Bacon’s Birthday List
Posted: March 19, 2008 Filed under: Mouths of Babes 2 Comments »Sunday is Bacon’s birthday. I heard the girls ask him what he wanted. I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, but since then, Coco has been carrying around this list rolled up like a scroll.
Here is the translation:
BaBa
1. fishing pole
2. bigger fish hooks
3. moose shirt
4. new tennis shoes
5. candy
6. flowers
7. cup like mama’s coffee cup with a lid
8. cashews
9. pecan candy
10. trip to Disney World
11. (It’s blank for some reason.)
12. 6 weeks (I have no idea what this means.)
13. hog hunting (Who knows? We don’t own guns.)
14. a years supply of bird food
15. clear vision to bless my family
16. car that gets 40 miles per gallon
70 (I think she meant 17 but Coco tends to confuse her numbers)
Holy Ghost Creek Campground trip
When I heard bits and pieces of this conversation, Bacon told the girls he wanted a new Jeep. In Coco’s good judgement, she left that request off the list. Maybe that’s why #11 is blank.
We Can’t All Be Acupuncturists Or Why I Haven’t Blogged This Week
Posted: March 16, 2008 Filed under: A Zany Life, Writers Write Leave a comment »I hurt my arm opening a window.
Coco was sick and stayed home from school on Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday, with the house to myself, I was ready to write. It was a wonderful morning. I wanted to hear the birds sing, so I reached around my desk and pulled open the window. Instead of writing, I’ve been unable to type for most of a week. I did this by opening a stuck window. When it happened, I didn’t think about how tight my arm felt, but by Thursday morning, I couldn’t think of anything else.
I’ve been to Dr. Chang before. His office isn’t far from our house. We discovered it several years ago when Bacon had a bike wreck. The regular doctor X-rayed Bacon’s ribs and loaded him with pain meds that didn’t work. After the third day of screeching pain, sticking pins in his back didn’t sound like such a bad idea.
This was my second experience. The first time, I had a fight with a flower pot. What’s the deal with me and household objects?
When Dr. Chang examined me this week, he took a red Marksalot marker and said, “Where it hurt? You show me. Here?” He pointed to a spot on my shoulder. “Or here?”
I pointed, and he marked a big X on the spot. It would have been easier to tell him where I didn’t hurt. I hurt everywhere.
The first treatment was heaven–relief. The second treatment was agony. It came with a price–electronic stimulation. Dr. Chang jolted electricity through the needles until my muscles bounced.
“You feel that?”
“Uhhh.” I can’t talk at this point.
“That?” His voice was louder.
I grunted something that meant yes.
“No work if you don’t feel it.” He spoke like I couldn’t understand English.
I don’t want to sound patronizing. Dr. Chang speaks English much better than I speak Chinese. And hey, acupuncture works. I’m a repeat customer. It beats loading up on Percocet or Vicodin.
I wish I could say I’m good as new, but that’s not exactly right. I can say that after a visit to Dr. Chang’s, I’ve done something to make the hurt go away. It’s better than facing the M.D.’s pathetic look before she admonishes me for wasting her time.
I met a lady in the waiting room today that was a virgin, a first time acupuncture patient. She was apprehensive, so I gave her the drill about what to expect. I didn’t sugarcoat it. She thanked me, and went in anyway. When it hurts, you’re willing to try almost anything.
Here are five things I’ve learned at the acupuncturist:
1. It’s hard to make my kids understand why Dr. Chang gets to mark all over Mama with a red magic marker. (We have a No Writing On Our Bodies rule at our house.)
2. Pray the acupuncturist doesn’t argue with his wife while you’re on the table. Trust me on this one.
3. It hurts less to have acupuncture needles in your ears than you think it will.
4. Keep your eyes closed. The visual is worse than the tactile.
5. It’s hard to scratch your nose when your hand looks like a porcupine.
In Disney’s movie, Mulan, one ancestor says to another, “We can’t all be acupuncturists.” It’s a line frequently delivered out of context at our house.
