An offer I can't refuse

Today I cleansed my mental and emotional palettes. PC worked all day, and I stayed home alone. It was the good kind of home alone, where you dance around the house with your iPod, drink coffee until 2 p.m. and finally get some work done. I cleaned out our guest bedroom, did some laundry, finished my homework, watered the yard and sat down to knit early in the afternoon. I thought, "Man, if The Godfather was on T.V., this day would be perfect."

After PC went to bed tonight (he was wiped from so much work), I sat on the couch to get in a few more minutes of knitting. And guess what was on AMC? I can always count on the Corleone family to be there for me. I picked up right when Michael meets Apollonia in Sicily. Two hours later, I'm trying to decide whether to stay up for the first part of Godfather II. I'd better turn in so I can go back to being a wife tomorrow. Like the Don said, "Nothing is more important than family." Or was it, "Never take sides against the family." Or, "If history has proven anything, it's that you can kill anyone." I could go on all night...

If I were not a quality management specialist...

It's taken six seasons, but I have finally drank the American Idol Kool-Aid. I don't know what I want to be more: a contestant or a judge. Here's what I think of tonight's action, play-by-play:

Whenever I see Ramiele Malubay, I think of that dancing baby from Ally McBeal. What is she, like, 6? One of these days she’s going to forget the words and just start going “goo goo gaga.”

Sausage head boy…My opinion of him is slightly inappropriate, so I will save it for phone conversations with my brother and dad. Let’s just leave it at this: He’s an Aggie. ‘Nuff said.

Syesha Mercado. I love her smile. I love her voice. I love her soul. I don’t think she will win, but I hope she stays in as long as possible.

I get the feeling that Chikezie hasn’t touched a female in a long time. Tonight while he was holding that girl’s hand, I wanted to say, “Dude, you’re on stage. Remember, ‘American Idol?’” Still, he’s quality. And I LOVED the interview with his parents. They are all so huggable!

Brooke is my new girl crush (move over, Beyonce!). She is a miraculous fusion of Norah Jones, Sarah McLaughlin, Sheryl Crow and Stevie Nicks. I want to be like her when I grow up.

Now we come to the portion of the show that I like to call “Un-American Idol.” I would be OK with foreigners coming on the show if they sang well and did not look freaky. Every Michael Johns performance is a display of schizophrenia. And Carly Smithson scares me. If she were a waitress, she would be the kind you’d give a big tip because you were afraid she’d beat you up.

Ooooh, David Archuleta. He is sooooo this year’s Manchurian Candidate. I think there is a high probability that he was kidnapped and brainwashed by a presidential hopeful. Every time he sings, I feel like I’m receiving subliminal messages compelling me to go buy a Care Bear or something.

Kristy Lee Cook. Yee frickin’ haw! She is milking this year’s redneck vote for all it’s worth. I think she has a bright future ahead singing the national anthem at rodeos and county fairs.

This guy David Cook (David Lee Cook?) could really go somewhere. The song “Billy Jean” used to give me the creeps (Michael Jackson fathering children, ick), but now I kinda like it. He’s definitely won the “most likely to be groped by Paula” award.

What are your thoughts, fellow living-room judges?

Save the date

My constant

Four years ago, this guy gave me the birthday party of my dreams. All our friends came. We danced, listened to jazz, had a nice sit-down dinner, drank pink punch and wore fancy clothes. Oh yeah, we also got married.


Here comes the birthday girl.

Soon, PC will be 30. And since our wedding was, in reality, a celebration of my girlhood fantasies, I think he should finally get a big ol' birthday party to call his own. There will be beer, sports and, yes, corn dogs. Everyone who knows PC is invited to Tiemeyer Park from 3 to 7 p.m. Saturday, May 10, for the Fiesta del Hombres (a.k.a. Man Fest). Girls are invited, but they should plan to adhere to a strict dress code free from lace, frills, stockings and any bows not made from shoelaces. Grass stains are encouraged.

Stay tuned for more info and a proper invitation. But not too proper.

Update on April 7, 2008 The party is officially on! We are at the first pavilion on the right when you enter the park (right across the street from the swimming pool.) To RSVP, you can e-mail me or just leave a comment on this blog post. For directions to the park, you can click this link. Or, you can follow my directions below.

From St. Charles County:

• Take the Page Extension across the Missouri River and follow it past Lindbergh to Ashby Road.
• Take a left on Ashby Road. Go about 2 miles until you see the park on your left (across from Hoech Middle School). Turn left into the park.

