were remarried Saturday morning, as planned, on what would have been the 28th anniversary of our original wedding date. Very low key, quite odd, much like the 2 of us.

We decided we wanted it to be just the 2 of us. The JP told us it would be no problem to "grab 2 witnesses from next door". Next door is an alley, which is next to amazing Irish Pub, so I was a bit worried about our potential witness pool. Not that I have anything against drunks or homeless people. But if we were going to have homeless people, I was hoping they would at least be wearing clean fingerless gloves, and if we had drunks as our witnesses, I was hoping they wouldn't be all slurry or pass out in the time it took to sign the certificate.

We had to first go to the county courthouse over the river in Kentucky to get our marriage certificate. It was pretty hilarious. The lady working the counter asked us for our drivers licenses, then got a funny look on her face and asked, "Hmmm...you both have the same name, are you related to each other?"

Me-"Not in the creepy, Im going to marry my brother sort of way, but in the we are each other's ex spouses way." She just laughed and had us fill out the official forms.

Of course, every time I have to fill out an "official" form, I have to think for a moment. "Mother's maiden name at time of birth". Which one? Oh yeah, my A Mother's maiden name. It always makes me laugh, really. Yes, she is my Mother, but she did not give birth to me. I get to perpetuate the legal lie of an amended birth certificate every time I go and do something official.

Clerk lady entered all the information into the computer, printed it out and handed it to us to look over.

My a dad's last name was misspelled. It's a very common name to misspell. I said, "Oh, my Dad's name is misspelled, but it's no big deal." (we were in a hurry, lol) She said, "Oh, it IS a big deal, it's for genealogists." Dan got that look on his face, the one that says, "Good gravy, here comes the adoption crap" and said, "Heeeere we go...."

I said, "No, it really doesn't matter, because I am adopted and I am not biologically related to my adoptive parents. I have my correct genealogy information both online and in real life. Genealogy is about genes."

She said, "Oh, that does make sense, but I do have to correct it, or I could get in trouble with the state of Kentucky." Whatevs. I just laugh because people will often say, "Gee, Linda, you really should move on. Adoption should not always be on your mind." It's not ALWAYS on my mind. But when it it isn't, something ridiculous jumps up and smacks me in the ~~county clerks office~~ face, and woop, there it is.

We took our license and drove to the JP's office. He was outside the Irish Pub having breakfast. (It is ridiculously warm for winter right now) He was sitting with the pub owner, who was going to be one of our witnesses. He had an amazing Irish accent and I asked him which part of Ireland he had come from. "County Clare", he replied. Again, Dan and his, "Heeeere we go...." comment he always makes when an adoption related thing comes up. (I cut him some slack, it's "his thing" and quite funny when he does it)

Of course, I told him my original name was Claire, which was a family member's name, and also from where my family originated, and the told me that it was fate that he was going to be our witness, lol. I then wanted to burst out with a "Heeeere we go..." of my own, thinking he would go into a "your adoption was fate" bullshitty speech, but he didn't. Thank God.

Our other witness arrived, and we went to the JP's building and got down to business. More papers to sign, more cash to hand over, etc.

The JP asked if I wanted to stand under the loverly faux flowered arch in the lobby while I became a wife again. I didn't want to insult his décor, but it was God awful. It was like a bad prom picture background. There may have even been a giant rattan chair in the lobby to make it extra 80's prom night.

No. Way. I didn't want to make getting married to the same man for the third time any tackier than it needed to be, so we just decided to seal the deal in his office.

Our ceremony was over in like 85 seconds, kinda like my first time, but with less shame. Ok, maybe a little shame, but no alcohol, and no fear of getting pregnant.

I do, ring, kiss, sign, and we were married. Yay, us.

I must add that the entire week leading up to our big day was anxiety filled. I was sick to my stomach, didn't sleep and was very emotional. I mean, it's not like I hadn't done this before. But it was the usual crap.

Dan kept asking me what was wrong, and I told him that I was afraid he wasn't going to show up.

He laughed and practically yelled,"Ummm, WE LIVE TOGETHER AND WILL BE DRIVING TO THE JP TOGETHER!" He added, "And where could I possibly go where you wouldn't find me?"

I giggled and relaxed a bit. Plus, he already booked our trip to NYC in May, and he wouldn't have shelled out that dough if he was going to pull a runaway groom.

I woke up on our wedding day and he had bought me 28 roses and a sweet card. Yeah, he's pretty amazing like that. When we were leaving, he said, "Hey, what about the something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue thing?"

I told him I was something old, my ring was something new, thanks to adoption, I was also something borrowed, and my bakelite bracelet was something blue.

He laughed and said, "You were bought, so you weren't borrowed". Oh. Snap. I answered with "Heeeere we go...." Our witnesses were borrowed, so that solved that.

We went home after our "wedding". I did laundry, he went to Home Depot. I then took a nap and we went to watch the Bengals game. Because that's what old married people do. It was awesome.

We called our parents to let them know we were married. My a Mom was happy and told me she was glad that we were no longer "living in sin". My a Dad said, "Good job. Now don't fuck it up." I think that line would be perfect for a wedding card, but I doubt Hallmark would go for it...

Perfect

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 04:27:00 +0000

To all of my friends in adoptoblog world & to those in that world who have crossed over into my real life world, here is a song for all of us. I love you guys, and I hope you have a very Merry Christmas, Festivus, Solstice, Kwanza and Hannukah. Or however the heck you spell it.

iAdoptee: Please read this

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 03:10:00 +0000

iAdoptee: Please read this: The following words were written by a fellow adult adoptee and friend. These words are incredibly important. And so I am sharing this deep a...

This. Is. Amazing.

NOT born this way

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 05:44:00 +0000

Another birthday. This year's was much different. I didn't have the usual dread building up for weeks before. I didn't crawl under the blankets like I usually do.

Sending that letter to my first Mother and receiving that reply freed something in me. It freed the longing, the wondering and any hope I had. As soul crushing as it was, I am in a much better place. I will always hear my friend Chris's words- "It was the best gift you have ever given yourself." And she's right, that Gypsy!

I woke up extremely early...not sure what THAT was about- it certainly wasn't because I wanted to prolong the day. I had texts from my n brothers. I got cards from them as well, signed with my nieces and nephews elementary school handwriting, complete with backwards letters.

I only had 2 real "weepy" moments. One, when I had my coffee and started to think about my birth. A few tears fell, and then I said "Whore". No, my first Mother was not a whore, I just like to use that word. Sometimes, it's out of anger, other times, it's used in a silly manner. I didn't use it in the silly manner, though.

The other "weepy" moment was after my ap's and kids had left, and had cleaned up after dinner and had some quiet. I thought about my kids. I thought about all the joy I felt when they were born. THAT'S when adoption hits me. When I think of the flowers, the cards & phone calls, and the joy I & everyone who loved me felt when I had my babies. When I think of how loved they were and how I never left them.

And then I think of baby Claire, with no flowers congratulating my Mother, no presents for me or my Mother, and certainly no joy. And, no one to really love me for almost 6 months. And it pisses me right the eff off. I deserved better.

After I got pissed, I thought once again about my Mother. I didn't call her a whore this time. I didn't call her anything. I just wondered. Not if she was going to call me, like I used to wonder. I just wondered if she even thought about me at all.

