So remember how I said I was going to write something more serious and substantial and not talk about hair so much? Yeah, well I did, but if you want that you have to go read it over on VVAI. (like how I linked it twice because once just wasn’t enough?) That serious post took me like two days to write during which time my children did much heavy sighing and whined that all I care about is my computer and adoption and I don’t care about them at all. Which may have been just a smidgy bit true, but people! It’s summer and they never go away! All day, all four kids want my attention! What do they think I am, their mother?! (ahem, I know, I am their mother, it was a joke.) And then when I hit “publish” on said serious piece I held my breath absolutely positive that many angry people were going to come out of the woodwork to yell at me. But guess what? No one did. Which makes me wonder: (1) Was it really not that provocative of a piece? or (2) Has everyone already given up on VN adoption and gone away? Not that I want to be yelled at mind you, because I get PLENTY of that from my thirteen year old. I’m just sayin’. But probably it’s good that the comments aren’t overloading my inbox right now because I’m supposed to be getting ready for our vacation. Notice I said supposed to be. Because so far the only thing I’ve done is go to Costco. Which I’ve been wanting to do anyway. (and I got this awesome fleece-lined raincoat for Zeeb that looks like a fireman’s coat for only $12.99!! Zeeb LOVES firefighters! Can you say cheap Halloween costume and awesome fall jacket in one?)

Wow was that a babbly paragraph that went in twenty directions. Ms. Johnson (my junior year AP English teacher) would not be impressed. But then, it took a rather lot to impress her. And by the time I figured out the formula (always use a long extended metaphor in your essays, she had a thing for long extended metaphors) she went and had her doofy intern grade our papers and he didn’t get the whole long extended metaphor thing and I got a crappy grade. Yes it was twenty years ago and I’m not quite over it. Your point?

So I’m getting used to R’s hair. I trimmed the excessively long pieces myself and it’s still not perfectly even but she’s a bouncy kid so who’s really going to notice, right? Anyway, it is a good style for the summer - it looks cute in the pool and doesn’t get too messy. But I still haven’t figured out exactly what to do with it in our beach picture. For that matter I still need to buy the girl a dress. We (my sisters, step-mom and I) decided on white, khaki and light blue for the colors. Which is exactly the same color that every other family having a portrait at the beach uses but there’s a good reason for that - it looks good. So anyway, I got white polos for the boys, a cute white top for K~ at Aerostopolie and I have a white summer sweater for me. (because I read a tip that said women should wear long sleeves if they don’t especially love their arms in pictures. And I definitely don’t - I swear, the arm flab is extra exaggerated in photos, either that or I really do need to do some serious weight lifting/toning. But that ain’t going to happen in the next two days. Thus the long sleeves.) And the only one without a stitch of white in her closet is R~. Because hello the child is seven and gets a lot of stains on her clothes. But she doesn’t have any light blue or khaki or even a cute denim dress either. She had a cute denim dress but she outgrew it. Darn kid keeps growing. And besides I think she looks totally adorable in white dresses. See?

Okay, so she’s one year old in that picture, but still, doesn’t white look great on her? (and wasn’t she just the cutest little kid ever? no, I’m not the least bit biased!) So anyway, my sister just told me she found a white dress at Target, so now I must go there. But I’m too tired to go tonight. Costco took it all out of me. Which means I have to go tomorrow, in addition to the ten million and three other things I’ve put off.

I’m procrastinating on the packing because I hate packing but I am really looking forward to the actual vacation. I think. I mean, it’s a week on the beach which sounds fabulous about now because so far this summer has somewhat blown. (and not in that “wow this is such a fun summer, it has just blown by” sort of way. no, I mean in the “this really blows” sort of way. In case you weren’t sure.) However, it’s a week on the beach with my family. As in my siblings and my dad and step-mom. Which could be really good, or could be a huge bucket o’ stress. It’s hard to predict. My brother has this uncanny ability to say that absolutely worst things a person could ever imagine saying. Like the last time we got together at the beach, the summer before Zeeb came home, he says to me, “so why don’t you just go to the mall and grab one of those kids?” Like, WHAT?! And before you give him the ignorance excuse, let me remind you my two older sisters were both adopted. And they were sitting right next to him when he made that genius comment. So I’m trying to be prepared for whatever might fly out of his mouth this time. I’ve decided if he makes a moronic comment I will just give him a cold stare and ask him, “did you mean to say that out loud?” Think it will work?