OR

• Take Interstate 70 to the Cypress Road exit. Turn left (South) on Cypress Road.
• Cypress Road dead-ends into St. Charles Rock Road. Turn left on the Rock Road and merge into the right lane.
• Take a right on Ashby Road. (The second stop light after you turn onto the Rock Road). Follow Ashby for 1 mile until you see the park on your right (across from Hoech Middle School) Turn right into the park.

Now, who's ready to party?

Sun day

I would like to take this moment to point out that today, March 23, 2008, on Easter Sunday, three months past Christmas Eve, one day after I scattered new grass seed in the yard, at 7:35 a.m. in St. Ann, Mo., it snowed. So help me, God, I almost got back in bed and asked the Lord to put off rising for another day so we could celebrate the sensible way in sandals and sundresses. Thankfully, the snow did not stick. Easter services went off without a hitch, but not without a little complaining from some cold, fed-up Midwesterners.

Praise be to God, the sun has just come out from behind a cloud. I'm half-tempted to wake PC from his traditional Easter nap just so he can experience this all-too-rare atmospheric event. Instead, I think I'll go outside, soak up some rays myself, and try to convince the grass to start growing. If Easter's here, spring can't be too far behind...

Creed

A few of my atheist or agnostic friends have asked me in the past if I think they are going to Hell. Some of them posed the question explicitly, while others implied their curiosity by asking my opinion about their behaviors or beliefs. I thought about their questions today when I read this column on Slate that attempted to objectively describe what Christians believe about the resurrection. Reading the article felt a little bit like hearing yourself on tape. You know it’s you, but you didn’t realize that’s what you sound like to the outside world. I have to say, though, that the writer articulated the facts of what I believe about Jesus’ resurrection, and my own. Jesus Christ rose from the dead, and so will I. I am not talking about a spiritual resurrection, in which my soul floats up to heaven with angel wings and joins some ethereal choir. At my resurrection, I will have a real body, just like Jesus did. I’ll be the opposite of a ghost, even more real than I am today.

You see, right now I’m just a shadow of the self God meant me to be. I am more like a ghost now than I ever will be. But because of my faith in Jesus, God is making me more and more real every day. The resurrection will be God’s finishing touch, when I get a body that can stand in God’s physical presence the way my heart can already interact with God’s spirit.

As strange as the doctrine of the resurrection seemed in the words of a journalist, I imagine it sounds even more bizarre coming from a true believer. It makes sense that the secular world has not commercialized Easter the same way it did Christmas. (Slate had a good piece on that topic, too.)I mean, who can’t get behind a little baby and some cute farm animals? But a dead guy up walking around like he didn’t just get skewered by a bunch of Roman soldiers? There’s a reason you don’t see “Empty Tomb” play sets on sale at Wal-Mart next to the egg dye and Peeps. You have to be really serious about God to get involved in the whole Easter story. You have to be willing to be Different. (As an aside, my main beef with “Passion of the Christ” was how little it said about Jesus’ resurrection. The Romans crucified lots of people, some perhaps even more heinously than Jesus. It wasn’t the manner of Jesus’ death that made him the Christ. It was the fact that he didn’t stay dead.)

In asking me about Heaven and Hell, I think my friends wanted to figure out just how different we were. They wanted to know how far I went with this religion thing. Those who knew me well already knew the answer. Like everything else in my life, I go all the way with it. I can do nothing else, because I believe in a God who went all the way for me. All the way to the cross, all the way to death, and all the way back, just to be with me. Does that mean I think people who don’t believe in Jesus are going to Hell? I refuse to say. Jesus was pretty clear that some sort eternal distinction separated people who believe him and people who don’t. But he also told us not to judge anyone because God has the final say on who does what for eternity. And, as Jesus showed us, God has a way of accepting people whom traditional religious types reject. I can say this with confidence: When Jesus rose from the dead, he vanquished my sin and the place where it was leading: death. I’m not there yet, but every day I become more and more alive in Christ. This journey won’t end until I see God face-to-face. Today I’m going to celebrate both the trip and destination.

Somebody stop me

When your job is treatin' you mean, the Haitians are mum on your adoption, and six weeks ago (when you gave up soda for Lent) seems like 10 years past, you have to take pleasure in the little things.

Like getting an A on your Marketing project.


Yay-USS!

Grades are really no big deal to me. Never have been. I really see no difference between a 91 and a 98. I mean, an A is an A, right?


