Did you know that from my house in the Valley to the Davis Conference Center it's exactly 735.9 miles? True story. My car's trip odometer says so. Also a true story: Gasoline is about thirty cents per gallon more expensive in Utah than in Phoenix. I paid three and a quarter in Mesa and $3.69 in the middle of the Beehive State. Scandalous! They have refineries there. Gas should be cheaper. Although how sad would it be if BP lost money that way? I know I'd cry myself to sleep. So $3.69 it was.
(I first typed that as $369, which reminds me of a truck I saw near Anthem on my way out of the Valley. It was for sale, but the guy had put a $ in front of his phone number, which confusingly took up two lines. Dear guy in the red truck: your late 90's low-rider Chevy isn't worth $623,000 dollars. You might want to fix that.)
Anyway. I think I was trying to make a point, and here it is: I'm tired. I drove 13 hours on Thursday (and lost an hour thanks to the inanity that is Daylight Saving Time) and 11 hours yesterday (not sure how that worked out but I'm going to credit taking highway 89A instead of 89), and the blog post I planned about the conference is going to have to wait.
But you know what? As excruciatingly dull and butt-numbingly long as the drive was, it was worth it. I met some really cool people and learned a lot of important things and gave what I think was a pretty darn good presentation. And I had homemade brownies and ate them on a patio overlooking pretty much all of North Salt Lake (thanks, Becky!). I think that adoption people are the best people. You know that song about how people who need people are the luckiest people in the world? (I hate that song.) Well, I think that adoption people are the luckiest people in the world - or if not the luckiest, the coolest. Some of my favorite people in the whole world are my adoption friends.
I found myself thinking frequently of Roo, and wondering what she was up to. I do that sometimes. But I thought of her, and pictured her sitting with a book and carefully turning the pages as she does, or imitating everything her big sister does, or swimming or coloring or just being adorable, and I thought just as frequently of how very grateful I am for what adoption has given my little Roo. I'm willing to take credit for how cute she turned out, but everything else she is, is a result of her mommy and daddy.
I heard one adoptee say on Friday that she wouldn't be the person she is with the great life she has if she hadn't been raised in the family she was raised in, and she was grateful to her birth mother. I loved hearing that. I think, that's going to be Roo someday with that sentiment, happy and successful and smart and saying, “I am who I am because P and M are my parents, and I'm so glad my birth mother placed me with them!”
I'm glad I placed her with them, too. I'm thankful every day.
Showing posts with label fsa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fsa. Show all posts
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Here's the Problem: A Warning
I've been thinking about this post for a while, and I had decided to abandon it, because it's the sort of thing that could potentially humiliate me. The nice thing about this blog is that I write it, so I'm able to control how I appear through what I write, and because I don't typically ever meet my blog readers, you are all none the wiser. I put a few pretty words together to give the impression of cleverness and think, ah, I've fooled them again.
But I don't reckon that's fair. Although I'm careful for the most part about what I share, I do pride myself on my honesty, so I've decided to admit to something I am not the least bit proud of. And in case you're tempted to offer it as a suggestion, please keep in mind I am already in therapy (although my therapist totally says I'm functional now, so there).
With that in mind, here's the post. Please feel free to laugh.
I was thinking about things the other day (I do that sometimes), and I decided that I sort of wish I had never mentioned that I'm going to be teaching a class at the FSA conference in August. Not because I'm not excited about it, or because I think I'm going to do poorly. I regret it because now people know, and several of them have said they want to come hear me speak.
I don't have a problem with public speaking. If I had a topic and a few minutes to prepare, I think I could comfortably address the United Nations. The problem is that after I speak, or maybe before, people are going to want to talk to me. Public speaking? Check. Social interaction? Um ... no.
Ladies and gents, I am Lord Mayor of Awkwardtown. I don't know how I was elected or why, and I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I've decided to blame it on high school. All those years ago, when everyone else was out socializing and learning how to interact with people, I was locked in my bedroom reading French existentialist philosophy and listening to The Cure. So now most of society knows when it's polite to make eye contact or smile at someone or exchange pleasantries, and I'm stuck thinking things like, "I smiled at her earlier and said hello. Should I smile again? Should I say hello again? If I do will she think I don't remember our exchange from earlier?" And by then, whoever I should have interacted with will have walked past and seen me looking thoughtfully bemused, which unfortunately comes across to most people as disgruntled or dyspeptic.
I work at a rather large library with around thirty other people, and every single workday my mind races - how many times do I smile and say hello? Was that a courtesy "how are you" or does he expect an answer? Do people think I'm pedantic for saying I'm doing "well" instead of "good" like everyone else? How long do I hold eye contact? (I read somewhere that too much is unsettling and you should focus on other parts of the face near the eyes for the count of seven each - seven seconds on the forehead, the cheeks, et cetera. But what if my lips move while I count? How do I explain that one?) How was that social smile, because it felt to me like I was accidentally imitating this angry chimp I saw on TV who bared his teeth as a sign of aggression. Do other people know that most other primates show their teeth as a sign of aggression and not cheer? Do other people think about that when they give social smiles?
Most importantly, can people tell by the look in my eyes that even though I'm smiling at them I'm actually thinking of a television program about chimpanzees that I watched in 1998?
And then there's physical contact. Oh, man. Don't even get me started. I've mentioned before that I give awkward hugs. I can't tell you how many hours I've wasted wishing I lived someplace like Japan where people don't even shake hands as a general rule, they bow (or at least that's what popular culture has led me to believe). Instead, I live in America, where sometimes people like to hug. I think part of my difficulty in hugging comes from the fact that I used to have a weight problem. The weight is gone but the awkwardness is residual. Even though I'm not a heifer anymore, I'm not exactly willowy, and it seems like very often the person who wants to hug me is rather lithe, and I feel like Jack Black with David Letterman's hands. We'll hug and I think, is this how narrow a woman's shoulders are supposed to be, and if so how come I ended up with my pipefitter grandfather's supraclavicular muscles? She must think I'm a tank. She must think I have to shop at a men's big and tall store for shirts. Not to mention, I'm always afraid people's hands are going to land on a particularly flabby patch of back, despite having relatively few of those now.
And where do I put my hands in a hug? What if I accidentally touch someone where they don't want to be touched? How long should a social hug last? How can you tell whose arms should go on top? What if the other person is going for a side hug and you go full-frontal? How tight should a hug be, and how close? What if my deodorant isn't as powerful as the brand's ad campaign led me to believe? What if my shampoo doesn't smell as good as I think it does? What if the other person's jewelry gets stuck in my hair? (You laugh, but that's happened more than once.) What if my clothes smell more like work than Woolite?
There are days where I think if someone reaches out to hug me I might just shriek and run in the opposite direction.