I didn't get mad, though, because it is what it is. It's a damned shame. Then, I heard this song:

I don't know, it just made me think of her and that first letter she sent me, where she referenced Christ's birth in December and that it was cold and something about cow dung. This is the first birthday in 24 years that I did not read it and trace her words with my finger.

It was a great birthday, with lots of loot, and lots of love. I got an ipad and enough makeup from Sephora to fix Gaga's face for a year. 46 is the new 45. Except it is one year older and one year closer to 50. Maybe that's why I got so much damned makeup.

What's the deal with funerals?

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 07:01:00 +0000

Seriously. I hate them. And every time I make my way through the line, give my condolences and stop by the casket I think the same thing- "Oh, sweet Jesus, why did I look?" And then I usually say to Dan, "If you ever do that to me, I will come back to haunt you. I will hide your tools, put green food coloring in your shampoo and other poltergeist-y things to get you back."

No one needs to see a dead body. It's just disturbing. I want to remember my friends alive and looking, well, looking alive. I would never want anyone to see me dead. Why do corpse stylists insist on putting coral lipstick on the dearly departed? Why does every dead lady's hair look like she had a roller set done in 1963 and hasn't touched it since then? And what's up with dead people wearing glasses, ffs? They are dead. If you believe in the glorious resurrection of the dead, their eyesight will be 20/20, or Jesus will spring for lasik surgery. You will also be a perfect size 6 and have no stretch marks.

Yeah, buddy, seeing dead people is creepy

I remember the one of the first funerals I attended as a child. It was my a uncle's wife's father. I guess my ap's couldn't find a sitter, so they brought us along for the fun. My Mom insisted that we stay in the front room, because she was afraid we would be frightened by the dead guy. Of course, I was never the obedient bastard, and I peeked. All I could see was the dead guy's face under pinkish-orange lights. It reminded me of the lights that Arby's kept their roast beast sandwiches under. The dead guy's face was the perfect shade of pink, like a rare filet on a carving table.

To this day, when I see those warming lights at a buffet table, I think of that dead guy. And then I don't eat as much.

I have all my stuff planned. Cremation for this girl. No buffet lamps, no teased old lady hair, and no coral lipstick. No stress for my family trying to decide which frock to throw on my cold, hard corpse. Did you know that funeral directors do not put shoes on a corpse? So if you find yourself stressing over which kicks to put on your dead guy, don't worry- no shoes, no problem. Seriously- my friend Peggy works at a funeral home, so I know stuff. She would call me and say, "Girl..I have this awesome pair of size 9's if you want them." Ummm, no, Pegs, I don't want dead people shoes. I know way more than I need to know about the funeral business thanks to Peggy.

I don't want people standing around looking at my rare beef colored flesh and saying, "Oh, she looks good, doesn't she?" No. She doesn't. She's freaking dead, and she looks dead- don't let the roast beast lights fool you, she's not a sandwich. "She looks so peaceful, just like she is sleeping and could wake up at any time." No, she looks dead, and her eyes won't open because her eyelids are tacked down to her eyeballs. (they use one of those gripper clips, like the clips you use when you wrap your ace bandage on your sprained wrist, and sometimes they use superglue-you can thank Peggy for that little gem, too)

Im just going to have a party. I want people to talk about what a gloriously funny bitch I was and that they are glad they didn't have to see me under the Arby's lights. I will have party favors for them, which will include a dance mix tape.

My ashes will be at the party in a container, so if people want a scoop of me for their garden, or make me into some charm bracelet, they can scoop all they wish. I really don't mind what they do with my ashes, they can snort me for all I care, I'm dead, remember?

I have already written my obituary, because Im anal like that. Of course, it may change someday to include the names of any grandkids I may have one day, or if one of my four parents die before me.

It will have all four of my parents listed, and all of my siblings, whether they like it or not. I may not ever have my true record of birth, but the stuff that goes in the paper and on ancestry.com will be correct. Whether they like it or not.

I have dead people stuck in my head. We have one more funeral to attend this weekend. Dan's friend's brother died Wednesday night. Found him dead in his recliner, only 47 years old. So I guess, (knock wood) this was our "dead guys come in threes" thing. I hope. This whole entry was disturbing. Sorry. I just don't get the whole funeral thing. They say that funerals are for the living, but this not yet dead girl doesn't like them. I am solemnly swearing to never look at a dead body in a casket again.

It's been real.

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 22:11:00 +0000

It's over! Adoptember, November, National Adoption Bewareness month, NaBloPoMo, whatever you want to call it. It's over.

It's been an interesting month in adoptoblogworld for sure. I mean, some of the crap that went on was so over the top, it was bizarre even for adotoblogworld. What with all the janky and non-janky toothed adoptresses spewing their usual contempt for adoptees on their blogs (and on ours as well) the adoptoraptors who adopt for Jeebuz, and adoptee ditchers, we could get enough material for a one hour Comedy Central Special, ffs.

I would want this guy to be the star. Yeah- he died this month, too. Patrice Oneal was hilarious, and was a very down to earth guy. The first time I saw him live my stomach was sore for days from laughing so hard. Umm, you will more than likely be offended if you are an uptight white woman. Just sayin'.

Back to Blowvember. Funny how most adopter blogs had no mention as to the REAL meaning of this month. But did we expect them to? I did not- because they love to switch things up and make adoption about themselves. I wonder if they contacted their legislators to urge them to create legislation which will restore original birth certificates to adult adoptees. Doubtful.

My Blowvember sucked. Im glad the month is over and I look forward to the holidays and the new year. Hopefully this will be the year that even more states will turn into good states. We are working on it, and we are making progress.

Thanks for playing, and I will see you in a few days. I will now collect my fabulous prize for participating in NaBloPoMo.

walk in fields of gold

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 04:27:00 +0000

I totally need to snap out of this funk. I know 2 funerals in one week are a bit much to take, but I have stuff to do. Important stuff, like, umm, I dunno.

It's odd how grief works with me. It usually hits me later. I usually wait until AFTER the funeral to fall apart. I don't know. I guess Facecrack has a way of forcing you to deal with things in a real time mode? Maybe it's because Im older now and know how fast everything goes?

I spent most of the day talking with other production people, deciding whether we should send food, flowers, or donate money to the fund set up at his bank. Not sure what it is for. His children are grown, so it's not like they need financial assistance. I like the idea of an actor's fund...maybe a scholarship for voice over training, or something like that. IDK.

I talked with so many people. People I haven't worked with in years- clients and actors. So many amazing stories about T. Oh, back to Facecrack. I was laughing about the memories we all had of T, but Facecrack brought me back to the sad reality of it al.

I am friends with T's son, who is also employed in the industry. Seeing pictures of T with his kids when they were babies killed me. What makes this story even sadder is that when the kids were toddlers, their Mother died. T remarried a wonderful woman years later, but still...both of their parents are gone. Forever.

Everything's hitting me like a bus right now. It's the week before "the week of all weeks", so Im sure I am even more emotional because of that. I am used to being useless in the weeks leading up to and after my birthday, but this just really sucks. People leaving, whether for convenience or for the big dude in the sky just sucks.

At least I have a good excuse for non-adoptoland people as to why I am sad this year around my birthday. Besides the fact that I am going to be 46. Shit. I remember when anything over 30 was ancient. 60's not looking so bad now. Ok, I lied.