I got a 98, suckas!

I pretty much go by the old adage: The guy who graduates last in his class from medical school still gets called "doctor."


Yeah, "Dr. Stupid."

So I dedicate this happy dance to the little things that don't really matter but just happen to put a smile on your face.


This is me not even caring all over the living room.

We've got a live one

The coalition from Haiti returned safely this week. We have not heard any official word on our adoption process, but we did get some sweet stories about Vivine from a friend who went on the trip. She said that Vivine talked the entire time they were down there. On Sunday, Vivine and our friend walked home from church together. Vivine chattered, in Creole, the entire time, completely unconcerned that our friend had not a clue what she was saying.

I recently found a blog that describes the Haitian side of the adoption process. It gave the best info, pasted below, that I have found so far. The dossier is the paperwork you prepare state-side and send to Haiti. We do not know which of these steps our dossier is in now, but we hope to have an update soon. Each step takes at least two weeks, and a couple of them take a month or longer.

1. Where does my dossier go? What are the legal steps in Haiti?

Minister of Foreign Affairs (MFA)

First Legalization (1st Legal). This is where all of the papers are authenticated.

File prepared for IBESR (Concurrent with MFA)

When the paperwork is at Foreign Affairs, your lawyer must prepare your file for IBESR. IBESR requires that the paperwork be in a certain order. The social history and psychological examination required by IBESR for your child must be made during this period. It involves putting the child's social information into a home study format with your home study information.

IBESR

Your child's paperwork is put together with your documents and the file is then presented to IBESR (Haiti's Social Service Department) where a social worker will look over all of your documents and decide whether to approve your adoption request.The director of IBESR, the IBESR lawyer, the head of adoption services at IBESR, and the IBESR social worker must all sign off on your dossier. This is four stages of approval.

Parquet

This step involves one person(?) releasing the child(ren)'s file(s). Parquet is the head commissioner. He is intertwined with court. He asks all of the birth parents to come for interviews to make sure that they understand that there children are being adopted. Apparently there was some fraudulent activity going on and he wants to protect the birth parents interests. i.e. make sure they are in agreement.

Civil Court Legalization

The adoption is finalized. After this point, the children are legally yours. (2nd Legal)

Minister of Interior Affairs (MOI)/Haitian Immigration

The file is submitted into the passport process. The passports are printed in the adopting parents last name.

DHS Processing (U.S. Parents)

I-600 is filed by adopting parents. File is reviewed and approved by DHS

DNA Testing

May or may not be necessary. Depends on DHS' opinion.

Consulate/Visa Appointment

Child receives visa in preparation for travel to their new home

Girls just wanna have fun knitting

One of the great tragedies of my life was not learning to knit until I was 23. All those years, I could have been casting on, stitching and purling my way to happiness. But down in Midland, Texas, (where demand for wool garments is quite low) there was no one to teach me.

As an adult, I want to give all of the young women I know the chance to awaken their inner knitter. I had my chance last night when nine high-school girls descended on the Langdon household for a slumber party, a.k.a. all-night knit-in. Madeline, my most recent protege, came to lend a hand.


The pupil has become the teacher.

Since I did not know ahead of time which girls had the knitting gene, my friend Deanna also came to entertain everyone who would have rather baked chocolate chip cookies or watched movies than knit.

At one point, I had five girls sitting politely, knitting, smiling and conversing like something out of Little Women. Marmie herself could not have been more proud.


My lifelong dream fulfilled.

Brrrrrr

Oh. My. Snow. It just wouldn't stop coming. I, of course, missed all the fun because I had to work late today. But Bear managed to enjoy a snow day at home with his dad. I'll let him tell you about it.



In case you didn't quite grasp the depth of the snow from the video, check out the picture of the lawn I posted on Sunday. Notice that the snow completely covered our planters.

Makes me wish I was here.



Some friends of ours went down to Haiti today for a week-long visit. We hope to hear a little bit of news about Vivine and (fingers crossed) the status of our adoption when they get back. Just in time to melt the snow!

Somebody's gotta do it

My job at the hospital is great. I spend half of my time playing with Excel spreadsheets, and when that gets boring I go around doing random acts of kindness for patients and their families. (If you're thinking, "How can I get this job?" just go to college and get two bachelor's degrees, one in journalism and one in Russian. Do 16 months' time as a newspaper reporter, then get married and spend eight months out of work. After that, take the first job you're offered and try to figure out how to be happy in it. Three years later, you will have my job.) Every now and then, when I'm least expecting it, quirkiness and profoundness collide in the way that only happens in places where people work with life and death. Today it happened while I was posting signs in patient rooms.