And then, as if physical contact weren't bad enough, people want to talk. I like to talk as a general rule. I think I'm pretty good at it. But I'm best at it when it's one-sided. Conversation is much trickier. I'm not nearly as clever with words in conversation. I tend to get nervous, for openers, and nerves make me stutter. No, not the typical, almost charming stutter that Colin Firth affected in "The King's Speech." Mine is more of a parade of ums and uhs and other random nonsense syllables with which I intended to begin words when I started out. And even when I can get words out, the letters those words are made of don't form the proper alliances. They get knotted. I end up spouting things like "Creen Queek" instead of Queen Creek. My nervous conversation is a stream of the world's least funny Spoonerisms.
It would be tolerable if I were unaware of it. But I am overly aware of it to the point that I am often unaware of anything else. Sometimes I'll recall an exchange and think, it's really a wonder I ever ended up pregnant.
Have I scared you off yet? You may be tempted to follow my lead on the whole running-off-screaming thing.
I'm not saying I don't want to meet any of you. I would love to meet any of you who go to the FSA conference, I absolutely would. I'm making the 12 hour drive and I'm almost never in Utah, so we may as well say hello. But consider yourselves warned. I may end up looking at your hair and counting instead of making eye contact, I'll ask if you had a "drong live" to the conference, my social smiles could incite chimp riots, and I have abnormally well-developed deltoids.
But you know what? My presentation is going to rock.
But I don't reckon that's fair. Although I'm careful for the most part about what I share, I do pride myself on my honesty, so I've decided to admit to something I am not the least bit proud of. And in case you're tempted to offer it as a suggestion, please keep in mind I am already in therapy (although my therapist totally says I'm functional now, so there).
With that in mind, here's the post. Please feel free to laugh.
I was thinking about things the other day (I do that sometimes), and I decided that I sort of wish I had never mentioned that I'm going to be teaching a class at the FSA conference in August. Not because I'm not excited about it, or because I think I'm going to do poorly. I regret it because now people know, and several of them have said they want to come hear me speak.
I don't have a problem with public speaking. If I had a topic and a few minutes to prepare, I think I could comfortably address the United Nations. The problem is that after I speak, or maybe before, people are going to want to talk to me. Public speaking? Check. Social interaction? Um ... no.
Ladies and gents, I am Lord Mayor of Awkwardtown. I don't know how I was elected or why, and I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I've decided to blame it on high school. All those years ago, when everyone else was out socializing and learning how to interact with people, I was locked in my bedroom reading French existentialist philosophy and listening to The Cure. So now most of society knows when it's polite to make eye contact or smile at someone or exchange pleasantries, and I'm stuck thinking things like, "I smiled at her earlier and said hello. Should I smile again? Should I say hello again? If I do will she think I don't remember our exchange from earlier?" And by then, whoever I should have interacted with will have walked past and seen me looking thoughtfully bemused, which unfortunately comes across to most people as disgruntled or dyspeptic.
I work at a rather large library with around thirty other people, and every single workday my mind races - how many times do I smile and say hello? Was that a courtesy "how are you" or does he expect an answer? Do people think I'm pedantic for saying I'm doing "well" instead of "good" like everyone else? How long do I hold eye contact? (I read somewhere that too much is unsettling and you should focus on other parts of the face near the eyes for the count of seven each - seven seconds on the forehead, the cheeks, et cetera. But what if my lips move while I count? How do I explain that one?) How was that social smile, because it felt to me like I was accidentally imitating this angry chimp I saw on TV who bared his teeth as a sign of aggression. Do other people know that most other primates show their teeth as a sign of aggression and not cheer? Do other people think about that when they give social smiles?
Most importantly, can people tell by the look in my eyes that even though I'm smiling at them I'm actually thinking of a television program about chimpanzees that I watched in 1998?
And then there's physical contact. Oh, man. Don't even get me started. I've mentioned before that I give awkward hugs. I can't tell you how many hours I've wasted wishing I lived someplace like Japan where people don't even shake hands as a general rule, they bow (or at least that's what popular culture has led me to believe). Instead, I live in America, where sometimes people like to hug. I think part of my difficulty in hugging comes from the fact that I used to have a weight problem. The weight is gone but the awkwardness is residual. Even though I'm not a heifer anymore, I'm not exactly willowy, and it seems like very often the person who wants to hug me is rather lithe, and I feel like Jack Black with David Letterman's hands. We'll hug and I think, is this how narrow a woman's shoulders are supposed to be, and if so how come I ended up with my pipefitter grandfather's supraclavicular muscles? She must think I'm a tank. She must think I have to shop at a men's big and tall store for shirts. Not to mention, I'm always afraid people's hands are going to land on a particularly flabby patch of back, despite having relatively few of those now.
And where do I put my hands in a hug? What if I accidentally touch someone where they don't want to be touched? How long should a social hug last? How can you tell whose arms should go on top? What if the other person is going for a side hug and you go full-frontal? How tight should a hug be, and how close? What if my deodorant isn't as powerful as the brand's ad campaign led me to believe? What if my shampoo doesn't smell as good as I think it does? What if the other person's jewelry gets stuck in my hair? (You laugh, but that's happened more than once.) What if my clothes smell more like work than Woolite?
There are days where I think if someone reaches out to hug me I might just shriek and run in the opposite direction.
And then, as if physical contact weren't bad enough, people want to talk. I like to talk as a general rule. I think I'm pretty good at it. But I'm best at it when it's one-sided. Conversation is much trickier. I'm not nearly as clever with words in conversation. I tend to get nervous, for openers, and nerves make me stutter. No, not the typical, almost charming stutter that Colin Firth affected in "The King's Speech." Mine is more of a parade of ums and uhs and other random nonsense syllables with which I intended to begin words when I started out. And even when I can get words out, the letters those words are made of don't form the proper alliances. They get knotted. I end up spouting things like "Creen Queek" instead of Queen Creek. My nervous conversation is a stream of the world's least funny Spoonerisms.
It would be tolerable if I were unaware of it. But I am overly aware of it to the point that I am often unaware of anything else. Sometimes I'll recall an exchange and think, it's really a wonder I ever ended up pregnant.
Have I scared you off yet? You may be tempted to follow my lead on the whole running-off-screaming thing.
I'm not saying I don't want to meet any of you. I would love to meet any of you who go to the FSA conference, I absolutely would. I'm making the 12 hour drive and I'm almost never in Utah, so we may as well say hello. But consider yourselves warned. I may end up looking at your hair and counting instead of making eye contact, I'll ask if you had a "drong live" to the conference, my social smiles could incite chimp riots, and I have abnormally well-developed deltoids.
But you know what? My presentation is going to rock.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Hey, Peeps ...
Are any of you going to the FSA International Conference this August? I went last year, and it was amazing. Registration has already started (info here). If you aren't planning on going, you should. It is going to be extra awesome this year.
Do you know why?
Because I'm one of the presenters!
I've been teamed up with a birth grandmother and we're going to be talking about grief. It will be epic, I promise. Well, maybe not epic, but it won't be boring.
