I am beauty, I am grace

I am not graceful. I fall a lot.

When I was a teacher, my classroom was on the second floor. I was rushing downstairs one day so I could run an errand during lunch, and fell down the stairs. Initially, only one boy saw me. “Miss Connor, are you ok?” he asked. I said yes, as I tried to stand up and compose myself and pull down my dress. Then the boy yelled down the hall, “Hey, everyone! Miss Connor just fell!” And WHOOSH! No less than 412 high school kids were in the stairwell, trying to get a glimpse of their nerdy English teacher on the ground.

Last summer we all went to the park for a picnic, and I was teaching Bug to fly a kite. I suddenly yelled out a RAH! and started running… and fell flat on my face. I thought I had tripped over a sprinkler head, but Bug looked all around and didn’t see anything. I am lucky enough that The Agent happened to be filming this entire event. When he’s upset and needs to be cheered up, he watches the video and gets a big laugh.

I have stubbed (Broken? Sprained?) my pinkie toes several times on our door jams-- to the point that my toes were turned black and blue and I had to wear flip flops for the next several days. The first time it happened was when The Agent was chasing me down the hall and I crash landed into BK’s doorway. I got a bit of attention from that because I ended up going to the doctor to make sure my toe wasn’t broken, and I had to explain exactly why my husband was chasing me (he was planning on having his way with me once I was caught. I know, TMI. The doctor thought so, too). But this is a repeated event that has ultimately perplexed The Agent. “Why don’t you just walk down the middle of the hall?” he asks each time he finds me on ground. “Is our hallway getting narrower?”

Don’t judge me.

I’ve been trying to convince The Agent that we need to rip out our carpet and install hardwood flooring. He doesn’t want to do it, because he thinks it will hurt the kids to much if they fall. “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Bug is 4, BK is 18 months. They both have been walking for awhile now. They’re not going to fall. Let’s get us some hardw--”

At that moment, Bug came running down the hall. She was maybe 6 feet away from us when she tripped and fell flat on her face. Tripped on what? I have no idea. Air maybe?

She gets her grace from her momma.

All About Me Monday!

<a border="0" href="http://looklucklove.blogspot.com/"target="_blank"><img src="http://i1235.photobucket.com/albums/ff429/looklucklove/allaboutme-1.jpg" />

Random Questions today! Well, kinda…

1. Do you fold your underwear?
2. Do you wash new clothes before wearing them?
3. Bra style... lacy or plain? Underwire or wireless?
4. Thong, panties, or (gasp) granny panties?
5. Dresses, pants (jeans, leggings, etc.) or skirts?
6. Flats or heels?
7. Bikini, tankini, or one piece?


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


1. Do you fold your underwear?
No… I don’t even have time to breathe, you think I have time to fold my underwear? They all just go in the drawer.

2. Do you wash new clothes before wearing them?
No. I have a fear that the washer or dryer is going to destroy the clothes… bleach stains, shrinking, whatever. So I figure if I wear them before I wash them, I’ll least get a bit of use out of them.


3. Bra style... lacy or plain? Underwire or wireless?
Underwire is the only option. I would love to have a lacy sexy bra, but gravity demands that I have something much more supportive. Supportive full coverage bras aren’t usually big on the lace, even the ones from Victoria’s Secret.


4. Thong, panties, or boy shorts?
I’m getting a little personal with the questions today, aren’t I??? I have all of the above, and the underwear I pick depends on what I’m wearing over them. Slacks for work usually demand a thong. I usually wear a bikini or a pair of boy shorts with jeans.


5. Dresses, pants,  or skirts?
It’s been approximately 17 years since I’ve owned a pair of leggings, although I see they are making a comeback. I like to wear jeans whenever possible. I’ll wear a dress or a pair of slacks to work. Slacks are sometimes my first choice because it means I won’t have to shave my legs.


6. Flats or heels?
Heels. I think the only flats I have are my athletic shoes. I’m tall anyway, and heels make me even taller, so I tower over everyone at work. But the really cool thing is that even in my highest heels, I’m still shorter than The Agent.


