Girls in the Hood

Pardon my month-plus hiatus from blogging on life-changing issues such as motherhood. 

I've been too busy being a mother.

This picture was taken a few weeks ago, as Ari and I were heading out to the park. What strikes me about the pose -- besides the fact that she's the photogenic one -- is that we look like we belong together. 

Times have changed since our rough get-to-know-you-in-China days, and there we are: happy, both wearing our hoodies, mom and daughter, thick as thiefs. And I'm smiling even though I'm holding her on my bad shoulder, the carnival-incident shoulder that still hurts to this day.

At the beginning of our adoption journey together, I hurt in another way: because I had missed the first 12 months of her life and missed her first birthday.

But now I see the birthday cake as half full.

Because I realize that, as her mom, I still get to see many, many "firsts." I got to see her becoming a US citizen, navigating on her rocking horse for the first time, consuming her first American foods. I got to experience her first visit to McDonalds (I'm not entirely proud of this, but there you have it; after all, McDonalds is the fast-track to becoming assimilated as an American). 

I also got to see her get her first pair of shoes and felt good knowing that, thus far in her opinion, nobody can fill mine.

And now some milestones are really happening. She can now stand on her own for a couple of minutes, and just a couple of days ago she took five -- yes five! -- steps forward without any help from me. It's bittersweet because I want her to grow and develop, but it seems she is attaining all these skills at a lightning pace, and the selfish part of me still wants the little, more dependent baby.

She babbles constantly, and she's starting to talk. She says "mama" regularly, and she also has in her repertoire the following words: Ow, Ouch, and Uh-Oh. Words to live by in our home, as mama regularly hurts herself with her clutsy ways.

She learned "Ouch" from me at the carnival. Every time she says the word (her pronunciation is drawn out: Owwwwwch), my shoulder hurts all the more.

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She writes about medical advocacy at www.bethlgainer.blogspot.com, and her cat Hemi blogs at www.catterchatter.blogspot.com. Beth teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris University in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com./.

Why Amusement Park Rides are Not Amusing, and No Carnies Were Harmed at the Local Carnival

But I was.

First of all, I'll say it right now -- I hate rides, have always hated rides, and hate rides more than ever since Friday's fiasco at a local carnival.

Come to think of it, I'm not too partial to carnivals either because they are weirder than all-get-out. But at their best, these events are fun, family-oriented events.

A friend called me and told me she noticed there was a local carnival at a church's parking lot and wouldn't it be fun if Ari and I could go with her and check it out? Reluctantly, I agreed.

I was nauseated upon entering the place because I saw wild rides for adults that are miraculous to survive (maybe why the carnival was on a church's property?). I couldn't look at all the contortions people were allowing themselves to be put through. And then my own childhood fears reared their ugly heads: what if that flying saucerlike contraption fell on my head? Things like that.

We were looking for the kiddie rides (which are still a challenge for me to tolerate) for Ari's sake (that's my story and I'm sticking to it), and I was praying that there would be none and we'd have to resign ourselves to eating lots of junk and playing the throw-the-dart-in-the-balloon-and-win-a-stuffed-animal game.

But there were a few kiddie rides. My heart sank.

Ari and I first rode this slow train, which was too fast for me. My child looked bored.

Then we upped the ante and went on one of those slow carousel-type rides inside creatures that float up and down from time to time. We were in the dragon creature, and Ari was safely buckled into my lap. As reported by my friend, Ari had a HUGE smile. I loved that she was clapping her hands and rocking back and forth to the rhythm of the background music. She was so happy, it filled my heart with joy -- even though I was praying for the ride to end and I wore a fake smile so should Ari turn to look at my face, she wouldn't see a miserable momma.

The fun really started when we got off the ride. I was holding Ari with one arm and slowly getting out of the hellish contraption when I realized my equilibrium was thrown way off.

I fell toward my left side with the baby in my right arm. Motherly instinct kicked in, and I held onto Ari like a running back holds onto a football (a quality running back, that is), and the child thankfully was not hurt -- just a little shaken. She cried for 30 seconds. On the other hand, I wasn't doing so well.

As I fell, my left hand grabbed the top of the fence surrounding the ride. My left leg scraped onto the concrete ground. Yes, I was a diagonal Stretch Armstrong. I didn't know my arm had that rubberlike capacity. And, yes, that's spelled P-A-I-N.

For the baby's sake, I was calm. My friend didn't see the fall, but I told her all about it. I hope she doesn't feel guilty for suggesting this outing (Yeah, right). Seriously, after that incident, we said there'd be no more rides, and we went on to playing those carnie games and winning stuffed animals (I like stuffed animals because they can't hurt you).

So as I laid in bed with an ice pack under my Stretch Armpit and another on top of my shoulder, I had time to reflect over lessons learned:

• Tylenol for arthritis really rocks.
• I still hate rides.
• My baby is the coolest person I know.
• I could be recruited by the NFL.
• My baby is the coolest person I know. (Yes, I said it before, but it's so true, I have to say it again.)