I had a real rhythm going on this particular project. I would knock on the door and say, "Can I come in and do a little housekeeping? I just need to hang this sign." As I posted the sign I would quip, "Around here we call this remodeling" (har har). Then I would ask the patient if she was doing OK. (I know it's a dumb question to ask someone in the hospital. I think my IQ drops 25 points every time I have to talk to a sick person.) Thirty seconds later, I'd be on my way to the next room. If the patient was sleeping, I would evaluate whether I could sneak in and post the sign without waking him up. Otherwise, I'd just skip the room.

That little program worked fine until I came to the room with a dead man in it. I guess this man passed away earlier in the day, and nobody had come to, er, collect him yet. He was just lying there all alone, but I knew right away that he was dead because his skin was gray. And he was so still. Even if I hadn't been paying very close attention, I would never have mistaken him for being alive. I double-checked with the nearest nurse, who was quite aware that he was dead and quite busy with her living patients. She didn't seem to have any problem with my going into the room to put up my sign. So I did.

Of all the things that could have crossed my mind while I was in that room alone with a corpse, the major thought I had was: "What if he gets up?" I knew it was impossible, but I still couldn't stop thinking about it. My reason and my instinct came into direct conflict. At the same time I was telling myself this guy was completely done living, I was having a vision of him sitting up, shaking his head, and saying "What just happened?"

Then I started thinking about how strange it felt to be in the room with a dead man whose life I knew nothing about. I didn't even know his name (and it would have been a violation of HIPAA for me to find out, so I followed the rules). One of my heroes, Irwin Press, describes health care as a clash of two cultures. In one culture, the culture of medicine, it is totally OK to walk into a dead guy's room and put up a sign. You're not going to interrupt his medical care, so you might as well go about your business. In the other culture, the culture of illness, that room is a sacred place where your son, father or husband just took his last breath, and I totally violated that sacred place today. What would I have done if his family had come in while I was in there? I can just imagine them asking all these questions about their loved one's last moments and me saying, "Uh, I don't really know. I'm just in here to hang a sign."

As I reflect back on my little encounter today, I'm torn between the "what-if-that-was-your-dad?" argument and the "I-have-a-job-to-do" defense. I think my lot in life right now is to wade through that murky middle ground and try to figure out how to bring those two cultures together. Like I said, I love my job.

Telling spring to hurry up already

Vast tracts o'land

Of all the cold winters I have experienced since leaving Texas eight years ago, 2007-2008 has been the worst. That includes the winter I spent in Russia, where it's normal for the temperature to stay below freezing for weeks at a time. In Missouri, you expect Mother Nature to go a little easier on you. This year, she hasn't.

I think my seasonal depression was compounded by the total mess PC and I left in our backyard last fall. Rather than rake up the leaves and cut down the plants to little hibernating nobs, we just left it all "natural." By January, our "natural" foliage had become a collection of sickly plant cadavers drooping and drying all over the place. It was like the White Witch of Narnia had turned our entire yard to stone to punish us for poor lawn maintenance.


She gives me bad dreams.

Winter is not over, yet, but today we got an only-in-St. Louis kind of reprieve. For one day only, the sun shined and the temperature hit 75 degrees. (I called my dad in Texas: "Dad! I'm running the air conditioner in my car!) I was so excited that I decided to clean up the yard.

I know. Crazy. Yard work mixes two of my least favorite things: physical activity and dirt. I'm not one of those people who communes with nature. More often than not, nature and I simply agree to disagree. But today is Texas Independence Day, and I always get a little saucy on Texas Independence Day. I imagined my ancestors down on the Nueces River clearing mesquite and shooting rattlesnakes with pistols and I thought, "Aw, hell, why not?"

I didn't encounter any rattlesnakes, but I did wrastle this beast into submission.


It did not go quietly.

I also discovered these little guys beneath a pile of decaying leaves and mulch.


Grow, baby, grow!

I think they were trying to be crocuses under that rotting mess. I should have left them there; tomorrow's ice is certain to kill them. I hope it will turn out to be winter's last stand this year. Otherwise, I'm getting my passport out and heading back down to Texas. (You mean today is only a symbolic celebration of Texas' independence? Shoot, I thought we seceded from the union once a year just to prove that we still could.)