7. Bikini, tankini, or one piece?
I have all three. I thought the tankini would be great for me, since it shows a little bit of skin without showing everything. Nope. It’s SO unflattering on me. The 2 inches of skin that shows in between the top piece and the bottom look like a huge flabby white innertube around my waist. Yuck. I wear a one piece to the neighborhood swim party, and save the bikini for when we’re on vacation and there’s no chance that anyone will see me.

Your turn! Link up and show the love!

The (last) Name Game

When planning my wedding with The Agent, there was talk about whether or not I would change my last name. I was all for the name change. I am a traditionalist when it comes to marriage and family, it never occurred to me to do otherwise. It just made sense to me. I wanted to have the same last name as my husband and children. My maiden name is fairly common, there’s no guess work regarding the pronunciation, and I really dreamed of a name less… boring (don’t tell my dad I said this. Smith* is an awesome last name).

The Agent wanted to take my last name. He has a less common, harder to pronounce name, he always wanted a simpler last name, and since he has no contact with his father, there was nothing keeping him from changing his name. He dreamed of changing his name from Fitzgidoenblatz** to Conner***.

But here’s the thing about The Agent. I KNEW he wouldn’t change his name. Yeah, right. Like he would go to the social security office, to the dmv, to the bank. And even if he did change his name, would his friends and colleagues suddenly start calling him Agent Jones****? Not likely.

So we got married, and I changed my name. Bliss.

And then I got pregnant.

When we were thinking of names for Bug, we quickly realized that there is a shortage of names that sound good with the last name of Hoffenschwartz*****.

The Agent used this dilemma to harp on me every two seconds about my decision to change my name. “See? If you had let me change my name to Ford******, we would be able to find a name for the baby just fine. And your dad would have been happy, too”

Probably. But Bug Flappenpusch******* has a nice ring, also.

* Not my last name.
** Not my last name, either.
*** Still not my last name.
**** What do you think?
***** Are you getting the idea now?
****** You WISH this was my last name.
******* This actually is my last name. Not.

The Agent Gets a Little Crazy

(If you came here looking for a meme I used to do on my old blog, I’ll be posting it on Monday under a slightly different name)

So, The Agent had been away on a mission all week, and just came home.  This was actually the best week for him to be away, because it allowed me the extra time to play with the new blog and comment on other people’s blogs and whatnot. The Agent supports my desire to blog, because he knows that’s how I release some of my frustrations about life. That said, he doesn’t love that I’m on the internet all the time, so it’s easier to do when he’s not around.

The problem with The Agent being gone for a full week is that he has nothing to do at night but lay in bed and think and overanalyze things. I’ve mentioned before that I lack a lot of self confidence, and it’s something that I’m working on gaining. The Agent suffers from the same lack of self esteem.

So, The Agent came home and went a little crazy on me. He asked if I had ever had any “indiscretions” during the course of our relationship. No. Had I ever kissed anyone? No. Had I ever been kissed? No.

I try to be patient with him during these journeys through Crazytown, but it’s hard.

“Honey,” I said, trying to be helpful, “Is this about the blog? Do you want to read it? There's nothing in it that you don't already know, read all you want.  Or maybe you're worried about the weight I’m losing? I still weigh 3 pounds more than I did when I met you, and then I want to lose like 10 pounds  after that. I promise you, I will never be scrawny skinny.”

The Agent said it was neither of these things. Then he asked, “What’s going on with you and John?”

I had to struggle in my brain to figure out who he was talking about. John is a common name, I know several Johns. I’m not sleeping with any of them.

It turns out that the John in this particular scenario is a guy that I work with. Our cubicles used to be next to each other, but we hadn‘t sat near each other for at least three years. Apparently, The Agent had read a text on my phone from John to me that said “Wish me luck.” Not yesterday, not last week, not even last month.

Five. Years. Ago. And this is the first time he's ever brought it up.