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She writes about medical advocacy at www.bethlgainer.blogspot.com, and her cat Hemi blogs at www.catterchatter.blogspot.com. Beth teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris University in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com./.

Goal-Driven Running Diva

One of my favorite blogs to read is Raptitude.com. It is well-written and insightful. Particularly, reading the following blog helped inspire me to see my goals through fruition. Reading this posting will help anyone who is serious about accomplishing tangible goals: http://http://www.raptitude.com/2009/09/how-to-make-a-life-list-youll-actually-do-a-comprehensive-guide/

In my last blog, I waxed and waned about how I could no longer run and had to take note for what I'm grateful for. While I'm still grateful for all I have and have accomplished, I think I gave up on running too soon.

I had a setback and got discouraged.

So, after reading the aforementioned blog, I decided to start running again and not let my surgical wounds wound my psyche. And the reason I'm sharing this with you now, is that one motivating factor is public accountability. When you are publicly accountable and tell people your goals, you are more likely to set out to accomplish them.

But goals need to be realistic. While I'd love to win a 5K, my super slow-twitch muscles will never make that a reality. However, a realistic goal is to run a 5K -- at a pace that's comfortable to me -- within the year.

So here's my goal this week: One day this week, I will do a short run and last it out. My strategy: Spanx, Extra Strength Tylenol, great music on my iPod, and putting on my running shoes, and become a running diva in a small neighborhood. I will also take a spa bath to relieve the aches and pains that I expect after the run.

I will let you all know how it goes. Even if I don't succeed, at least I will have tried.

In the meantime, feel free to leave comments below on your goals or just to cheer me on. Now that my goal is public, I am bound to make it come true.

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She writes about medical advocacy at www.bethlgainer.blogspot.com, and her cat Hemi blogs at www.catterchatter.blogspot.com. Beth teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris University in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com./.

No Leopards Were Harmed While I Shopped

They've eluded me for years. I spent long days and nights dreaming of them and seemingly chasing them around the globe like Captain Ahab pursues the whale in Moby Dick. But unlike Ahab, I finally have them in my possession.

A pair of leopard-print shoes!

Yes, I am aware that leopard prints have been out for quite some time, but you see, it's a great feat to dress my feet. They are as wide as the state of Montana, and the countless times I saw a pair of leopard-print shoes, I'd step inside the store, only to be disappointed that I wasn't able to step inside the shoes. Eventually, I stopped trying and just stood drooling at the beautiful leopard prints at stores' windows.

(BTW, I've acquired a lot of envy points for Cinderella,who got to fit into her shoe right away and got a handsome prince to boot!! And she could probably fit into any boot she wants.)

During the time I was unable to realize my fashionista potential, I kept myself busy with projects, but a pang would hit me when watching some fashion newbie sporting leopard-print shoes on What Not to Wear.

So imagine my shock when I was passing an Aerosoles store today, and there were a pair of leopard-print flats in the window. At first I thought they were taunting me, and I told myself not to go in for yet another disappointing venture. I told myself that it was OK to drool instead.

But I forced myself to walk in and inquire about the shoes. And my heart skipped a beat when the saleswoman brought me a pair that fit and were comfortable!!

Ah the ecstasy.

So I purchased them. No more drooling at store windows.

As a bonus, no leopards were harmed in order to dress my feet. I'm a diehard animal lover who never wears real fur. It was the print, not the animal, I was after.

A few things to know about leopard prints:

1) They are cool.
2) They are a neutral and go with everything, from dresses to jeans.
3) They can be used to dress up or dress down an outfit.

I do love shoes, and if I had my druthers, I'd have a lot more. However, I do stay within my budget and am not materialistic. I can justify my recent purchase because I have a dress code at work, where looking professional is highly valued.

Do you have a story on shoes to share? It can be a favorite pair that you describe in loving detail or a pair you hated. It could even be a pair you fondly or embarrasingly recall (remember Earth shoes and those disco heels from the 70s? I wore both, thought I was cool, but of course I was not).

Anyway, feel free to share your shoe story by leaving a comment.

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She writes about medical advocacy at www.bethlgainer.blogspot.com, and her cat Hemi blogs at www.catterchatter.blogspot.com. Beth teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris University in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com./.

Baby and Traffic Court

Today a face like this was with me in a place where people are paid to openly dehumanize other human beings, a place where the immoral dregs of society (i.e. some government employees) like to beat your morale to a pulp -- traffic court.

It was me, not she, who got the speeding ticket a few months ago.

But moving to a house and going through a rigorous adoption process around this time were enough to make me a tad addle-brained. Nevertheless, I do take full responsibility for doing what humans occasionally do: forget.

So today I found myself and baby going to the courthouse and paid $80 for the honor of seeing a judge, who told me I'm now eligible to take the course again, and then I paid $59 for the privilege of being able to take the course in 4-6 weeks.