Oh, and remember how I went to my other friend's funeral last Saturday? I reconnected with a few grade school friends on Facecrack. One "girl" and I were pretty tight back then. She married a boy who lived 4 doors up from me. They have 3 boys. And, while looking at her pictures, I discovered that they have a daughter, whom they adopted from Korea. What the hell? It's everywhere, this beast.

again.

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 02:12:00 +0000

I am absolutely spent. I went to work today, and found out that a fellow voice actor, "T" , had died last night. He was a legend in our town, and I have worked with him for almost 20 years.

His wife said that after watching The Steeler's game last night, he started having seizure like symptoms, and they called 911. He had an aneurism, and died at the hospital.

It was awful at the studio today when we found out. After we had composed ourselves, we (myself and another voice actor) walked into the recording booth, and T's scripts from last Wednesday were still on the stand...very odd, because he never did that. We keep our scripts to match them up with the checks from AFTRA, to make sure everything matches up. Kinda spooky, really. The other voice actor took the scripts home with him, as a memento of sorts.

We were able to get through the commercials and sound happy to sell people shit they don't need.

I am really pissed off, and quite frankly, I am tired of funeral food. Im going to miss T. He was a great guy- a master on the mic, whether it was spoken word or jingle singing, and was a fellow ball buster and good guy. This people dying thing is getting old.

Sorry, no adoption related post today. I guess I could I say "T was from Pittsburg, but moved to Cincinnati. Although he adopted the city as his own, he still rooted for the Steelers."

I'm not a baby, I am a man. I am an anchorman

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 22:26:00 +0000

Bob's funeral was very moving. It's funny how certain smells will bring you back to another time...St. Will's still smells the same as it did when I reluctantly went to church every Sunday with my ap's. That incense that still makes me cough reminded me of how I would daydream in church, whether I was with my parents, or at weekly "class" mass with my school mates. It's a beautiful church, but is an ADD kid's wildest ride- paintings on every ceiling, prayers engraved into the beams, it is sensory overload for sure. Way too much going on.

It's also funny that even though I had not seen many of the people at the funeral in almost 30 years, they still were the eighth graders I remembered. Frozen in time, almost. I didn't notice the age lines, the grey hair or even the lack of hair. They were just the faces that sat across from me at the lunch table and on the school playground. But- I still remembered the school yard sing-song taunts of "You're aah-aah-dop-ted", and I think, "Mehhh- they were kids, it was an easy slam."

Even after all these years, they remember I am adopted. They still ask questions. They asked if I ever found my "birth" mother. I tell them I did, and I tell them she is my FIRST Mother. I tell them the truth, not one of the fantasy stories I told as a kid.

I tell them that my Mother is too damaged and stubborn to have a relationship with me and they do not understand. I just dont have the time to tell them all the details, nor do I want to, because Im just not in the mood.

One adds the usual , "Oh, but your REAL parents are the ones who raised you." I smile and just tell her I have 4 very real parents, and if I did not, 2 would not exist and they laugh. I ask them why they are laughing and they say, "Because you haven't changed a bit- you speak your mind and speak it with conviction." And I do.

Funny thing happened at church- the man who did the first reading at mass is "kind of a big deal". He is an anchor for a very conservative national news channel. And he's smoking hot. I'll call him "Anchorman", because he went from a hot, football playing high school boy to an Im REALLY proud of myself-cheese ball. I mean, when he was finished reading the prayer, he said the thing you're supposed to say, which is, "This is the word of the Lord." But he did it in such a Ron Burgundy sounding way, I was expecting him to add "You stay classy, Catholics...let's go to Brian Fantana." I looked at my friend next to me and said, "Does he realize that this is real life, and not the news?"

The friend next to me was a neighbor boy (now a 46 year old man, lol) and we laughed for most of the mass, mostly because the Catholic Church went and changed half the responses to the prayers we have known our entire lives. He asked me if I was going to go to communion. I told him no, because I don't go to church anymore. And because Sylvia would kill me if she found out I did. He told me to shut up and tugged on my sleeve when it was time to go. I said, "Would it be THAT bad if I ate Jesus?" He said, "No. It will only be bad if you eat Jesus while thinking about eating Anchorman."

I went to communion and God (or Syl) didn't smite me. Yet.

I talked with Anchorman at the after party. Or wake. Whatever you want to call it. There was food and booze, and I call that a party. Anchorman was still charming, (and did I mention smoking hot?) but all I could see in his eyes was right wing propaganda. And cheese. Disappointing, yet oddly entertaining.

It was a great night, remembering our old friend Bob. He wasn't "kind" of a big deal, he WAS a big deal. He was the oncologist to the stars & politicians, apparently. He was also an oncologist to regular people too. And to children, donating his time & skills to their care, free of charge, if their parents had no insurance. He was a friend, son, brother, husband and father. His son will remember him, his daughter, only 4, probably will not. And that is truly sad. But he led a great life, he cared for others and left the world a better place. It was an honor to call him friend, and I will miss him.

funeral for a friend

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 02:08:00 +0000

I have to go to a funeral tonight. A boy I went to grade school with died last month. I say "boy", because that is how I will always remember him. He was kind of a dork, and so was I. That's why we were friends. Dorks do that, you know, they stick together, kind of like bastards. We have this connection, I guess.

He was an oncologist. When I was diagnosed with cancer 11 years ago, he really helped me. I had gone to 3 different oncologists, and I received 3 different treatment plans. I called Bob, and he had me send my path reports to him. He worked at a hospital with a very comprehensive Sarcoma Center. He agreed with Doctor # 2, and the rest is history.

I'm not that old, I will turn 46 in 2 weeks. But I am too young to attend a funeral of a friend. They suck. It's not my first, and certainly won't be my last, but death blows.

Im also dreading it because it will be a real test to see if I can keep my cool around some of my other classmates who are now adopters. I recently had a "debate" on Facecrack about National Adoption Bewareness month. I schooled him as to what the month is supposed to be about, and he tossed the bitter card onto the table. Cracks my shit up, because this man has known me since I was 9 years old.

Then there's another "friend" who recently adopted. I haven't written about him because it still upsets me so much. I'll save that for another post, because Im running out of stuff to say this Blow-vember.

On a happy note, Dan bought a barn today. An entire barn. We decided we are going to try and make our new house as "green" as possible, and we love the look of reclaimed barn wood. We have a guy who takes barn wood and turns it into the most amazing flooring.

Our kids are making fun of us, because we are really not "green" people. We don't even recycle, ffs. You'd think I would be all about recycling, being a recycled kid and all. I mean, I don't hate the earth so much that I litter, huff aerosol cans, burn crap in my yard or kill dolphins, but it's just never really been a priority to me. I would kill a shark, though. They scare the crap out of me.

Speaking of recycling, have you seen this? My brother sent it to me. I don't usually watch Jimmy Fallon, as Im a Kimmel girl, but I love Fallon. Hilarious!!

watch here

Criminal adopters

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 04:03:00 +0000

So I accepted a friend request on Facecrack the other day from someone I did not know, but with whom I had friends in common. A few days later, I had an invite to "like" her page. Sweet Jesus on a Dora bike, it was an adopter who had ditched her adoptee. I don't think I have ever been so disgusted in my life. With myself, for adding someone I did not know, and with her- this "Mother".

We've read the stories- "Oh, the child just didn't bond well with MY family". Duh.

"The child had mental issues" Yeah, uh-huh. More like severe adoption trauma.

Lots of labels on the twice ditched kids, of course.