Other than my concerns about my brother, I think it will be a really good time. I love hanging out with my sisters and between the three of us we have twelve kids so no one will be bored. Except perhaps K~ because she’s the only girl in her age range and she’s decided that it is positively unfair that she has to hang out with 9 boys for a whole week. I feel her pain, but there’s not a heck of a lot I can do about it. But then that’s a theme with us these days. She tells me how horrible her life is and I say “I’m sorry.” Because I am sorry that we uprooted her and took her away from all her friends, even though I still think it will be a good thing for her. This whole parenting thing is a lot harder than it’s cracked up to be, don’t you think?

And now I need to go at least make a packing list. Because that way it looks like I’m doing something productive. Question … should I make my 13 and 11 year olds wear life jackets when they go boogie boarding in the ocean? Or is that total overkill since there’s lifeguards? I’m okay with making them look like dorks if it’s for their own protection, but I’ll spare them the humiliation of it’s not really necessary.

Ack, Hubby just called to say he’s ten minutes away. Doesn’t he know I need at least 45 minutes notice if he wants dinner anytime close to when he gets home? It’s not like I have a menu planned for heaven’s sake!

It’s been a semi-eventful day. We got a few things checked off our to-do list (registered A~ for soccer, got licenses for the dogs, did a little shopping) and then on the way home, I decided we should stop and get R~ and Zeeb hair cuts. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. I thought it was a fine idea - I got A~’s hair cut at this place the other day and he looked good. Not that it was a complicated cut - we’re talking summer buzz here. Most of the women who work at the place are Asian (possibly Vietnamese? I try not to guess/assume) and I generally expect Asian women to do a better job on my Asian kids’ hair. So we go in and they are able to take the kids immediately. At the same time. One lady drapes her arm over Zeeb’s shoulder and acts like he’s family. Which bothered me a little, because Zeeb does have that issue with being too touchy-feely with random women. So I was trying to hang extra close to him and make a lot of eye contact and say something to him every few minutes so he would feel connected to me. And thus, I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to R~.

I only wanted R~ to get a trim. Her hair was shoulder-length and she’s been asking for a cut and I figured maybe an inch or two off would be good for the summer. Looking at R~, her chin appears an inch or two higher than her shoulders. And so I said, “chin length.” Because I am just. that. stupid. Now, let me interject here and say that every single other time I have taken R~ for a haircut, the haircutter person (beautician? Do they still call them that?) double or even triple checked with me before making that first cut on the length. You know, like “mom? This is how short it will be. Is this what you were thinking? It’s not too short?” Like that. Yeah, not this time. No, this time, I turn my attention away from Zeeb and look over to R~ and see her head bent down and the woman cutting a line at the base of her head. The base of her head. I am saying that twice because I still don’t translate “chin length” to “base of your head” Which probably just means I’m an idiot. But there I stood, absolutely dumbfounded as I realized this woman was cutting a good 5 inches off the length of my daughter’s hair. The hair that took FOREVER to grow in. Seriously, R~ was bald for like two years. And then when it came in it was all wispy and hard to brush. And just in the last year or two it finally grew in, thick and straight and long and SO beautiful. I mean every time I brushed her hair I would be amazed at how incredible it was. I loved her hair. It was beautiful, and it was very much a khmer girl’s hair. Looking at my daughter, I could imagine her birthmother, and how beautiful she must have been. Have I made it clear yet how significant, important and just downright beautiful R~’s hair was? And now, it was lying in clumps on the floor.

I felt ill, but I tried really hard not to show it. I didn’t want R~ to be upset, or to think she was any less pretty. And at this point, there was nothing I could do. I did ask the woman to make the next layer “a little longer” in the hopes that it wouldn’t look so boy-short in the end. She said “oh yes” and went back to work. And I had to keep my eye on Zeeb because that boy squirms a lot when he gets a haircut. Finally, the torture was over, I paid and we left. And I made it all the way home and until R~ went upstairs before I started sobbing. I know, I’m shallow and horrible, but it broke my heart. And the worst part? We are having a big family picture taken next week when we got to my family reunion at the shore. The very short pageboy cut will be immortalized forever.

