The Sunday Night Swap

I've seen it in two different parking lots around my home here lately.

On Sunday evening....about 6 pm...two cars pull up to parallel spots at the end of the parking lot. In the spots far removed from the store.

They're not there to shop, they're certainly not there for fun...they're there to fulfill a court-ordered arrangement...the child swap...

Sometimes the cars have other passengers in them...the new wife or boyfriend...the "exes" meet out back near the trunk where they hand off the offspring.

I'm drawn to it.

The human drama of a kid's life when he swapped from one house to the next... He hugs tightly the departing parent...obviously unwilling to let go...but he has no vote...definately not the age of majority...

I lived it.

I'm not a particulary "navel gazing" type. If I spent too much time thinking about the deep marks left by the shoes of the past on my soul...I'd have to deal with it...I'd rather not.

Clearly...I'm not in touch with a therapist...

Yet, this drama lived out in parking lots around my home grabs me at tender spot...and I experience some some sort of foundational memory...that stirs me powerfully...like my very identity is scraped again by the rake of "disfunctionality."

I'm not pious or delusional about divorce...it could happen to the best marriage...even mine...

But somewhere in the "Mommy and Daddy want to do what is best for you, even though we don't live together anymore" I felt like merchandise...swapped in the grocery store parking lot...

...Every Sunday night...

There's a BARBIE in OUR HOUSE?

My 5 year old exclaimed today..."there's a BARBIE in OUR HOUSE?"

It was so funny that my darling husband and I busted out with involuntary laughter.

Perhaps you don't understand why this is so funny? Ah...you see...

We are a BARBIE FREE home. At least we used to be.

While I know that in itself makes our home bizarre...I've endured many barbs about our Barbie Free policy...but I've remained firm in my resolve...until...

Last summer when we traveled to China and stayed at the legendary White Swan Hotel in Guangzhou, we received, as everyone does, the "Going Home Barbie." Specially produced by Mattel, the "Going Home Barbie" is for adoptive families. Barbie, blond and impossibly built as usual is attired in a short little skirt, equally as impossible high-heels and a Chinese Baby.

I know quite a few adoptive families. As yet, I haven't seen one mother who looks like Barbie. But you see, that's what brings me back to my disdain for her. No one looks like her that hasn't been either surgically enhanced or digitally remastered.

I'm saying Adoption Barbie should look like many of us adoptive moms...desperately in need of a manicure (who can afford them after paying for the adoption costs), in good walking shoes (chasing after 1 toddler is tough...but for some of us adoptive families...try 3 or more) and in an ample skirt (because many of us eat chocolate for the final weeks of stress waiting for our Travel Approvals!)

So today my 7 year old found the "Going Home Barbie" and was dancing around with it. This is largely because we have never had a Barbie in the home. Periodically the question comes up from one of my kids "Mom, why don't we play with Barbies?" And I drone on with my cerebral explanation that "Barbie is anatomically impossible." "I don't want you girls to think that the ideal woman looks like Barbie." "You're beautiful and capable just the way God made you, whether a brunette or short, etc" Truthfully, I'm in touch with the reality that all they hear is "WE DON'T ALLOW BARBIE HERE. WE HATE BARBIE."

So imagine the utter disbelief in the voice of my 5 year old as she stumbled out of bed this morning and beheld with her unfocused eyes... A BARBIE in the hands of her sister....INSIDE her home! She exclaimed in the most curious, amazed and dumbfounded fashion...."There's a BARBIE in OUR HOUSE?"

Note to self...find a new resting place for Going Home Barbie...sleeping with the fishes?

I Said I'd Never Own a Mini-Van

Yeah...well...

When the dear husband and I first married, I laughed, heartily, at any suggestion of a minivan in my future. It was a shocked, throw your head back, scoff indignantly..."I'm far too cool"...sort of response. I saw minivans as wholly too grounded, too common for the future I had in store.

Was it my mother who said..."Never say Never, Dear!"?

Today, as we await our final travel authorization to adopt the latest in our string of blessings, otherwise known as kids...we went vehicle "looking." I should add at this moment that I lost my minivan innocence about 8 years ago now. Truly, I loved my minivan. In a possessive, "you satisfy my every need" way. I had not only compromised from my staunch position of disdain for the minivan...I now cherished one.

But, as we await child number 7, the minivan is not sufficient. It leaves much to be desired. There's not enough room, not a big enough engine for the weight its pulling around and the children are growing in size and number!

So today, we began vehicle "looking" for the "mothership." Literally. The mothership...as I have come to know it ...is a 12 passenger, 1 ton, Maxivan. Nigh only one year ago the darling husband tried to get me to consider the Maxivan...but I laughed...strangely reminiscent of days gone by when discussing the minivan. But today...I am ready for the mothership...I sat in the captain's chair tonight gazing back over the 2,3 no 4 rows of seats and imagined just how many times I would curb those tires. I considered how I may have missed my calling as a public transit driver or a friendly school bus driver...now...I'm readying myself to pilot my very own mothership. Gone are any and all concerns about being "cool." Now I want all that space so I can silence the "She touched me!!!!" screams from the vehicle!

I think I'm falling in love again...

Need a ride?