As with last year (and every other year, I think) the conference is free for birth families. Which means that my presentation will at least be worth what you pay to get in :) If nothing else, birth moms, it's always nice to be among people who aren't going to judge you for an unplanned pregnancy, because they've all been there too.
And for those of you who think, "I should be so lucky as to get pregnant on accident!" there are like-minded people there for you as well. It'll cost you, but I think it's more than worth it for the information and the chance to meet with a whole heck of a lot of people who have been or are in the exact same boat as you.
Go. Sign up. Now.
Do you know why?
Because I'm one of the presenters!
I've been teamed up with a birth grandmother and we're going to be talking about grief. It will be epic, I promise. Well, maybe not epic, but it won't be boring.
As with last year (and every other year, I think) the conference is free for birth families. Which means that my presentation will at least be worth what you pay to get in :) If nothing else, birth moms, it's always nice to be among people who aren't going to judge you for an unplanned pregnancy, because they've all been there too.
And for those of you who think, "I should be so lucky as to get pregnant on accident!" there are like-minded people there for you as well. It'll cost you, but I think it's more than worth it for the information and the chance to meet with a whole heck of a lot of people who have been or are in the exact same boat as you.
Go. Sign up. Now.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Saturday
I wrote this two weeks ago. I wanted to make a minor edit before posting ... and then I forgot until a little while ago. So "today" is April 9th in this post.
There's a song in the LDS Children's Songbook that begins with the line, "Saturday is a special day" (it is, you see, the day we get ready for Sunday). The older I get, the less special Saturdays seem to be, because after a few years the luster of doing laundry and sweeping the floors tends to wear off. But today really was a special day, because it was an Adoption Academy day.
Have I written before about Adoption Academies? I don't remember. I'm also too lazy to go through my archives and find out. In short: Adoption Academies are put on every three months by FSA to help couples meet the education requirements for certification. I'm sure they do them other places, maybe a little differently and with different names. But here in the Phoenix area, they're called Adoption Academies, and Roo's parents have been the ones in charge of the Mesa ones since a little bit before I met them. Part of the academy is a birth mom panel, and since P and M know me and my story, they've asked me to be on the birth mom panels they've arranged since I placed Roo. That's what I did today. But because I love adoption, and because P and M do such an amazing job, I stayed the whole day instead of just being there for my part.
It was awesome. I know I toss that word around like confetti, but I really do mean it. It was awesome. Everyone did a good job - all of the panelists, and P and M. I cannot even imagine how much work it is to put one of these things on, but I think it totally paid off. Today left me with the warmest, fuzziest feeling about adoption. And I am not being facetious. It was the best Saturday I've had in ages.
Oh, and my mother was on the adult adoptee panel. I love to hear her talk about adoption, because it wasn't something she ever used to feel comfortable talking about. My father was the first person she ever told that she was adopted. They'd been married six months at the time, and she told him the night before they were going to be sealed in the temple. Isn't that crazy? My mom never had any issues about being adopted, but I think it took her a while to feel like talking about it was okay. I am very proud of her.
The birth mom panel was after lunch. I don't really get nervous about that sort of thing anymore. I guess I've done it enough times now that it's not stressful. It went pretty much the same as other birth mom panels have gone. But something unusual happened - or rather, didn't happen. I've lost count of how many times I've told my story and Roo's. Dozens, certainly. And every time, I cry.
I didn't cry today.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. I think I might have cried, if I'd had more time to blather. Not that I didn't have plenty of time, but for some reason I feel like I skipped some parts of my story today - idiot that I am, I somehow completely glossed over the part where I met P and M and chose them, and that's one of the best parts of the story! Anyway. I got choked up for sure. But I didn't use a single Kleenex.
This bothers me. How could I not have cried? I've never not cried. I AlWAYS cry. I didn't think I could get through my story without crying. I guess I wonder what it says about me that I didn't. Does it mean I care less? I certainly don't care less. I'm getting teared up just thinking about Roo and how much I love her and what an amazing little person she is.
I don't know why I didn't cry. I guess it's not really important. If tears are a measure of love, I've certainly proven the depth of my feeling over the past two years. A few months after placement I was starting to consider buying Kleenex by the case and recommending that friends and family buy stock in the company. Perhaps I've just gotten most of my tears out of the way. I don't know.
It shouldn't matter. I know that I love Roo, whether I cry about it or not. But maybe that's it - I know, but I feel like maybe the couples who were there won't know unless I prove it by crying. Is that ridiculous? I think it's ridiculous, but the thought is there just the same (it is absolutely exhausting inside my brain).
I digress. Today was a fantastic day. And M said something about maybe having a visit in a few weeks! That would be amazing. It's nothing definite, but even so it was so awesome of her to suggest it. It means a lot. I've sort of had this itch lately to see Roo again. But what's kind of funny is that I'm almost as anxious just to see P and M again. I really do love them, and it was so good to be able to see them today and talk for a little while. I wanted to brag to every person I saw today that P and M are "my" couple, that these awesome people who put on such a good academy are Roo's parents.
I am glad that they're Roo's parents. I'm glad for her, and I'm glad for them. They are my favorite little family in the world.
I'm rambling, aren't I? Oh well. I think a little ramble now and then is a good thing, provided you know when to quit.
Which I do :)
There's a song in the LDS Children's Songbook that begins with the line, "Saturday is a special day" (it is, you see, the day we get ready for Sunday). The older I get, the less special Saturdays seem to be, because after a few years the luster of doing laundry and sweeping the floors tends to wear off. But today really was a special day, because it was an Adoption Academy day.
Have I written before about Adoption Academies? I don't remember. I'm also too lazy to go through my archives and find out. In short: Adoption Academies are put on every three months by FSA to help couples meet the education requirements for certification. I'm sure they do them other places, maybe a little differently and with different names. But here in the Phoenix area, they're called Adoption Academies, and Roo's parents have been the ones in charge of the Mesa ones since a little bit before I met them. Part of the academy is a birth mom panel, and since P and M know me and my story, they've asked me to be on the birth mom panels they've arranged since I placed Roo. That's what I did today. But because I love adoption, and because P and M do such an amazing job, I stayed the whole day instead of just being there for my part.
It was awesome. I know I toss that word around like confetti, but I really do mean it. It was awesome. Everyone did a good job - all of the panelists, and P and M. I cannot even imagine how much work it is to put one of these things on, but I think it totally paid off. Today left me with the warmest, fuzziest feeling about adoption. And I am not being facetious. It was the best Saturday I've had in ages.
Oh, and my mother was on the adult adoptee panel. I love to hear her talk about adoption, because it wasn't something she ever used to feel comfortable talking about. My father was the first person she ever told that she was adopted. They'd been married six months at the time, and she told him the night before they were going to be sealed in the temple. Isn't that crazy? My mom never had any issues about being adopted, but I think it took her a while to feel like talking about it was okay. I am very proud of her.