But wait, it gets worse. Tonight, after her bath, I was brushing R~’s hair, in the hopes that I could find a new style that will soften the blow of this extreme cut, and I realized that the hair cutter didn’t even manage to give her a good cut. There’s long strands hanging down randomly, almost as if my daughter cut her own hair. See?

And I’m upset all over again. Because I can’t take her back there to make them fix it. Because (A) I don’t do conflict. Just don’t. So confronting the woman and telling her she gave my daughter the worst haircut ever is out of the question. and (B) I do not want that woman touching my daughter’s hair EVER AGAIN. So now what do I do?!

So clearly, that was the “low” of my day. Thank God, there was a “high” to balance it out. And it was a doozy.

We haven’t met very many neighbors yet. We live at the end of a cul-de-sac on two acres so we’re not exactly surrounded by people. But I try - we walk the dogs down the street, in the hopes of meeting people who might be out in their yards or whatever. And I did meet a few men (older, married men, and my son was with me, get your minds out of the gutter people!). But R~ has been asking me daily when we can meet more neighbors because she wants to have kids to play with. Well lo and behold, this afternoon a family showed up at our door, with a pie! Which made me a little less jealous of Michelle. And not just any family: An Asian family with three kids - a daughter who’s ten, another daughter who is seven and will be in the 2nd grade (just like R~!!) and a son who is five and will be in kindergarten (just like Zeeb!!). The kids clicked instantly. Us parents and the ten year old sat around chatting while the younger kids went off to play. (A~ and K~ hid in their rooms… I really don’t know how to get them to be less anti-social, but I wish I did). So we’re chatting and the older girl is asking about our cats, and our boy cat is named “Ichiro” after the Mariner outfielder (my all-time favorite baseball player, ever). And so then the mom asks me,”your younger children… are they Japanese?” and I say, “No, my son is Vietnamese and my daughter is Cambodian.” And she says, “Oh, we’re Vietnamese-American.” To which my brain responded “Squee!” Could it be any more perfect?! My son has a playmate exactly his age just down the street who is Vietnamese! But wait! There’s more! Then she tells me that she TEACHES VIETNAMESE TO KIDS!!! I KNOW!! Specifically, she teaches Vietnamese to Vietnamse-American kids who haven’t been able to hold on to their language; she said they range in age from 9-17. I am SO sending Zeeb to her class when he gets a little older! Anyway, they were all very nice and the mom was especially nice and gracious and so encouraging about Zeeb and his language and totally just happy to share all her wisdom about Vietnamese stuff and all the various neighborhood stuff like where to get piano lessons and where all the kids live and where the bus stops are. Oh, and the snakes. That part wasn’t so good. She said one of the neighbors was bitten by a copperhead when he reached into a bush. BITTEN BY A COPPERHEAD. Yeah, that completely freaks me out. We have a rather lot of bushes. And they are rather overgrown. Husband and I have decided a good many of them are going to be removed in favor of nice grass where snakes cannot hide (and there’s the low maintainance thing too). But I digress. Back to the awesome neighbors. After we chatted a while the kids were still busy playing so they invited our kids over right then. Like how nice is that? So R~ and Zeeb happily went with them and spent another hour playing at their house. And I am just so amazed. What an incredible miracle, to have this family for our neighbors. I couldn’t ask for more. (except, you know, friends for A~ and K~, but let’s just count blessings right now, why don’t we)

And that is the story of my high-low day. Or er, my low-high day. And yes, I talked about hair two days in a row. But it couldn’t be helped.

Thanks for all the good advice on finding a new pediatrician. I really didn’t expect such wise and helpful input! I sort of took your advice, only introvert-style - I emailed the adoption clinic and asked for recommendations. Then it took me two days to fully research the three options (one of which goes by two names, thus making things rather confusing!) but I did finally settle on one and the kids have appointments in August and now I can stop obsessing about it, the end.