"RAD"

"ADD/HD"

"Bi-Polar"

"FASD"

You name it, these kids have every imaginable "disorder" that new-age adopters lurve to throw on their adoptlings. Oh, and the "~~forever~~ TEMPORARY families" seem to love to blame the child's first mother. It's always so convenient, right? Blame that behavior on "bad blood".

These people are the lowest of the low. To take a child who has already lost so much and ditch them because they were "traumatizing" the rest of their adoptive "family" (cough, cough) is unthinkable to me.

I sent her a message and told her why I was de-friending her:

"I had no idea you were an adopter who ditched an adoptee. You are the WORST of humankind. I had no idea what you were when I added you. Why would you add an adoptee? You are twisted."

She responded,

"I am sorry you feel that way Linda. I have not ditched my daughter. You

should be careful when you believe everything you read. You have obviously

read the sensationalized story of our trauma...I am co-parenting my daughter

because she has RAD, FASD and is Bipolar and wanted to commit suicide in my

home because of her rage at me for adopting her. If you think I am the WORST

of humankind than I cannot change your mind and I can understand where you are coming from - IF you believe everything you read. btw Linda, my husband is an adoptee. Should he unfriend me too?"

To which I responded,

"She's NOT your daughter, and yes, you DID ditch her. No, he should divorce you."

Her Facecrack page is filled with the typical ignorant comments we always hear as adoptees. Oh, and most of the people commenting were other adoptee ditchers. Comments such as, "This person is ignorant about adoption", (uh-really- Im ADOPTED.) "She has unresolved issues about her adoption" (Im adopted, you fools, I will always have unresolved issues about losing my family and myself) and "People who don't know what it is like to raise a child with mental issues shouldn't speak"(they have no idea if I do or do not have a child with mental issues, but you can be damned sure I would never ditch my kid) Idiots.

It made me sick to my turkey-filled stomach to see how many people think it's OK to ditch an adoptee. Oh, and of course, they all love God so much. I mean, God "tells" so many of these entitled princesses to adopt. Im curious as to how God's message about "buyer's remorse" sounds. Oh, right...there is no message from God about buyer's remorse, just as there is no message from him to adopt.

The only "sensationalized story" I read was from this she-beast's blog. I read a few entries about her daughter's struggle to fit in with these strangers and how traumatized she was, and had to shake my head in disgust.

She also posted about her dogs and the difficulties she had training them. Bet she kept the damned dogs.

There is no "co-parenting" in adoption. Not if you are in an open adoption, and not if you are in a closed adoption. It's a termination and transfer of parental rights. There is no "co" in adoption.

YOU MADE A COMMITMENT. YOU TOOK WHAT WAS NOT YOURS TO BEGIN WITH. YOU DO NOT GET TO HAVE BUYER'S REMORSE!

Awwww.....does that hurt your fee-fee's? Does that make you feel insignificant? Does it sting, or make you cry? Good. But it will never even come close to what that little girl felt when she was left alone again.

How do these people pass home studies? WHY do they adopt in the first place? WHY DO THEY FEEL THE NEED TO ADD ADOPTEES? Oh, I now know why. She's writing a book. How lovely. Hopefully, the child will survive the hell she is being put through and will sue this monster some day. Breach of contract, bitches.

And to her husband, also an adoptee- there is even MORE shame on him. He continued the cycle of adoption. And he fucked it up in the worst way imaginable. It is a crime. A crime of the century.

Pie

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 02:36:00 +0000

The turkey thawed. Yay. We had a nice Thanksgiving at both places today, and yes, I ate way too much. Don't even stick a fork in me, I will ooze gravy. New diet starts tomorrow!

I am totally just writing random words right now, because I am in a food coma. But Im trying to finish this NaBloPoMo thing. It's like Im running a marathon in sky high Christian Louboutin's that are 3 sizes too small. While wearing a full length mink coat. That has been soaked in gravy.

No major fisticuffs at my ap's. It was like I was somewhere else. Heroin boy (my a brother) was on his best behavior, and I only had to roll my eyes a handful of times. Kind of sad when I lock my purse inside the car when he is there. Ironic, considering the neighborhood my ap's live is not a nice place to visit. Or even drive through.

The only adoption related comment was when we brought out dessert. My a sis decided she would bring a store bought pumpkin pie. Weird, considering pies are my thing. Well, other than sarcasm.

She knows my a Mom loves my pumpkin pie. Im not even kidding, my pumpkin pies are to die for. Not sure what that was about, but I didn't even roll my eyes. I was completely gracious and said, "Mrs. Smith makes wonderful pies!" I wasn't even drunk. What? Mrs. Smith DOES make good pies. They're just not MY pies.

So my daughter says, "This is hilarious! The home made kid brings the store bought pie, and the store bought kid brings the home made pie!" Silence. So I quipped in my most syrupy sweet voice, "Well, you better give Grandma a slice of each, because she loves them just the same." I know. Sometimes, I just can't help myself. It was just too easy.

I got in trouble for that one, but my daughter did not. But it was hilarious. And my sister's pie sucked.

I eat that turkey then I take a nap

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 03:59:00 +0000

I'm super tired. I had a pretty full work week (YAY!) and I have been cooking since 2 pm. I made 3 Pumpkin Jack pies (I throw Jack Daniels in the batter, oh, yum) 2 Pecan pies, 1 "Better than Robert Redford" dessert, 1 sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes for 25, and I got that damned bird outta my fridge and over to my ap's.

We have decided to come up with a new name for the Robert Redford dessert, because no one under 30 knows who he is. Sorry, Bobby. I'm thinking along the lines of "Johnny Depp on a Platter". My nieces may try to veto that in favor of Justin Bieber, but he is not legal for me to eat. And I hate his hair.

I've been getting all sorts of Thanksgiving messages from my n cousins, Aunts & siblings, and that is amazing. One cousin said, "Makes me so sad all the time we lost with you. You're an amazing, sweet and funny person. You definitely are family. Just wanted you to know how important you quickly became to us- Luv ya!" Yeah- that left me crying like a big baby! I cannot tell you how this makes me feel. To be a part of BOTH my families is a life long dream. I will talk to my n Dad tomorrow, as well as my brothers.

Also, I wanted to pass along some great blog posts from this week. I am so proud to call these women friends.

Von links to a particularly entitled adopter's blog. Warning- you WILL be disgusted by the adopter's blog. It's so bad I didn't even bother commenting. Some folks are just too far gone.

I loved Amanda's post on adoptees processing their adoption. Great read!

Also, take a look at Joy's blog, where she writes about her ap's and how they gave her her own personal information. She links to an ap blog I was not very familiar with until a few weeks ago, and I am liking this particular blogger more and more.

Jenn has a great conversation going on at her blog about family trees. (minus the nasty comment directed at fellow adoptee blogger-when will these women learn that paranoid adoptees keep very detailed records of IP addies? Not very bright, all you nasty anonymous "ladies", not very bright)

Those are just a few this week. I must admit, I am exhausted, so forgive me for leaving all of my other blogger buds in the dust. Have a great Thanksgiving, and I am thankful for every one of you who tells your truth and fights the fight against corruption and fraud in the adoption industry.

Oh, Paulie... won't see him no more.

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 04:22:00 +0000

So we finally decided on a date. We're going to get re-re-married on January 7th, which was the date of our first wedding way back in 1984.