Coco’s Eyes
Posted: March 8, 2008 Filed under: Joined at the Heart, Mouths of Babes, Writers Write Leave a comment »Coco got Princess Jasmine glasses this week. I let her pick the glittery pink specs with the dangling jewel charm on the side. She has good vision without them. The glasses are a precautionary measure. Coco was born with infantile strabismus. What that means in layman’s terms is that she had crossed eyes.
When we brought her home from China, she was 17 months old. That first month, I took her to apply for a social security card. The guard at the federal building asked, “What’s wrong with your baby?” Most people didn’t ask. They just stared.
The first time we saw Coco’s picture was at the adoption agency. After a long ride through terrible traffic, we were presented with her file. We’d been waiting for this moment for 16 months. Breathless and cranky with anticipation, I was like a pregnant woman long overdue. I wanted to scream. GIVE ME MY BABY NOW!
The agency staffer barely looked up when she tossed a folder at us. “She has a lazy eye.” Before we could ask anything, she turned to talk to someone else.
I stared at the picture of an infant with blotchy excema and eyes so severely crossed, she looked terror-stricken. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I couldn’t breathe. I began flipping the pages. (As if I could read anything, the documents were written in Chinese.) Bacon watched over my shoulder while our three-year-old, Cherry, sat at our feet on the office floor.
Then, I saw it. Coco’s Chinese name is Xiao Min.
“She’s ours. This is our baby.” I looked at Bacon. He knew she was ours. He didn’t need my confirmation.
“She has Cherry’s name, Min. It’s the same character.”
Cherry’s name is Fu Min. It means happy smart one. Xiao Min means little smart one. The picture of the cross-eyed baby wasn’t reassuring, but the name was. If she wasn’t my daughter, she was definitely Cherry’s sister.
Bacon turned to the clerk, “Where do I sign?”
“What?” The twenty-something career girl couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of what was happening to us.
“I need a pen to sign my daughter’s referral papers.” Bacon’s voice was firm and decisive.
“Oh, you want her anyway?” Her voice wasn’t as mean as it was vacant, without intelligence.
Bacon separated the words as he pronounced them. He raised his volume as if she couldn’t hear. “She’s our daughter. Get me a pen.” My guy is a large, powerful person, but he is careful not to use his size to intimidate. At this moment, he was on the edge. It did the trick because she came back with a pile of cheap ball point pens and dumped them on the counter in front of us.
I was scared and shaking. We signed the papers. We took Coco’s picture home. Later, in her tiny toddler voice, Cherry put her finger on her baby sister’s picture and said, “Mama, are we going to fix her little eye?”
“Yes, Cherry. We are going to bring her home and love her and fix her eyes, so she can see everything.”
“Good. I love my Baby Coco.”
It was just like that.
I’m not writing this to get a “You’re so good. You took the broken child” response. Although, I’ve heard that plenty of times.
I’m not writing this to point out how crass people can be. Most adoption workers are wonderful. They react with much more sensitivity and maturity than that young woman. Thank God. If she were the norm, fewer people would choose to adopt.
I am writing this because I have Coco.
Coco is, without a doubt the toughest, strongest, most willful six-year-old on the planet. She knows who is. She knows what she wants. She knows who she loves. Aren’t I the lucky one? I get to be her mommy.
We were referred to a fabulous doctor. The first time we met, he saw me for free without an appointment. He looked at the picture, and said, “Go get that baby. We can fix this.” She came home at 17 months. At 18 months, she had surgery. When Coco opened her eyes in post-op, they were perfect. The pediatric ICU nurses said she looked like a Chinese princess.
Coco will endure (has endured) many visits to the pediatric opthamologist. Her surgery was successful, but strabismus is a curable condition that requires vigilance. We still see the same doctor. (No thanks to our insurance company that doesn’t pick up the tab.) We appreciate his skill and kindness.
When people say, “You and Bacon are so good.” I want to make them stop. I’m not good. We just did the thing we were supposed to do.
This week, I saw the movie, Juno. It’s a terrific movie. You should see it. The best moment for me is when Jennifer Garner’s character is holding the baby for the first time. She asks Juno’s step-mom, played by Allison Janney, “How do I look?” Janney answers, “Like a new mom, scared shitless.”
That sums it up. Just because you’re scared, doesn’t mean you should back down. Good has a way of prevailing. I have Coco to prove it.