The birth mom panel was after lunch. I don't really get nervous about that sort of thing anymore. I guess I've done it enough times now that it's not stressful. It went pretty much the same as other birth mom panels have gone. But something unusual happened - or rather, didn't happen. I've lost count of how many times I've told my story and Roo's. Dozens, certainly. And every time, I cry.
I didn't cry today.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. I think I might have cried, if I'd had more time to blather. Not that I didn't have plenty of time, but for some reason I feel like I skipped some parts of my story today - idiot that I am, I somehow completely glossed over the part where I met P and M and chose them, and that's one of the best parts of the story! Anyway. I got choked up for sure. But I didn't use a single Kleenex.
This bothers me. How could I not have cried? I've never not cried. I AlWAYS cry. I didn't think I could get through my story without crying. I guess I wonder what it says about me that I didn't. Does it mean I care less? I certainly don't care less. I'm getting teared up just thinking about Roo and how much I love her and what an amazing little person she is.
I don't know why I didn't cry. I guess it's not really important. If tears are a measure of love, I've certainly proven the depth of my feeling over the past two years. A few months after placement I was starting to consider buying Kleenex by the case and recommending that friends and family buy stock in the company. Perhaps I've just gotten most of my tears out of the way. I don't know.
It shouldn't matter. I know that I love Roo, whether I cry about it or not. But maybe that's it - I know, but I feel like maybe the couples who were there won't know unless I prove it by crying. Is that ridiculous? I think it's ridiculous, but the thought is there just the same (it is absolutely exhausting inside my brain).
I digress. Today was a fantastic day. And M said something about maybe having a visit in a few weeks! That would be amazing. It's nothing definite, but even so it was so awesome of her to suggest it. It means a lot. I've sort of had this itch lately to see Roo again. But what's kind of funny is that I'm almost as anxious just to see P and M again. I really do love them, and it was so good to be able to see them today and talk for a little while. I wanted to brag to every person I saw today that P and M are "my" couple, that these awesome people who put on such a good academy are Roo's parents.
I am glad that they're Roo's parents. I'm glad for her, and I'm glad for them. They are my favorite little family in the world.
I'm rambling, aren't I? Oh well. I think a little ramble now and then is a good thing, provided you know when to quit.
Which I do :)
Friday, October 15, 2010
Southwest Regional FSA Conference, Day Two, Part Two
The following is long, and self-centered, and mostly for my benefit. You have been warned.
I think I mentioned on Friday that at the dinner, I met both of the couples I considered placing with when I was pregnant. One of the couples, I've seen many times since then. There's no awkwardness. The other couple, I haven't seen or heard from since I didn't choose them.
I don't think I mentioned on Friday that when I saw N, the wife in the second couple, I almost cried. I don't know if it's ridiculous or not, but I felt terribly guilty exchanging pleasantries with her. I wanted to apologize profusely for not choosing her and her husband. I wanted to beg them to forgive me and tell them it's not personal, I liked them very much. It just wasn't right. Do other birth moms ever experience this? I don't know how many birth moms have ever run into couples they didn't pick after the original meeting. I don't know if my reaction is normal or not.
I mention this mostly because at lunch I once again met up with the first couple I talked to, the ones with whom I am very comfortable. Their little girl just had her first birthday. They came over to talk to me and Breonna, who also considered placing with them (small world, eh?). If my awkward interaction with N is atypical, I can only imagine how abnormal my relationship with the first couple is. I could have talked to them for hours.
It's a funny thing, but as much as I enjoy their company, as long as I could have talked to them, as comfortable as I feel with them, I know I wasn't supposed to place with them. They know it, too. If I had, they wouldn't have their little girl, and they wouldn't trade her for anything in heaven or on earth.
After lunch it was time for Mrs R's adoption advocacy class for birth moms. There wasn't enough time for all of it, really - there were so many comments and experiences packed into that room, we could have talked for hours, not just 50 minutes. Maybe next year? I got a few minutes at the end to talk about doing outreach at schools. I think I may have noted before that public speaking doesn't bother me like it does most people. I think that, given a subject and a few minutes to prepare, I could probably address the United Nations. School outreach? No problem. Fifth Sunday presentation? Easy. Adoption Academy? Birth mom panel? Kid stuff.
My problem with public speaking arises when I'm called upon to address my peers. That's when nerves set in. I felt confident until I stood up, and looked around the room. All birth moms, at least two of whom don't like me; strong women who had as much to say about advocacy as I did, but it was me up front. I felt inadequate. It didn't help that this was Mrs. R's class.
I don't know how many of my blog readers have met Lindsey. If you saw her pushing a cart in the grocery store, you would probably hate her, because she is this tiny little thing, pretty and well-dressed and obviously not poor. But hating her would be unfair. She's also genuine, and friendly, and has been through her share of hard times. I felt this immense pressure not to say anything stupid, because I didn't want to take away from what she'd had to say.
In the end, I did what I usually do when I'm nervous - I spoke fast and used polysyllabic words in the hope that people would only hear half of what I had to say, and sat back down. Next time, if there is a next time, I'm going to rein in these ideas I have about winging it.
Before the conference, I agreed to facilitate one of the classes. I was told that all I'd have to do was to introduce the speaker, give him or her 10 and 5 minute warnings, and, at the end, hand out the thank-you gift. I thought, I can handle that. But it turned out, the class I was supposed to facilitate wasn't actually a class, but a panel. The birth grandparent panel, more specifically. There was a red folder in the room that had the biographies of the panelists and a list of questions for me to ask them. There were four nametags on the podium, and four chairs set up. There were two panelists there. The third was going to be a few minutes late. Was there a fourth? I was confused. Despite the absence of the third panelist, I didn't want to start late, because I know that panels tend to run long as it is. I didn't want to read the panelist bios for the same reason - besides, their bios were in the folders that everyone had picked up upon signing in that morning. It seemed both redundant and a waste of time for me to read the lengthy bios of all of the panelists.
I introduced them and started with the first question. From the back of the room, someone I love dearly but who will remain nameless in this accounting, called out, "Jillybean, why don't you start with having them all say why they're here today?" Which was irritating because obviously, they were here because they were birth grandparents, and humiliating, because I felt like a child with both the nickname and the direction, as though I weren't clever enough to moderate a panel. I already felt I wasn't clever enough, and the suggestion certainly didn't help. Dare I say it shattered my already fragile calm?
But the suggestion had been made, and the first panelist started, and basically told her story and answered most of the questions on my sheet of paper. The third panelist (there were only three, despite four nametags and four chairs) came in at this point, and I gave her the appropriate nametag, which she set on the fourth chair next to the Kleenex box.