The pre-nup is filed, everything is cool. But- we found out that we would be paying over 6 thousand dollars more in taxes if we got married this year, so we said screw it.

We are going to go to our lake place in Tennessee and have a local jp do it. Hopefully, the weather will cooperate. It's pretty unpredictable around these parts!

I remember my a Mom praying that the weather would cooperate for my first wedding. It was cold, but no snow. There were plenty of other mishaps, though...

Like when the antique car that was to drive us to the church stalled. The best Man and my Dad, clad in their tuxes, pushed it half way down the street while I steered. I did not have a drivers license, just my temps.

Then, as I was getting ready to take my first step down the aisle, the photographer's assistant stepped on the back of my veil and ripped it off my head. My hair was short-ish and was in an up-do and I had a few bobby pins stuck in my bouquet in case the up-do started to become a down-do. I took one step back and quickly pinned the veil (which I had made) back on to my head as I called the assistant something vulgar.

The whole time I was walking down the aisle, I heard my a Mom's voice in my head: "Hold the bouquet low so no one sees that stomach!" What, like no one figured out I was 4 months preggers? Give me a break. But I did it.

I was filled with fear. I had just turned 18, and I was about to have a baby. I was about to be someone's wife, and I had never even lived on my own. I had no idea as to what could be lurking in my medical background, so I feared for my baby. I was also filled with sadness as I walked down that aisle, thinking about my first Mother, who was at that time, just someone in my imagination. I wanted her to see how pretty her daughter was. I didn't know who she was or where she was, but when I had to walk over to The Blessed Virgin after communion, I dedicated the white roses I placed at the statue's feet to my First Mother. Because I loved her, I missed her, and secretly hoped that this Catholic hocus-pocus I was performing would somehow make it's way into her head. Crazy, right? Right.

It was a grandiose spectacle, our wedding. Think "My Big Fat Greek Wedding". Without the Greeks or Windex. People I had never seen in my life, but were related to my ap's. (Mostly my a Mom) We had 500 people there, but Dan and I were allowed to invite 20 people. Dan's Mom and Dad got around 100 invites.You know, because it was Dan & Linda's wedding, but Sylvia's party. Fo. Sho.

The only thing I had any control over was my dress. Kind of. It couldn't be white, because I wasn't a virgin. I settled for some slightly off white thing- all brocade and Medieval looking. I have no idea what I was thinking. I just thank God I didn't go for the very popular "rainbow wedding" theme. Good God, that was horrific and even the gay men who know and love me would have killed me had I gone that route.

"May your first child be a masculine child"

Syl made me wear one of her girdles for extra baby coverage. Mind you, I was 5'8 and weighed 140 at 4 months pregnant, and Syl was 5'3 and weighed 105 wet. As soon as I got to the reception hall, I bolted for the bathroom and tried to rip that sucker off of me. "Tried" being the key word. I needed the scissors that were in the sewing kit in the bathroom. My Aunt Betty walked in and gasped and said she was going to tell my Mom. I laughed and said, "Umm, I'm married now, my Mom is not the boss of me." I seriously feared that my baby was going to have smoosh face from that thing...or at least seam marks on her back, so I was willing to risk the bitching from my a Mom.

We had a blast at our wedding. We acted like grown ups and made small talk with the hundreds of people who all had a last name that ended in a vowel, listened to old drunk Uncle Paulie give 3 toasts in broken English and we danced and eyed the ever growing pile of envelopes with our names on them. Cha-ching. I never registered, because that was back in the days that many girls had "hope chests", so I had a lot of stuff. And hope. We could not have champagne at our toast, though, because we weren't legal. Dan and the rest of the wedding party had 3.2 beer in their champagne glasses, because they were allowed to have that. Classy!

We went home to our little apartment and Dan passed out. I had always dreamed of some fairy tale, romantic wedding night, complete with some old fashioned sexy peignoir set.

But alas, I was preggers, and a peignoir set was out of the question. Oh, and Dan was too drunk and had passed out. I think I slept in my Ramones t-shirt, and Dan was still in his tux the next morning. Side note- two nights before our wedding was our rehearsal dinner and I was not allowed to sleep at my new apartment. Because I wasn't married. Because that made sense. Like I was going to get pregnant???

The next day we went to my ap's to get our envelopes and a few gifts. There was left over food (Italian of course) and I made myself a huge plate of Ziti and sausage. Then, my mid-morning sickness took over and I puked in my a Mom's kitchen sink. Evil Edna was there, and the sight of me puking made her puke. It was swell. No seriously- I hated that witch, it really was swell.

With this wedding, there will be no fear and no anxiety. My first Mother won't be there for this wedding, either, but I am at peace with that now. There will also be no Evil Edna, no Catholic hocus-pocus, no Paulie and I won't be saying, "Does this fetus make my butt look big?"

Proof that I was always snarky

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 03:27:00 +0000

So I found this thing in a box at Syl's. It was in my junior year scrapbook. This is a letter I wrote to the editor of The Cincinnati Enquirer when I was 16 years old. It was published, lol. Yes, the article says I was 17. It also has the incorrect ages of my a siblings. The editor called my a Mom to get her permission to publish it, because I was a minor. My a Mom had the editor change my age & my sibs ages, and would not allow them to print my name or address. You know...in case my n Mom was reading it and could somehow figure out it was me. That pissed me right the hell off, because I was hoping my n Mother WOULD read it and know it was me. My a Mom was pissed because I didn't say that I was happy to be adopted and grateful my Mother didn't abort me. Plus, instead of "prostitute", I had written "whore", and she was NOT happy that I had used that word. If you click on the pic, it should be larger. Im too lazy to type it all out because my wrists are tired. Ive been rotating her damned turkey in the fridge, ffs.

You can see that I was reciting the party line back then. I used those puketastic catch phrases those who lurve adoption use- like "unselfish", and even pointed out what had been drilled into my head for 16 years- that my ap's waited 7 years for me. I have no idea what the line about the "waiting seven years for a carbon copy of the selfish father" line meant. Surely it didn't take 7 years to find a surrogate in 1981.

But in that last paragraph, it's there- the little glimpse of the "woundie" who was trying to be heard, but never was..."I had a very hard time accepting the fact that I was adopted when I was around 12 or so.." Yeah, so I lied a little. It was more like "I had a very hard time accepting the fact that I was adopted since..umm..ermm..uhhh..ever since I was adopted", but whatevs. I was used to keeping that pain to myself. Mustn't hurt anyone. Must be grateful.

Oh, and I have NO idea who Mike was. I liked to doodle. Still do. But even then, I knew my first Mother was not a whore.

Bucket list

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 04:57:00 +0000

I am really having a difficult time coming up with a topic today, so I guess I will just wing it.

It was another terrible football weekend for me. Good God, when does spring training begin?

Dan was in Green Bay Wisconsin this weekend knocking off an item from his bucket list, which was to see a football game at Lambeau Field. Good for him. And for me, because he scored some cheese curds for me. If you have never had Wisconsin cheese curds, you have not lived. For real. The squeak they make when you bite into them is almost as delicious as the curds themselves. Get home already.

I don't really have a bucket list, although I used to want to do Steven Tyler from Aerosmith. That dream has died because of his scrawny chicken legs and bad beach wear. But I still love him. I just couldn't do him. Besides, I am about 27 years too old for him, and I'm engaged, so there's that.