Obviously, I do  not remember this text. I don’t  even remember having his number. I don’t have it now. The only thing I can think of is that we probably exchanged numbers when we sat together, so if someone was going to be late or calling in sick or whatever, we would let the other know. The “wish me luck” could have meant one of several things: I’m going to the dentist, wish me luck. I have jury duty, wish me luck. It most likely did not mean, “I’m going to try to get you to cheat on your husband, wish me luck!”

So, as calmly as I could, I tried to bring The Agent back to reality. I’m in love with you. I am married to you. Please, no more of this crazy talk.

The Agent agreed, we… ahem…. made up, and there was no more discussion after that.

My girlfriends are amazed that I am not upset  with The Agent. “Lovely, he’s getting mad over something that happened FIVE YEARS AGO! And you didn’t even do anything wrong! How come you weren’t throwing stuff at him?”

Eh. Is it his fault he’s crazy?

The Story of Us

Once upon a time, there was Just Lovely. And then I met The Agent, and fell in love. As The Agent and I talked about marriage, he warned me that he didn’t think he could have children. He had been married before, and they had never gotten pregnant.

Well, I’m not going to let a little thing like that get in my way. I just chalk that up as God’s plan at work. I wasn’t worried. “Well, we’ll just try, and if nothing happens, we’ll adopt.”

This was the answer The Agent  was hoping for. He had spent much of his childhood in the foster care system, and he wanted us to look into adopting a local child through the county.

Sure, we could do that. Let’s do that, anyway. Those kids need homes, too.

The Agent and I got married in September of 2004, and I was pregnant 2 months later. In December of 2004 we made the first step in the adoption process, by mailing in a post card asking for more information.

In January 2005, I had a miscarriage. I was devastated. I don’t know how many of my readers have had ever had to go through that, but I felt like such a failure. Not something that I would ever want to repeat.

We continued with the adoption process, going to our orientation meeting in April 2005, getting our foster license in May, and completing our home study in June.

At the end of June, I found out I was pregnant again, and this time she stuck. During my pregnancy, we took our parenting classes that are required to adopt (they’re called PRIDE classes-- most of the classes had to do with making sure your adopted child kept his previous identity. I didn’t agree with that philosophy, I think a separation like that only alienates the child further. But whatever).

Bug was born in March 2006. We were told that Bug had to be a year old before we could continue with the adoption process. We enjoyed our first year as new parents. And our second year.

Right after Bug's second birthday, we started up the adoption process again. Our previous social worker was no longer working in the same department, and a lot of our home study paperwork was not in our file. No big wup-- I had made copies of everything so it was easy to provide our new social worker with the info. We were back in business.

In June of 2008, after several false alarms, we got a call about Adam. He was 3 months old, and had been living with his foster family since he was born. There was no father, and although his mother was trying to get him back, she was not expected to be successful.

We hemmed and hawed about Adam for a long time. I did not want to be a foster parent. I did not want to take a baby that I might have to give back. I believed that his mother was motivated. She would get her child back.

We visited with Adam for several months before taking him home in October 2008. We had him for four months before his mother convinced her aunt to take him. I am sure that she thought if Adam was with a family member, she would still get to see him.

I am able to occasionally get updates on Adam through my social worker. He doesn’t have any contact with his birth mother. I am thankful for that.

I was really jaded against the whole CPS process after we lost Adam. I knew that there was a risk going in, but that didn’t make it any easier. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to try to adopt again. I told my social worker not to call us again unless there was a sure thing. She said that probably wouldn’t happen. Understood.

I went off the pill in January and tried to get pregnant again.

February
March
April
May
June

On the 29th of June, 2009, our social worker called. A baby had been born two weeks earlier, and had been safely surrendered. He was ours if we wanted him.

We brought BK home 3 days later.

BK's adoption process was a breeze.  No relatives have ever come forward looking for him. There have been no medical problems. There’s been no signs of drug exposure. And, as much as I loved Adam, and how sad I was when we lost him, I see now that BK is such a better match for us. He is family.

And now, finally, he is ours.

And they lived happily ever after.