It became apparent that instead of questions being asked and answered, this was just going to be the birth grandmothers telling their stories. Which was fine by me, except that there I was, standing at the podium like a jackass (and no, jackass is not a bad word. I heard it on "Matlock," and Ben Matlock would never swear). I wanted to sit down, but the fourth chair had things on it that I would have to hold if I sat there, and if I sat in the audience I might have to pop back up if there was time for questions. So I stood there the entire bloody hour, feeling like the dumbest person on earth, cultivating a strain in my neck from looking to my right where the panelists were seated, and trying desperately to figure out if I might be able to sit down somewhere. I leaned over the podium as much as I could so I didn't stand out. I tried to be invisible. I failed miserably.
I almost cried, too, which was even worse. The first panelist spoke frankly about her anger at being told her single daughter was pregnant. And I swear to you, as she spoke, her rage was palpable. For some reason, hearing her speak made me think of my own mother. The idea that my dear old mum might have harbored similar feelings of anger toward me just killed me, and I teared up. My mother has been really and truly angry at me once in my life, and the occasion constitutes one of my least favorite memories.
(I asked my mother Sunday night if she'd been angry at me when I told her I was pregnant. "Oh, honey, never angry," she assured me. "I just felt so bad for you! My heart broke for you, but I wasn't angry." I was terribly relieved.)
Personal awkwardness aside, the panel went well. I think it was impactful, if that's even a word. Birth grandparents have an important perspective and I don't think they're heard from enough. Anyway, When the panel was over, it was time for cake and ice cream and then the birth mother panel. The cake was made by a local birth mom who has been to culinary school. It looked amazing and tasted pretty darn good too. I wish I'd thought to take a picture of it.
The birth mom panel is usually the biggest draw and the best part of any adoption academy or conference. I was super excited to see that two of my favorite birth moms were on the (4-person) panel. I go to group with both of them but I never get tired of their stories. One of them, my friend A, was only a backup panelist, but the fourth panelist was a no-show so she got to be on the panel! I was super excited for her, and she did an amazing job. She is both a single mother and a birth mom, so I love her perspective. A needs to speak more often. She is awesome.
After the panel, there was a raffle. I did not expect to win. I've won a raffle once in my life. The prize was a Spice Girls cassette tape - their second album. But lo and behold, not one but two of my ticket numbers were called! I won a beautiful hair clip from Ruby Jane Boutique and a gift certificate for a free consult, x-ray and treatment from a local chiropractor. I've never been to a chiropractor before, so that will be interesting.
And then it was time to go.
I can't talk about the conference without mentioning Andrea and Josh and the amazing job they did putting everything together. I don't think Andrea slept at all for about three months before the conference. Dare I say her lack of sleep was worth it? The conference was fantastic. I can't wait for next year!
And if you've read through my excruciating, self-centered rundown of the conference, you deserve a prize.
I mean, you're not going to get one from me, but you certainly deserve it :)
No, wait, here. Have a platypus.
I think I mentioned on Friday that at the dinner, I met both of the couples I considered placing with when I was pregnant. One of the couples, I've seen many times since then. There's no awkwardness. The other couple, I haven't seen or heard from since I didn't choose them.
I don't think I mentioned on Friday that when I saw N, the wife in the second couple, I almost cried. I don't know if it's ridiculous or not, but I felt terribly guilty exchanging pleasantries with her. I wanted to apologize profusely for not choosing her and her husband. I wanted to beg them to forgive me and tell them it's not personal, I liked them very much. It just wasn't right. Do other birth moms ever experience this? I don't know how many birth moms have ever run into couples they didn't pick after the original meeting. I don't know if my reaction is normal or not.
I mention this mostly because at lunch I once again met up with the first couple I talked to, the ones with whom I am very comfortable. Their little girl just had her first birthday. They came over to talk to me and Breonna, who also considered placing with them (small world, eh?). If my awkward interaction with N is atypical, I can only imagine how abnormal my relationship with the first couple is. I could have talked to them for hours.
It's a funny thing, but as much as I enjoy their company, as long as I could have talked to them, as comfortable as I feel with them, I know I wasn't supposed to place with them. They know it, too. If I had, they wouldn't have their little girl, and they wouldn't trade her for anything in heaven or on earth.
After lunch it was time for Mrs R's adoption advocacy class for birth moms. There wasn't enough time for all of it, really - there were so many comments and experiences packed into that room, we could have talked for hours, not just 50 minutes. Maybe next year? I got a few minutes at the end to talk about doing outreach at schools. I think I may have noted before that public speaking doesn't bother me like it does most people. I think that, given a subject and a few minutes to prepare, I could probably address the United Nations. School outreach? No problem. Fifth Sunday presentation? Easy. Adoption Academy? Birth mom panel? Kid stuff.
My problem with public speaking arises when I'm called upon to address my peers. That's when nerves set in. I felt confident until I stood up, and looked around the room. All birth moms, at least two of whom don't like me; strong women who had as much to say about advocacy as I did, but it was me up front. I felt inadequate. It didn't help that this was Mrs. R's class.
I don't know how many of my blog readers have met Lindsey. If you saw her pushing a cart in the grocery store, you would probably hate her, because she is this tiny little thing, pretty and well-dressed and obviously not poor. But hating her would be unfair. She's also genuine, and friendly, and has been through her share of hard times. I felt this immense pressure not to say anything stupid, because I didn't want to take away from what she'd had to say.
In the end, I did what I usually do when I'm nervous - I spoke fast and used polysyllabic words in the hope that people would only hear half of what I had to say, and sat back down. Next time, if there is a next time, I'm going to rein in these ideas I have about winging it.
Before the conference, I agreed to facilitate one of the classes. I was told that all I'd have to do was to introduce the speaker, give him or her 10 and 5 minute warnings, and, at the end, hand out the thank-you gift. I thought, I can handle that. But it turned out, the class I was supposed to facilitate wasn't actually a class, but a panel. The birth grandparent panel, more specifically. There was a red folder in the room that had the biographies of the panelists and a list of questions for me to ask them. There were four nametags on the podium, and four chairs set up. There were two panelists there. The third was going to be a few minutes late. Was there a fourth? I was confused. Despite the absence of the third panelist, I didn't want to start late, because I know that panels tend to run long as it is. I didn't want to read the panelist bios for the same reason - besides, their bios were in the folders that everyone had picked up upon signing in that morning. It seemed both redundant and a waste of time for me to read the lengthy bios of all of the panelists.
I introduced them and started with the first question. From the back of the room, someone I love dearly but who will remain nameless in this accounting, called out, "Jillybean, why don't you start with having them all say why they're here today?" Which was irritating because obviously, they were here because they were birth grandparents, and humiliating, because I felt like a child with both the nickname and the direction, as though I weren't clever enough to moderate a panel. I already felt I wasn't clever enough, and the suggestion certainly didn't help. Dare I say it shattered my already fragile calm?