So when Ari and I first got there, the jerk behind the traffic school counter said (to me, not she), "You are proven guilty. So what are you going to do about it?" Too shocked to give him a deft reply, I asked what my options were, and this microorganism responded in an unintelligible grunt. When a nice woman behind the counter offered to help me because here I was with an adorable baby, I gladly accepted her help instead.

She said I was technically guilty, and before she could continue, Mr. Microorganism interrupted with, "See, I told you so. What do you think about that?" By this time, I was ready. I said, "Sir, you have done nothing but treat me with disrespect. I demand to be treated with respect."

Shocked, he slithered away, and the woman continued to say that I'd be fine if I just followed proper protocol. So I was happy with that. She asked me how old my precious daughter was, and I told her. Even the judge smiled a bit seeing me with a sleeping child in my arms. Government employees even filled out parts of forms for me.

That's right. For me. All because I had a baby in my arms.

So in a weird twist that played out like Paper Moon meets Erin Brockovich, I found that having an adorable child is actually helpful -- in traffic court. And I instantly had the urge to go all Angelina Jolie and adopt, like, several more children. Just to be treated kinder for the rest of my life.

Based on today's observations, here are my tips for how you can be treated more nicely in traffic court: Bring a child. Here are the specifics:

1. The child must not be a newborn; newbies are just blobs without personalities.
2. The child must be no older than two. The cuteness factor diminishes as the kid ages. Also, the terrible twos will get you into trouble in public places.
3. If you do not have kids, bring a friend's.
4. Bring only one child. Sibling rivalry will cause a judge to hate you.
5. If you have a partner, leave him or her at home. The single mom image is the strongest one that will garner the most "oohs" and "aahhs."

Got a great traffic court story? I'd love to hear some, as I need a good laugh to help me recover from today's fiasco. Please feel free to share in the Comments section.





Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She writes about medical advocacy at www.bethlgainer.blogspot.com, and her cat Hemi blogs at www.catterchatter.blogspot.com. Beth teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris University in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com./.

On Anal-Retentive Parents

In my last posting, I blasted those parental scorekeepers who judge other parents. And now I'm about to do the same thing: Hell, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

My target in this posting are anal-retentive parents -- you know, the type who cannot stand their kids getting dirty or messy. The type who pick up every crumb as it drops to the floor or wipe their baby's mouth after every bite.

As if these kids are part of the Royal Family and a paparrazi deluge is expected.

These are the type of parents I don't quite understand because the fact is this: babies do get messy...in fact, they are dirt magnets all the time. It's nice to get pelted with cottage cheese or spaghetti sauce. It brings out the kid in me.





I revel in Ari's messes, seen in these pictures of her attempts to eat angel hair pasta. My little angel may not be pretty while she's eating, but she's having fun. There will be time enough for her to be a prim and proper adult, but that time is not now.



And I've even frequented public places with my kid looking like a waif (gulp!). Remember the scene in The Sound of Music, when the kids are pomp and circumstancing around the countryside dressed in drapes? Sure the kids were wearing window treatments, but they had more fun than the other kids in Austria whose parents were constantly picking up after them.

Ari may be wearing much of her dinner, but who really cares?

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She writes about medical advocacy at www.bethlgainer.blogspot.com, and her cat Hemi blogs at www.catterchatter.blogspot.com. Beth teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris University in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com./.

Parental Thought-Police

According to Dictionary.com:

"spoil

  [spoil] Show IPA verb, spoiled or spoilt, spoil⋅ing,noun

–verb (used with object)

1.	to damage severely or harm (something), esp. with reference to its excellence, value, usefulness, etc.: The water stain spoiled the painting. Drought spoiled the corn crop.

2.	to diminish or impair the quality of; affect detrimentally: Bad weather spoiled their vacation.

3.	to impair, damage, or harm the character or nature of (someone) by unwise treatment, excessive indulgence, etc.:to spoil a child by pampering him."

It's hard enough being a parent, but unfortunately what comes along with this is verbal misuse, determined by parents and non-parents alike. Over the last month, I've talked to countless people about parenting -- asking for advice -- and I hear two camps: "Go ahead and spoil them; you can't spoil them too much," and the critical "You are spoiling your child because she gets everything she needs and wants."

Yes, I'm spoiling my 13-month-old by giving her hugs and kisses when she wants, holding her when she needs comforting, soothing her when she needs it, having her sit on my lap if she wants to, and for being next to her when she's playing independently.

My baby is very attached to me, but isn't that a good thing? Also, considering that she's been attached to her caregivers in an orphanage and in foster care, I think we can be safe in saying she needs a little extra TLC.

Or maybe I should make her put on a business suit and send her to work so she can earn her keep.

By attending to her basic needs, I am not impairing, damaging, and harming her character by excessive pampering, as defined by the dictionary.

Maybe people should read more, so they actually understand the context of the words they are misusing.

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She writes about medical advocacy at www.bethlgainer.blogspot.com, and her cat Hemi blogs at www.catterchatter.blogspot.com. Beth teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris University in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com./.