I have pretty much accomplished every goal I have set for myself. (with the exception of Steven Tyler & having a good relationship with my n Mom) Good wife- check. Good mom- check. Good daughter-check. Good friend-check. Having a career that I love-check. Having enough money to take care of myself and my family-check. Living an authentic and happy life-check. Although, I have only been living an authentic life for a few years-after I completely defogged. Better late than never, right?

Many people have travel on their bucket lists. Meh...I am actually quite the home body. Don't get me wrong, I like to go places. When I do travel, I have a great time. Maybe if I ever get a passport, I will feel differently. I've been to almost every state, and that's cool. If I ever get to Ireland, that would be pretty awesome, as that's where my people were born. But it isn't a necessity, nor will I have regrets if I don't get there.

I am also going to start volunteering at a family support agency in January. It is a non-profit organization that provides help and a safe place for families who are going through financial hardships and/or addictions. I will be volunteering in the children's library, reading to children during story time.

It is important for me to be involved with an organization that believes in family preservation, not separation. I am really looking forward to this new adventure.

So, maybe I do have a bucket list after all. To be involved with a program that HELPS families. I think that's a good goal/item on my list. And it is way better than wanting to do an old man who likes women's hats.

Butterball part deux

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 03:46:00 +0000

I have been dreaming of that damned turkey since I bought it. Oh, and as luck would have it, I don't have a session for "store A" next week. Coinky-dink? We'll see...

Also, my a dad has called me 6 times to remind me to take the turkey out of the freezer Sunday and put it into the fridge to make sure it is thawed before Thursday. Today, he called twice- once, while I was still sleeping, and another time when I was on the other line. I didn't pick up. I then received a text message from my a sister to remind me to take the turkey out of the freezer Sunday and put it into the fridge to make sure it is thawed before Thursday. Sweet jumping Jesus, I am an adult who knows how to cook a bird!

I called my Mom to let her know that I got their message. All of them.

A Mom: "Well, we were were worried, we couldn't get a hold of you. We don't want Thanksgiving to be ruined. If it's not thawed out, we could get "Botunella" and die. And your father only has one lung!" (said in one breath)

Me: "There is no such thing as "Botunella", and having one lung won't make you more susceptible to contracting a non-existent disease." (said with such sarcasm, she could hear my eyes rolling)

Good gravy, the holidaze are upon us. These are the times I wish I was a drinker or a pill popper, instead of just a sarcastic bastard overlord.

Oh, and the fucking turkey is in the fridge.

Little white lies

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 04:23:00 +0000

Ive written about how profound it was for my children to meet their natural family members on my side. My girls were 20, 22 & 24. I watched their faces as they met my n brother & his children and it was unforgettable. They had never seen anyone who had looked like me or themselves and it kind of freaked them out a bit. Of course they have their Dad's side of the family, but only one of our daughters looks like them. The other 2 are dead ringers for my n Mother's family.

They have interacted twice in real life with my brothers & their kids, but "talk" to them on Facecrack on a regular basis. They have seen with their own eyes how much they are like their natural family, too.

But- and there is a but- they have not fully embraced a relationship with my first father. My first Mother is a non-issue. Sadly, even if my Mother were to beg for my forgiveness for the way she has treated me over the past few years, my daughters will never forgive her for what she has done to me- to them. To everyone. But I don't think my Mother will ever be an issue for any of us, so Im not worried about them having to deal with her.

G, my N Dad, is a different story. He has sent them gifts in the past, and fully accepted his grand-daughters from day one, just as the rest of my family on his side did.

Yes, I have regrets when it comes to my n Dad. I purposely kept him at a distance when my girls were little, because I saw how my Mother's denial had affected them. I would not allow my n Dad to hurt them, so I kept them away from him when they were young. Not that he ever would have hurt them, but in my mind back then, everyone left. Cards and phone calls here and there, but they have never met my n Dad.

Facecrack has now opened the door for him once again. They are adults now, and can have relationships with whomever they choose. They were pleasantly surprised when G added them on Facecrack, and basically exchange "Hello's", "Happy Birthday's" and a few "likes" on pictures.

G has made several comments to me that he wants to meet his grand daughters. I would like that, too. But my girls are adults now, and it's pretty hard to arrange a meeting when we all live thousands of miles from each other. Not to mention, G is getting older and has physical issues that would make traveling very difficult.

I mentioned to my girls that we should make a trip to Texas in the spring. Their natural grandfather is not getting any younger. They had a million excuses as to why they could not make it. Some legit, some pretty lame. But I knew deep down why they wouldn't commit.

After talking about it for over a half an hour, my middle daughter said, "I can't. I can't do it while Grandpa L is still alive." I knew it, because I know my girls. E told me that her sisters felt the same way.

And there it was, that age old adoptee guilt. Except my girls are not adopted. Except they are. Because having an adoptee for a parent automatically makes you an adoptee by default, and they get to share in all the brainwashing bullshit fun, too. Weeeeeee!

And yes, I blame my ap's for this. I cannot tell you how many times they have told my daughters that "I (meaning me) BELONG to them." They have heard my ap's call my natural Mother "THAT woman", and other members of my natural family "THOSE people".

They have come to my rescue, those girls, by telling my ap's that I don't "belong" to anyone, and have told them that just because I love my natural family does not mean I don't love them.

I also blame myself. When they were very young, I would tell them not to talk about gifts that "Grandpa G" had sent to them, because it would hurt their (a) grandparents feelings. I told my children to lie. I hate that I did, but I cannot go back in time. I thought I was protecting them from my ap's entitlement and guilt games. Look how that worked out for me. And them.

They have no issues talking about their natural cousins, aunts and uncles with my (also their) adoptive family. Because they are not a threat, only the parents are a threat. Yeah- that stupid, invisible threat that many ap's feel, that if we love our first parents, our adoptive parents will take a back seat. It's all such bullshit.

I cannot force my daughters to meet their natural grandfather. But I also don't have the heart to tell him why they can't make it in the spring. I remember how insulted I was when my n sister's husband told me, "Well, maybe when your Mother dies, we can all be a happy family." What the hell?? Who says that? Sadly, I am not the first adoptee who has heard that statement.

I will not hurt my n Dad that way. Now I just have to figure out how to tell him without lying. I fully accept that my children have different adoption dynamics than I. They do not have the same amount of baggage. Oh, they do have some baggage, but not the same amount. They are once removed, but are still very much in the thick of things.

Dan said he will talk to them about it. I don't want them to meet him "because I said so", but because they want to. Maybe hearing Dan's non-adoptee opinion will help. I hate this.

step on a crack, break yo Mama's back

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 04:40:00 +0000

I am superstitious. Or, maybe Im just OCD. Whatever. You say tomato, I say shut the hell up. It does drive me a bit crazy at times. Part of this comes from the way I was raised.

Crazy stuff, people. Like, you had to hold your breath and say a "Hail Mary" in your head when you drove past a cemetery. Or make the sign of the cross every time you drove past a Catholic Church. That could be dangerous in my old neighborhood, where there was a Catholic Church every 4 blocks. Or, say if you were driving a shift stick, trying to eat a hamburger and shove a pacifier in your baby's mouth at the same time. Shut up already, younger Moms. Back in my day, a kid could sit in a car seat in the front seat. Facing forward! Oh, the horrors!

There was no logic in any of these superstitions, but they were taken very seriously by everyone in my a family.