But the suggestion had been made, and the first panelist started, and basically told her story and answered most of the questions on my sheet of paper. The third panelist (there were only three, despite four nametags and four chairs) came in at this point, and I gave her the appropriate nametag, which she set on the fourth chair next to the Kleenex box.
It became apparent that instead of questions being asked and answered, this was just going to be the birth grandmothers telling their stories. Which was fine by me, except that there I was, standing at the podium like a jackass (and no, jackass is not a bad word. I heard it on "Matlock," and Ben Matlock would never swear). I wanted to sit down, but the fourth chair had things on it that I would have to hold if I sat there, and if I sat in the audience I might have to pop back up if there was time for questions. So I stood there the entire bloody hour, feeling like the dumbest person on earth, cultivating a strain in my neck from looking to my right where the panelists were seated, and trying desperately to figure out if I might be able to sit down somewhere. I leaned over the podium as much as I could so I didn't stand out. I tried to be invisible. I failed miserably.
I almost cried, too, which was even worse. The first panelist spoke frankly about her anger at being told her single daughter was pregnant. And I swear to you, as she spoke, her rage was palpable. For some reason, hearing her speak made me think of my own mother. The idea that my dear old mum might have harbored similar feelings of anger toward me just killed me, and I teared up. My mother has been really and truly angry at me once in my life, and the occasion constitutes one of my least favorite memories.
(I asked my mother Sunday night if she'd been angry at me when I told her I was pregnant. "Oh, honey, never angry," she assured me. "I just felt so bad for you! My heart broke for you, but I wasn't angry." I was terribly relieved.)
Personal awkwardness aside, the panel went well. I think it was impactful, if that's even a word. Birth grandparents have an important perspective and I don't think they're heard from enough. Anyway, When the panel was over, it was time for cake and ice cream and then the birth mother panel. The cake was made by a local birth mom who has been to culinary school. It looked amazing and tasted pretty darn good too. I wish I'd thought to take a picture of it.
The birth mom panel is usually the biggest draw and the best part of any adoption academy or conference. I was super excited to see that two of my favorite birth moms were on the (4-person) panel. I go to group with both of them but I never get tired of their stories. One of them, my friend A, was only a backup panelist, but the fourth panelist was a no-show so she got to be on the panel! I was super excited for her, and she did an amazing job. She is both a single mother and a birth mom, so I love her perspective. A needs to speak more often. She is awesome.
After the panel, there was a raffle. I did not expect to win. I've won a raffle once in my life. The prize was a Spice Girls cassette tape - their second album. But lo and behold, not one but two of my ticket numbers were called! I won a beautiful hair clip from Ruby Jane Boutique and a gift certificate for a free consult, x-ray and treatment from a local chiropractor. I've never been to a chiropractor before, so that will be interesting.
And then it was time to go.
I can't talk about the conference without mentioning Andrea and Josh and the amazing job they did putting everything together. I don't think Andrea slept at all for about three months before the conference. Dare I say her lack of sleep was worth it? The conference was fantastic. I can't wait for next year!
And if you've read through my excruciating, self-centered rundown of the conference, you deserve a prize.
I mean, you're not going to get one from me, but you certainly deserve it :)
No, wait, here. Have a platypus.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Southwest Regional FSA Conference, Day Two, Part One
I meant to post this on Saturday, when I got home from the conference, but I was tired, and I had a church activity at 7:30. And after that, I was even more tired, on top of which I had to find a recipe for funeral potatoes and get to the grocery store for ingredients so I could make said funeral potatoes the next afternoon. Long story.
I digress. Back to the conference. I'm splitting day two into two parts because it's long.
I ended up not going to many classes - I only went to one, in fact. I'm still not quite sure how that happened. I meant to go, I really did. But I got to the ASU Institute building early on Saturday. I had to put labels on the thank-you salsa (long story) and I wanted to make sure I had time to do that before breakfast and everything. And then it looked like a little help was needed at the registration tables, and I thought, hey, when we're helping, we're happy, right? So I helped. I got people signed in, gave out t-shirts and raffle tickets, and directed them to breakfast. Then it sounded like breakfast was starting, but I wasn't that hungry, because I'd had a little Cap'n Crunch before I left the house.
I love Cap'n Crunch. It tears up the roof of my mouth and leaves a film on my teeth but it's delicious. And you can't help but be encouraged by the cereal's old commercial tagline: "You and the Cap'n make it happen!" Of course, they were never really specific as to what, exactly, the two of you made happen. I suppose it could have been anything from breakfast to a nuclear holocaust.
Again, I digress. I wasn't concerned about breakfast on account of I'd already eaten. So I stayed up front at the desk. Then people dispersed to go to the first classes, and I wanted to go to hear Tamra's class on what to expect after placement. But there were still things to be done at the desk, and I wanted to help. I'll go in late, I thought. But the next thing I knew, people were out of the first class and going to the second. Well, shoot, I thought. But I knew I had ten minutes to get upstairs for the second class, Jessa's, on who, when, and how to tell people your adoption story. But I didn't finish with what I was doing until it was too late to politely enter the room, so I gave up. I consoled myself with the fact that I had heard Tamra speak on a very similar topic at the national conference, and that I'd attended a class on who and how to tell at the national conference, although someone else had taught that one. I figured I still had most of the relevant information, and refocused on being useful at the registration desk.
I sat down with another woman who was wearing a super awesome "FSA Conference Staff" button like I was and we sorted and boxed up the care basket donations people had brought. I should mention here that my local birth mom group has started our own version of the well-known birth mother baskets (also, I may or may not write the fluffy, exclamation-point laden blog). Ours are called care baskets, and we took donations at the conference. I couldn't believe how many people brought such nice things - fuzzy blankets an beautiful jewelry and gift cards and books and what looked like half of an entire Bath and Body Works. Which explains my subsequent hives.
"We got great stuff here," I told one FSA volunteer. "I almost want to get knocked up again just so I can get a basket!" I realize my eternal salvation is probably more important than a care basket, but honestly, you should have felt this microfiber and wool throw blanket someone donated. It had to be pried out of my hands.
Adoption-related CDs are on the list of things we would like to see donated. I wasn't sure exactly what adoption-related music was, but I saw it on another donation list and thought it sounded nice. Some kind soul seemed only to have noticed the word "music" and donated six or seven CDs that, when I saw them, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. I settled on laughter, and showing the stack to my friends.
The CD on top was the only one still shrink-wrapped - Classic Love Songs of the 60s. The rest of them were clearly used, cases scratched. The next CDs that I remember are as follows:
I know there was at least one other CD but I don't remember what it was. I want to say George Winston or something like that. I shouldn't make fun, really. It's nice of people to donate things. It was just such an odd mix of music that I had to laugh.
I meant to go to the 11:00 class on communicating with your adoptive couple, because although I feel like I do okay with that, I figure I can always do better. I attended a similar class at the national conference but it had been taught by birth moms, and it seemed to me that this one, being taught by adoptive parents, might offer a different, more relevant perspective. But the others in charge who'd been around the registration desk had all disappeared, and I didn't want to just abandon the desk, because even though the day had started officially at 8am, people were still trickling in hours later. I ended up answering a few questions and checking in a few very late people so it was just as well.