I feel like I spend so. much. time. on every single task these days and I’m stuck in like administrative hell,  doing hours of research on the computer, making calls and filling out forms. ick.  But it has to be done and I’m the one who wanted to move so I shall just deal.

But I wish I could spend time writing Good Insightful Posts About Meaningful Issues. I actually do have a number of serious topics rambling around in my head but besides the lack of time there is also the fear that I will say it wrong and thereby upset a lot of people for no good reason. So, instead I will write about my hair.

Today I got my hair highlighted for the very first time. Professionally, that is. The summer before 9th grade I used copious amounts of “Sun In” in the vain hope that I would become a beautiful blond in time for high school but in fact all I did was make my brown hair orange.  I have since been satisfied with my brown hair, only sometimes letting Loreal turn me a few shades lighter. But something came over me this summer and I decided it was time to throw caution to the wind and let a total stranger put tin foil in my hair. Happy Birthday to me. (I used all my birthday money to foot the bill - it was like $105 for the highlighting, is that normal? Cuz wow can I not afford to do that very often.) And now I’m trying to get used to my new look. My first thought is that I look like a middle-aged woman who is trying to look young and sexy and not really succeeding. And also kind of like my stereotype of a Jersey Girl in the ’80’s. A~ said he thought I looked a little like Amanda Overmeyer.

I can assure you that is not the look I was going for. 

But I am fully aware of the fact that my hair is really not all that important.  And there are lots of other more important topics with which to fill my blog.  I just don’t have the brainpower to do so tonight.  But take heart, dear reader, the Amazing Husband has unpacked nearly every box (except the dozen or so in the basement, but I can’t see those) and it just may be that the Big Move fog is lifting.  We can only hope.

Am I supposed to find a new family doctor /slash/ pediatrician when I know absolutely nobody and absolutely nothing about the area? All I want is a good practice where they don’t have horrible long waits and the doctors are nice and caring and knowledgable about everything including international adoption that is less than five miles away. That’s not too much to ask, is it? It really shouldn’t be, since there is a hospital less than 3 miles away with an adoption center at it - but every place I find has totally generic websites and then one place that was a big practice got a bunch of bad reviews online (long waits sitting in the office) and another place listed every innoculation under the sun as “standard” for kids and I’m all for vaccinating but I’m not about to let my kid be a test case for every new shot that comes along and I feel like I’m totally flying blind.

Not that you can do anything about this. But it makes me feel better just to rant about it.

Thanks to everyone for the good thoughts and prayers for our dogs and for the birthday wishes for me. It certainly wasn’t the best birthday I ever had, but it wasn’t all bad. I mean how bad can a birthday be when I look around and see so many blessings in my husband and kids and even the animals. We didn’t go anywhere because R developed a mysterious fever over the weekend and we didn’t want to risk it. (She does this from time to time - a high fever out of nowhere with few other symptoms except maybe a headache or sore throat. It’s weird but thankfully only lasts three or four days usually). So it was a wild night of take-out pizza and a movie with an awesome C@rvel m-n-m ice cream cake for dessert. And I was quite happy with that.

Anyway, I always say my ‘real’ birthday celebration is the 4th of July… I mean, the entire country puts on a party just for me! (and oh yeah, America, but whatever!) And this year since we are so close to DC I insisted that we head into “the city” (as they like to call it around here) for a full day of patriotic fun. My family, who are too nice for their own good, went along with the plan.

It started out well… we took the metro, which Zeeb would probably say was the highlight of his whole day. I mean it’s a train that flies down the track past a highway full of cars! Two of his favorite things in full size technicolor high definition! (real life) It was so cute watching him on the train, his face just pasted to the window ooohing and aahing over every new sight. When we pulled into a tunnel station both he and R went, “Woooo-ooow!” and everyone around us was cracking up. Not very inconspicious tourists, those two.

So we get into DC and head for Constitution Ave to see the parade. We got there a full hour before it was to start and there was still plenty of space - not front row space, but third row, sidewalk isn’t too bad. What we didn’t realize because it was overcast when we arrived, was that we sat right in full sun. Ooops. Yeah, the clouds burned off and my kids were DYING. I think A~ must have told me 200 times that he hated parades and it was so hot he would die. And by the time the parade started a lot more people were around us so there was precious little space and therefore also a lot less air circulating. But people! We were in DC! Watching the 4th of July parades! And there were guys in revolutionary war garb wearing wigs!