Superstitions for just about everything:

Your bed should never face the door, because it mimics a coffin in a church

Always look into the other person’s eyes when raising a glass to toast or you'll have 7 years worth of bad sex

Never have 13 people seated at a table

To sell your house, you plant a statue of St. Joseph in your yard. It only works if he is upside down.

No pictures of birds in the house. And if a bird flies into your window, or into your house and dies, death is imminent. (to a human, not the bird)

You ate lentils at midnight on New Year's Eve. I didn't mind it when I was a kid, but as I got older, I stopped. Lentils and drunk do not mix

On my confirmation, I did not get a nice white dress or a party, but a gold cross and a Malocchio, the Italian Horn- it wards off evil, you know. (It does not ward off pregnancy. Just an FYI.)

You put salt under the head of a dead person. My Grandma Meatball said it confused their spirit and they wouldn't be able to find their way back to your house to haunt you

Owls are the devil's birds!!!!

And for the love of baby Jesus, NEVER get a perm or make sauce when you are on your period!!!

Weird, huh? That's how I was raised. I never took these things seriously, because they just made no sense. But every once in a while, my brain acts superstitiously and it makes me laugh.

I had to buy the turkey for Thanksgiving at my ap's house. It's too heavy for them, so I told them Id get it and make it. My a Mom told me it MUST be a Butterball turkey, or Thanksgiving would be ruined like it was the time Aunt Concetta bought a Honeysuckle White turkey and we all got food poisoning. Mind you, Aunt Concetta was not a good cook, and the bird was either undercooked, or contaminated by her filthy counters- but in everyone's minds, it was the curse of the Honeysuckle White.

Dan and I went shopping after dinner last night. The store where I shop (also the store I do commercials for) did not have Butterballs that big. Oh, they had the Honeysuckles, but not the Butterballs. Dan laughed and threw the Honeysuckle into the cart. I promptly took it out and placed it back into the freezer. There was no way in hell I was going to be responsible for ruining Thanksgiving.

I woke up this morning determined to find a 28-30 pound Butterball. I called all the stores in a 20 mile radius, and no one had that big a Butterball. They had one in a store almost 45 miles away, and I asked them to put it aside for me. I told my friend Jenny what I was doing and she told me I was crazy, that store "B" had enormous Butterballs, and for 40 cents a pound cheaper than store "A", MY store.

I didn't know what to do. It made me really nervous to go into store B, MY store's main competitor. Was I pushing my luck? Was I tempting fate and my job security by cheating on my store just to save some time and a few dollars?

I did it. I broke the one superstitious "thing" I have been doing since I landed this account almost 9 years ago. (other than thanking baby Jeebuz every time I book another session) It's making me a little sick to my stomach. Was a freaking Butterball turkey worth risking the gig of a lifetime? Meh...better than ruining Thanksgiving and having to listen to that noise for the next few years. Maybe if I don't eat it, I will be able to keep my job? Im double crossing my digits and throwing salt over my shoulder, people.

one of the seven stars

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 04:29:00 +0000

She came from Planet Claire
I knew she came from there
She drove a Plymouth Satellite
Faster than the speed of light

Planet Claire has pink air
All the trees are red
No one ever dies there
No one has a head

Some say she's from Mars
Or one of the seven stars
That shine after 3:30 in the morning
Well she isn't

She came from Planet Claire
She came from Planet Claire
She came from Planet Claire
-b52s

I've written about adoptees and their names before. A lot of my bastard friends have said that they never felt as if the name given to them by their ap's "fit" them. That goes with the territory, right? We just don't REALLY fit.

I have always detested the name Linda. It's just so 1960's housewifey. Like I should have been a Pan Am sky Flo, strutting my stuff in the friendly skies. I guess it was a trendy name back then. I wasn't named after anyone in my a family. No, that privilege went to my ap's bio kid, as it should have. Growing up in my a family, with my old lady name really did make me feel like I was from another planet. I just didn't know it was Planet Claire.

I know several adoptees who have legally changed their names back to the name they received at birth, their name given to them by their first Mother. I think it is an awesome idea, and say "Go you, for taking back what is rightfully yours!"

I've thought about doing this for a while now. I don't think I will change my name. I am almost 46 years old, I have some name recognition within my work community, and besides- I have a history with this bitch named Linda.

If I were to do it just to have a truly historical record for my family tree, it wouldn't really make THAT much of a difference. My first Mother was not permitted to write my name on my original birth certificate. (not that I have seen it, of course) The last name would be correct, but that would be it. Of course, it only has my first Mother's last name on it, because she was not permitted to list my Father's name on my obc, either. Those tricky Catholics.

Learning my original name was very profound for me. I really cannot explain it, but it was if I found another missing piece of my puzzle- proof that I actually DID exist before I was given to my aps. I scribbled that name at least a hundred times the day I first heard it. And knowing that my name was a FAMILY name, one with meaning, meant so much to me.

A few people have called me Claire. It feels just like it does when someone calls me Linda. Like it really doesn't fit. I do like the name Claire much better though. Claire is a much cooler name, I mean listen to this song ffs. There are no good songs about a girl named Linda. Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Gimme Three Steps", maybe, but her name was Linda Lou, and she sounded kind of whore-y.

Seeing my REAL family tree on ancestry.com makes me feel connected to my people. While I may never see my original birth certificate, I am on that tree, as are my children. Some day, my future grandchildren will be swinging from those branches, too.

Of course, there is an * on my family tree, to let people who stumble across it know why my name is different. They will know that while I lost my family name and was temporarily grafted onto an entirely different tree for a while, my roots never died. I came back and re-grafted myself right back onto MY family tree. I do not consider my adoptive family tree to be my real tree, and neither do professional genealogists. GENEalogist. Get it? GENES? Nice people, but not MY people, or my descendant's people, either. That's how genes work. Adoption does not change our DNA, just our names.

I have had some people ask me if not changing my name back was out of loyalty to my ap's- maybe even just on a subconscious level. It really isn't. Any loyalties about adoption are only to myself & what is right for me.

Maybe I will change my mind someday. I have been known to do that.

Well, bully for you!

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 04:43:00 +0000

Oh, the bully. We love to hate them, don't we? They just make it so easy. They pick on those who are weak, those who are poor, those who have physical disabilities...

"Drop and give me twenty!"

"...enemy deserve no mercy"

"My mother says we're not like the rest of the children!"

"Butthead!"

"Baby talk, baby talk, it's a wonder you can walk!"


"Nobody appreciates your sense of humor, you know. As a matter of fact, everyone's just about to puke from you."

The best part of a movie or TV show with a nefarious bully is when the bully gets a beat down- sometimes a physical one, but other times, it's an emotional beat down. That is my favorite kind of beat down- because usually, after the beat down, they are left alone, with the victim's words left buzzing around in their empty noggins.

From Dictionary.com:

bul·ly/ˈbo͝olē/
Noun:
A person who uses strength or power to harm or intimidate those who are weaker.
Corned beef.

Verb:
Use superior strength or influence to intimidate (someone), typically to force him or her to do what one wants.

Adjective:
Very good; first-rate.

Exclamation:
An expression of admiration or approval: "he got away—bully for him".

Bully seems to be a real buzz word at the moment, and in many cases in adopto-blogland, it is used inappropriately.