By the time I decided I really wanted to go to the class it was 11:20 and I refuse to be that late. So I stayed where I was. One woman kept coming back up front to ask me questions. She didn't have a lanyard so I'm not entirely sure she was in the building for the conference. She asked me a lot of strange, random questions and needed help turning on her own mobile phone. She kept thinking I worked at the institute building. Each time I explained to her I was there for the conference, and that the people who could best answer her questions wouldn't be in the building until Monday. She kind of scared me.
Around this time, my friend Breonna arrived and we talked for a while. She showed me the adoption book she'd won the night before in the raffle. It's called "We See the Moon" and it was a little strange. I'm not sure I understood it. It's a children's book that's supposed to explain to little ones about being adopted. It featured lines such as "The full moon glows heavy in the night sky. A beacon of beauty and truth."
If anyone can explain to me what that has to do with adoption, and how on earth a child is supposed to understand it, please let me know. I'm baffled. The illustrations were neat, though. Breonna and I talked for a while and then it was time for lunch.
Phew. I think I'll end here for now. Part two will be along later.
I digress. Back to the conference. I'm splitting day two into two parts because it's long.
I ended up not going to many classes - I only went to one, in fact. I'm still not quite sure how that happened. I meant to go, I really did. But I got to the ASU Institute building early on Saturday. I had to put labels on the thank-you salsa (long story) and I wanted to make sure I had time to do that before breakfast and everything. And then it looked like a little help was needed at the registration tables, and I thought, hey, when we're helping, we're happy, right? So I helped. I got people signed in, gave out t-shirts and raffle tickets, and directed them to breakfast. Then it sounded like breakfast was starting, but I wasn't that hungry, because I'd had a little Cap'n Crunch before I left the house.
I love Cap'n Crunch. It tears up the roof of my mouth and leaves a film on my teeth but it's delicious. And you can't help but be encouraged by the cereal's old commercial tagline: "You and the Cap'n make it happen!" Of course, they were never really specific as to what, exactly, the two of you made happen. I suppose it could have been anything from breakfast to a nuclear holocaust.
Again, I digress. I wasn't concerned about breakfast on account of I'd already eaten. So I stayed up front at the desk. Then people dispersed to go to the first classes, and I wanted to go to hear Tamra's class on what to expect after placement. But there were still things to be done at the desk, and I wanted to help. I'll go in late, I thought. But the next thing I knew, people were out of the first class and going to the second. Well, shoot, I thought. But I knew I had ten minutes to get upstairs for the second class, Jessa's, on who, when, and how to tell people your adoption story. But I didn't finish with what I was doing until it was too late to politely enter the room, so I gave up. I consoled myself with the fact that I had heard Tamra speak on a very similar topic at the national conference, and that I'd attended a class on who and how to tell at the national conference, although someone else had taught that one. I figured I still had most of the relevant information, and refocused on being useful at the registration desk.
I sat down with another woman who was wearing a super awesome "FSA Conference Staff" button like I was and we sorted and boxed up the care basket donations people had brought. I should mention here that my local birth mom group has started our own version of the well-known birth mother baskets (also, I may or may not write the fluffy, exclamation-point laden blog). Ours are called care baskets, and we took donations at the conference. I couldn't believe how many people brought such nice things - fuzzy blankets an beautiful jewelry and gift cards and books and what looked like half of an entire Bath and Body Works. Which explains my subsequent hives.
"We got great stuff here," I told one FSA volunteer. "I almost want to get knocked up again just so I can get a basket!" I realize my eternal salvation is probably more important than a care basket, but honestly, you should have felt this microfiber and wool throw blanket someone donated. It had to be pried out of my hands.
Adoption-related CDs are on the list of things we would like to see donated. I wasn't sure exactly what adoption-related music was, but I saw it on another donation list and thought it sounded nice. Some kind soul seemed only to have noticed the word "music" and donated six or seven CDs that, when I saw them, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. I settled on laughter, and showing the stack to my friends.
The CD on top was the only one still shrink-wrapped - Classic Love Songs of the 60s. The rest of them were clearly used, cases scratched. The next CDs that I remember are as follows:
I know there was at least one other CD but I don't remember what it was. I want to say George Winston or something like that. I shouldn't make fun, really. It's nice of people to donate things. It was just such an odd mix of music that I had to laugh.
I meant to go to the 11:00 class on communicating with your adoptive couple, because although I feel like I do okay with that, I figure I can always do better. I attended a similar class at the national conference but it had been taught by birth moms, and it seemed to me that this one, being taught by adoptive parents, might offer a different, more relevant perspective. But the others in charge who'd been around the registration desk had all disappeared, and I didn't want to just abandon the desk, because even though the day had started officially at 8am, people were still trickling in hours later. I ended up answering a few questions and checking in a few very late people so it was just as well.
By the time I decided I really wanted to go to the class it was 11:20 and I refuse to be that late. So I stayed where I was. One woman kept coming back up front to ask me questions. She didn't have a lanyard so I'm not entirely sure she was in the building for the conference. She asked me a lot of strange, random questions and needed help turning on her own mobile phone. She kept thinking I worked at the institute building. Each time I explained to her I was there for the conference, and that the people who could best answer her questions wouldn't be in the building until Monday. She kind of scared me.
Around this time, my friend Breonna arrived and we talked for a while. She showed me the adoption book she'd won the night before in the raffle. It's called "We See the Moon" and it was a little strange. I'm not sure I understood it. It's a children's book that's supposed to explain to little ones about being adopted. It featured lines such as "The full moon glows heavy in the night sky. A beacon of beauty and truth."
If anyone can explain to me what that has to do with adoption, and how on earth a child is supposed to understand it, please let me know. I'm baffled. The illustrations were neat, though. Breonna and I talked for a while and then it was time for lunch.
Phew. I think I'll end here for now. Part two will be along later.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Southwest Regional FSA Conference, Day One
I learned my lesson with the national FSA conference - if I don't blog about it right away, it's not going to happen. I've still got three or four drafts of posts I started about the national conference, and I've pretty much given up on them - it's been two months, it's just not going to happen.
So I thought that this time, I would blog about it as soon as I could. I should probably go to sleep instead, because the conference starts bright and early tomorrow morning, and I am not at my best and brightest at 8am even if I've gotten a good night of sleep. But I have never been good at doing things because I should. Let's face it, if common sense was a strong point of mine I wouldn't have faced an unplanned pregnancy.
I digress.
Tonight was the first part of the Southwest Regional FSA conference. The dinner and decorations were western themed and it was suggested that we dress "country casual." I don't own boots or a hat but I did dig up a cowgirl shirt and decided that constituted dressing up.