It doesn’t get any better than that! Except wait! There were balloons too!

And floats! Did I mention that I LOVE parades? And all things patriotic? Feel free to pity my son, because I was a little too busy reveling in the parade. And the nice family in front of us invited R and Zeeb to come up and watch the parade from the curb! So they were having lots of fun too. Until it got to be past lunch time and they were practically passing out from heat stroke. At that point even I was willing to miss the rest of the parade in favor of air conditioning and food.

So, we pulled out and got lunch. Which was when I first noticed Little Miss R’s fever. And so there was some worry that it was heat-related. She had been drinking water but she wasn’t wearing a hat (because the hats are in a box somewhere and we couldn’t find them!). (And yes, I put sunscreen on her too. She gets slathered just as much as the rest of us because her golden skin can get the same skin cancer and wrinkles as the rest of us.) But, horrible mother that I am, I was not about to head home just yet. So we picked up some children’s medicine, dosed her up, and kept on going. Along with everyone else in the free world, apparently. Because wow were the Smithsonian museums busy! Think Disneyland on a school break.

even the elephant thinks it’s too crowded

But the nice part about being ‘locals’ is we just kept saying, “no problem, we can come back and see this another time when it’s not so busy!” Really we were just hanging out in the museums for the air conditioning and to kill time until the fireworks. Because right after parades, fireworks are my favorite things. And this day was all. about. me.

Go to a museum. Hang out on the mall taking a “rest”. Do another museum. Eat dinner. Head to the Washington monument for the fireworks. A good two hours early to get a good seat and because there’s nothing better to do. (the museums closed at 7:30) Lay out the vinyl table cloth, vinyl side down and pass out all the electronic toys. Cue the rain. None of that pathetic northwest drizzle, let’s have an all-out downpour. Husband wisely brought along two umbrellas because the weather guy said there was a “50% chance” of rain. Two little umbrellas is not really enough for six people. And their stuff. We got rather wet. I was not happy. As in long whining rant (in my head) to God about how absolutely unfair it was. Didn’t he know this day was all. about. me. ?

The dark looming clouds should have been our first clue.

Husband asked if we should pack it in and head home. What??? Was he kidding?? Did he forget all about the great Disney Fireworks Disaster of ‘08? No way no how was he going to drag me out of there before I got my fill of fireworks, come hell or high water! (and apparently, we were testing the theory on the latter) We stayed. It stopped raining and started again and we huddled against the drips and watched a really awesome fireworks display. Unfortunately, we didn’t sit where I could photograph the fireworks with the Monument in the foreground. I’d say “Oh well, next year!” but somehow I doubt I can convince anyone in this house to do a repeat. But look, aren’t they nice fireworks?

nice, but wet

And then, we had to go home. Along with approximately one zillion other people. Who all apparently wanted to ride the same train as us. It was freakishly crowded. It was like spanish soccer game crowded. And did I mention that a few of us really don’t like crowds? I was a wee bit panicky and I thought K~ might have a full-on breakdown. So after ten minutes of going exactly nowhere (we weren’t even in the building yet, it was backed up down the street) I suggested that maybe we go for a walk instead. Maybe get some dessert or just some fresh air or something. Hubby (who is the smartest man in the universe) suggested we walk to another metro station farther up the line. So we did. It was a looooooong walk. And it was dark. And after a while, there were very few people out. I was starting to get a wee bit nervous and imagining all the ways we might end up on the nightly news. But then we got there and there was absolutely no crowd and we got right on a train and even got seats after just one stop. And when we got to the other station (where we first went) it was still super crowded and all those people had to stand for most of their ride. So it all ended happily. (Although I left out the part about the people who were setting off fireworks from their apartment balcony … one went flying across the street as we were walking with the throngs to the station. K~ says that was one of her “scarred for life” moments. (yes, my daughter really talks like that!) I suggested maybe if we don’t talk about it and remember it over and over it won’t scar her. But now I’ve gone and blogged it so I guess I’m not very good at taking my own advice, now am I.)