New profiles are up!

A handful of new kids and sibling groups are up on the MCFD Waiting Child Bulletin!

Visit http://www.mcf.gov.bc.ca/adoption/bulletin_external/ to meet the new additions... perhaps today is the day you'll "meet" your kids?

The Grass is Always Muddier In Your Own Backyard

It occurred to me yesterday, as I was stripping the mud-covered jeans, jacket, and saturated boots off my flailing three year old, that perhaps owning a back yard isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Some say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Comedienne Erma Bombeck noted that it's always greener over the septic tank.

Yet no one warned me that the grass is always muddiest in your own backyard. One of the biggest selling features of our place was the yard - green grass, lots of space for Noah to run around in, and NO swimming pool to give me heart palpitations from worrying myself sick.

We knew the yard needed a bit of levelling and aerating, and put it on our seemingly endless list of "things to do" to fix up our home and make it shine.

Yesterday "fix backyard" went from number 15 or 20 on the list to number 1.

There's a puddle.
WAAAAY in the back.
It's basically a pool of muddy waters.
It's avoidable.
It's not particularly noticeable til you are way out in the yard.

And it took about four seconds for Noah to find it, and take a running leap into the mud.

He has excellent form for a three year old. Olympic diving potential, I might even wager. He landed squarely in the puddle, and emerged, jeans soaking, hair covered in muck, grinning from ear to ear.

I'm not sure whether to sign him up for swimming lessons or simply close off the backyard until the drainage is complete.

Then I had a flashback to the day we met Noah's big brother. We went to the beach because both boys love water. And his big brother took a flying leap towards the ocean and landed - like a true Olympian - in a muddy tide pool.

Huh. Perhaps the need to launch oneself into muddy waters is genetic. Or perhaps it's something all little boys inevitably attempt.

I hope you liked your mud bath, Noah. Just remember, you might have a bunny for a wife, but that doesn't make you a barnyard animal. So could you PLEASE stay out of the puddles?

I'm a Mother-in-Law, to the Easter Bunny. Oh well, at least she's got a job...

My son certainly gets points for imagination. Over the past few months, he's crafted an imaginary friend, who became his imaginary wife, who then took physical form in his three foot tall yellow Easter bunny.

Today his wife has a name, and Princess the Easter bunny has some interesting habits. Not that being married to a three year old human while inhabiting the stuffed body of a mythical holiday creature isn't interesting enough.

"Princess got a job, Mommy." Noah advised me last night. "Oh really?" I responded "and where does Princess work?"

"In my lightbulb, because you broke it, Mommy."

Actually, he's only half-right. His lightbulb works perfectly, we just happened to have disconnected it, much to his dismay at 10:30pm when he wants to play.

"Princess works while I'm sleeping, Mommy." Well that's interesting news. Because last week Princess was found on the floor piled up under other stuffed animals.

"Princess is snuggling with our babies, Mommy." Noah explained when I asked what his wife was doing face down on the carpet. "I had a long day. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep and she can watch the babies."

I smirked a little. "How many babies do you and Princess have, Noah?"

"Um... ten!" he announced. "Now I'm exhausted. It's time to sleep."

Great. Now I'm not only a mother-in law, but I'm also a grandmother to ten. I better get a flow chart started so I don't miss any of their birthdays....

Transitioning? The Kid is Fine... It's the Adoptive Parent Who's Having Trouble

Last week we had the 'adventure' of moving from our two bedroom apartment to a house.... which might have been fun.

MIGHT have been fun. Large, dramatic emphasis on MIGHT have been.

You see, it had fun potential, if only our moving dates matched. Instead, we were out of our apartment on Friday morning, and scheduled to move in the following Monday afternoon.

I worried. I feared my little son would be vulnerable to anxiety about leaving behind the only home he remembered. I worried that dragging him across the Salish Sea to Grammy's house would create trauma when we came 'home' on Monday to a new house where nothing smelled or seemed familiar and all his worldly possessions were piled up in boxes.

I bit my nails for nothing. We spent mother's day weekend careening around Grammy's house, stuffing our faces with leftover Easter chocolate, and visiting cousins and playing with kids of all ages and sizes.

We went to parks and played in the yard and talked about our "new house" and all the fun we'd be having in it.

In the end, all I needed to do to assure my son that he was safe was show him the backyard. "YAY MOMMY! PUDDLES!" He was instantly at home in the mud.

Soon enough, he stripped himself nude and hopped in the tub. He ran out the front door and played happily in the carport. (Thankfully he'd been redressed before the public outing.) He had immediately claimed this house as his own. Infact, this morning, he announced that he and his four foot tall stuffed bunnny would be getting married and moving into the master bedroom.

Um, I'm glad you like the house, son, but you are not marrying a stuffed bunny and evicting your parents. At least, not while you're three years old and still wearing footed pajamas.

Four days in, he still hadn't asked about our old apartment. Not once. I tempted fate this morning and said casually over breakfast "So Noah, do you like this house? Do you miss our old place?"

He chewed on his scrambled eggs for a minute before replying. "Nuh-uh. Scooby Doo likes this house! A-wooooooooooooo!" Well, if it's good enough for Scooby, it must be good enough for Noah.

And that is GREAT news for this nervous Mommy.