The events of the evening took place outdoors, on the roof of the parking garage adjacent to the building we'll be in tomorrow. Phoenix weather is unbearable in the summer but the fall makes up for it, particularly in the evenings and today was no exception - it was perfect.
Before dinner, there was a slideshow about the adoption triad featuring an adoptee, a birth mom, and an adoptive couple. I should mention that I was the birth mom featured. Can I sound cheesy and braggy and say that I loved my story? I did. I thought that Sarah, who put the slideshow together, did a great job with my story and the other two. The other two were really amazing too, because the adoptee is also a birth mom, and the adoptive mom is also an adoptee. And I'm the daughter of an adoptee. I love all the little connections and coincidences there are in adoption. It was so cool to see the adoption overlap in the slideshow.
The evening felt like one big happy adoption reunion - I swear, I got to say hi to every person I've ever met with an adoption connection. It was great to see so many of them again. I saw adoptive moms I've done outreach with, birth moms I've met and lost track of, couples whose blogs I read, and both of the couples I met with and considered when I was pregnant. I was surprised at how many people there I knew. I thought, this must be what it's like to be Tamra - I felt like I knew nearly everyone!
It was also fun to meet people I've only ever encountered on-line. Tonight I got to meet Michelle, Kelsey, Jessalyn, and Lindsey, a.k.a. Mrs R. I met Lindsey once before, at the national conference, but it was at the end of the day, in an elevator, and I was tired and greasy and could barely see out of my contact lenses because I'd been wearing them for 14 hours, and it wasn't a proper meeting.
I got a more proper meeting tonight complete with something at which I excel; the awkward hug. I should tell that to people when I meet them - "Hi, it's so good to meet you, if we hug it'll probably be awkward." Oh well.
She (Lindsey) said she liked the slideshow, and then she told me I have soft hair, which was delightfully random. I'm stealing a few minutes at the end of one of her classes tomorrow on adoption advocacy; I'm talking about doing school outreach. I suppose I should probably figure out what I'm going to say ahead of the time, but really, where's the fun in that?
Assuming always that a lack of preparation equals fun. But whatever.
The food was yummy, the music was entertaining, and I had excellent dining companions (hi, Nicci!). All in all, it was a great night. I'm looking forward to tomorrow. This promises to be a great conference!
And now I'm going to bed.
So I thought that this time, I would blog about it as soon as I could. I should probably go to sleep instead, because the conference starts bright and early tomorrow morning, and I am not at my best and brightest at 8am even if I've gotten a good night of sleep. But I have never been good at doing things because I should. Let's face it, if common sense was a strong point of mine I wouldn't have faced an unplanned pregnancy.
I digress.
Tonight was the first part of the Southwest Regional FSA conference. The dinner and decorations were western themed and it was suggested that we dress "country casual." I don't own boots or a hat but I did dig up a cowgirl shirt and decided that constituted dressing up.
The events of the evening took place outdoors, on the roof of the parking garage adjacent to the building we'll be in tomorrow. Phoenix weather is unbearable in the summer but the fall makes up for it, particularly in the evenings and today was no exception - it was perfect.
Before dinner, there was a slideshow about the adoption triad featuring an adoptee, a birth mom, and an adoptive couple. I should mention that I was the birth mom featured. Can I sound cheesy and braggy and say that I loved my story? I did. I thought that Sarah, who put the slideshow together, did a great job with my story and the other two. The other two were really amazing too, because the adoptee is also a birth mom, and the adoptive mom is also an adoptee. And I'm the daughter of an adoptee. I love all the little connections and coincidences there are in adoption. It was so cool to see the adoption overlap in the slideshow.
The evening felt like one big happy adoption reunion - I swear, I got to say hi to every person I've ever met with an adoption connection. It was great to see so many of them again. I saw adoptive moms I've done outreach with, birth moms I've met and lost track of, couples whose blogs I read, and both of the couples I met with and considered when I was pregnant. I was surprised at how many people there I knew. I thought, this must be what it's like to be Tamra - I felt like I knew nearly everyone!
It was also fun to meet people I've only ever encountered on-line. Tonight I got to meet Michelle, Kelsey, Jessalyn, and Lindsey, a.k.a. Mrs R. I met Lindsey once before, at the national conference, but it was at the end of the day, in an elevator, and I was tired and greasy and could barely see out of my contact lenses because I'd been wearing them for 14 hours, and it wasn't a proper meeting.
I got a more proper meeting tonight complete with something at which I excel; the awkward hug. I should tell that to people when I meet them - "Hi, it's so good to meet you, if we hug it'll probably be awkward." Oh well.
She (Lindsey) said she liked the slideshow, and then she told me I have soft hair, which was delightfully random. I'm stealing a few minutes at the end of one of her classes tomorrow on adoption advocacy; I'm talking about doing school outreach. I suppose I should probably figure out what I'm going to say ahead of the time, but really, where's the fun in that?
Assuming always that a lack of preparation equals fun. But whatever.
The food was yummy, the music was entertaining, and I had excellent dining companions (hi, Nicci!). All in all, it was a great night. I'm looking forward to tomorrow. This promises to be a great conference!
And now I'm going to bed.
Monday, September 27, 2010
It's That Time of Year Again!
No, not my birthday, although that's coming up soon enough. I'm talking about something that other people are excited about, too.
That's right, it's time for the Families Supporting Adoption Southwest Regional Conference. And it's happening right here in the unseasonably warm state of Arizona, in the very same building I go to every Tuesday night for Institute. It promises to be an amazing conference. Andrea has been working day and night and every time in between (4am, anyone?) to make it great.
Check out the conference website and sign yourself up. You might notice a familiar name or two on the presenters page. How I ended up on the list with the likes of Mrs R, Kerstin Daynes and the always awesome Tamra Hyde is beyond me, but there I am.
What are you waiting for? Go and sign up!
That's right, it's time for the Families Supporting Adoption Southwest Regional Conference. And it's happening right here in the unseasonably warm state of Arizona, in the very same building I go to every Tuesday night for Institute. It promises to be an amazing conference. Andrea has been working day and night and every time in between (4am, anyone?) to make it great.
Check out the conference website and sign yourself up. You might notice a familiar name or two on the presenters page. How I ended up on the list with the likes of Mrs R, Kerstin Daynes and the always awesome Tamra Hyde is beyond me, but there I am.
What are you waiting for? Go and sign up!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Are You Going?
Are y'all going to the Families Supporting Adoption national conference at the end of the month? You really should. You can register by clicking HERE. I think you can still register. If you haven't already, get on it! Time's a-wasting. FYI, it's free for birth parents!
I am super excited to go! Will I see you there? Any of you? Most of my friends live in my computer so it'll be nice to see if some of them exist in real life, too.
I am super excited to go! Will I see you there? Any of you? Most of my friends live in my computer so it'll be nice to see if some of them exist in real life, too.
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