It's funny how some adoptive moms and first Moms in adopto-blogland love to throw out the bully term. Newsflash "ladies", disagreeing with you, or calling you out on your despicable/borderline child abuse "parenting skills" is NOT called bullying. It's called disagreeing with you and calling you out on your despicable/borderline child abuse "parenting skills".

Last time I checked, adoptee bloggers do not have superior strength, nor do we "harm" anyone. (but as we know, the truth does tend to hurt those who live a lie) We do not and cannot "force" anyone to do anything. Adoptees, (especially those in left in custody of racist, ignorant ap's) are the weakest in this picture. We do not have any power- we never have. WE were the coveted, the ones tossed aside, we are the ones with no say so, and the ones who are discriminated against by our government. Get a new term, please, this bully term is not correct, it's old and tired, just as your dismissive comments to adoptees are old and tired.

So, now, Mrs. Printy has not only removed the offending blog post, but has replaced it with a "cyber bully" post. When I heard about this, I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants.

A "cyber bully" proclamation from a cyber bully? That's like Jerry Sandusky putting a "No pedophile zone" sign in front of the Penn State locker rooms, ffs.

Seriously- what is that? Damage control? I mean, everyone in adopto-blogland saw with their own two eyes (eyes that were not making a racial-slur gesture, thank you very much) what she wrote, and her comments to those who called her out on it. And for the record, I didn't leave a comment on her blog about that particular disgusting entry. I think she thinks it's damage control, but its just plain stupidity. Her contemptuous comments towards the adoptees and adoptive parents who let her have it have been removed from HER blog, but we all saw them.

We know why she removed it- because she doesn't want her adoptlings (or lame sponsors of her tripe) to one day see how she betrayed them in a most public way. She doesn't want them to see how she treated adoptees and even adoptive parents who told her that what she did was SO wrong. But they will. Trust me, they will. The internet is forever. So are screenshots. And so are bullies. And your kids already know you are a bully. Because bullies don't limit their acts of cowardice to the internet.

doggone it

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 04:27:00 +0000

Im a dog person. I always have been. I had a dog when I was a kid, Trixie, who was 3 when my ap's got me. I remember when she died- it really messed me up. Of course I know now why it did, but at the age of 10, I really had no idea. I just knew that my dog was gone, and couldn't figure out why she hated me so much that she would up and die and leave me forever.

I have 2 dogs, Lola is 9, and Charlie is 8. Lola was a domestic newborn adoption (I know, I know-breeders are bad, but I am now a much more informed adoptive parent). Chuck was a rescue, literally on his way to the dog pound at the age of 3 months. We saved that orphan. (I sound just like a creepy ap) But we did.

He wasn't an easy puppy. He had been abused and had been with 4 different "forever homes" in his short 3 months, so he had major attachment issues. He would run away from us when we wanted to bond with him, and then would do horrible things if we left. It reminded me of the bad things I would do when my ap's left. Thank God I never ate her couch. Or her shoes. Or her underwear. I think I just threw up in my mouth, but I digress.

He grew to love us, and no longer does too many disgusting things, other than eat his own crap and roll in deer poop. (he only rolls in deer poop when I am fully dressed for work and walking out the door)

He is the most adorable beagle anyone has ever seen, just as my Springer (Spaniel, not Jerry) is the most adorable Springer. Do NOT fight me on this, you will lose.

Chuck started having some neck issues in August & his vet put him on some anti-inflam meds and we restricted some of his activities. He told us he wasn't ready for surgery, but we would know when it was time.

That time was 4 weeks ago. Overnight, he couldn't walk, and was literally falling over. It was the saddest thing I have ever seen in any of my pets. I. Lost. It. I mean, hysterically crying, inconsolable, sobbing like a baby with colic lost it when we took him to the emergency/surgery center.

We got him there in the nick of time. They admitted him and would begin the tests later that day. They had to sedate him for the tests. They would first do a myleogram to see if it actually was a ruptured disc. If it was not, they would do a CT to see if it was a tumor or an embolism. If it was a ruptured disc, they would proceed immediately to surgery. If it was cancer or an embolism, they would euthanize him. On the spot.

So yeah...a former orphan leaving a former orphan at a hospital and signing the papers to kill her former orphan if necessary is NOT a good thing. Dan was supposed to go to Cleveland for a day for work, but wasn't sure if he should leave me. I told him to go-I would be fine. That's what I do- I have my freak outs and then I am fine.

Thankfully, it was his discs. The vet said that had we waited any longer, we would have had to put him down. They did a "ventral slot" surgery on his ruptured discs. The vet said the compression in his spine was pretty severe, but with very strict cage rest for 6 weeks after surgery, he could have another 5-6 healthy years.

We weren't allowed to see him until the night after his surgery. I sobbed the entire way to the pet hospital. I said, "He doesn't understand any of this..he thinks we left him and that we are never coming back!" Dan, in his infinite wisdom said, "Hun...I know where your mind is right now, and you cannot put your human emotions and abandonment issues onto our dog- it is not the same." And that's exactly what I was doing. I just looked at him and cried harder.

We got there and Chuck was stoned out of his mind on pain meds, but he was so happy to see us. He hadn't been eating, so I brought him some left over steak from dinner, and he scarfed it down like his old beagle self. When I walked to the door to tell the nurse we were ready to leave, he tried to bolt for the door to chase after me. I gave Dan the look. The look that said, Don't tell ME that my dog isn't afraid we are leaving him forever, and he started to laugh.

We were able to bring him home that Saturday, and he continues to improve. His doctor is impressed and cannot believe he has no permanent nerve damage. He continues to go to physical therapy, and will have his 6 weeks of cage rest completed in 2 more weeks. It's been hard on all of us, because it is like having a newborn baby again. But he's worth it. He's already trying to roll in poop when we take him outside, and that is an excellent sign.

Chuck in the aquatherapy chamber

I was surprised at my reaction to all of this, really. I have had adoptee friends lose it when their pets die or get sick, but I didn't think it would happen to me. Not on that level, at least, lol. What, me, triggered? Hell to the yes. In the worst possible way.

I am that now crazy dog lady. I will never again make fun of anyone who spends a small fortune on their pet's health care. And I will never yell at Charlie again when he climbs next to me, turns around in a circle three times, sniffs his butt and starts snoring.

Loser!

noreply@blogger.com (Linda) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 03:54:00 +0000

Speaking of sore losers...

That would be me this weekend. Every single one of my teams lost. Every. Single. One. And one lost to Pittsburgh. If there's anything I hate more than this crappy Adoption BEwareness month, it's the Shitsburgh Stealers. Ok, well maybe not MORE than this month, but pretty close. I have still never forgiven them for ruining Carson Palmer with Kimo von Oelhoffen's dirty shot during the playoff game in 2006.

My Buckeyes lost to Purdue. Holy God, to PURDUE.

My Bearcats lost to West Virginia. Ugh.

And, my Bengals lost to Shitsburgh.

So while I went on and on in my last post about how it's important for kids to have a healthy sense of competition & for them to know that there are winners and losers in the real world, it does not apply to me and my football weekends. It's my own little rule. I do that sometimes, make up my own little rules, and I like it that way.

Oh well...there's still next weekend, right? Plus, it's not like I am a Penn State fan. They lost yesterday, too. They were playing Karma. Hey-o!!!

Completely tasteless, I know. And I love it.

Can you tell I am tired of blogging? We're only on day 14 of this God forsaken month. I wish I could quit you, November, but I signed up and now I have to finish. God help us all.