love

Sometimes I just look at her and think, my God, she is beautiful.  She is MY daughter?  You have to be kidding?

More about Wellfleet

First, I must stand corrected on my last post.  Charles says he is in the club too;  both men and women talk to him now about Zi and their children.  So, it is not a gender thing.  (Thanks Lori, for your confirmation of this as well).

Okay, so I promised I would write about Wellfleet, and I've needed this month to really think it through, and to deal with losing Phoenix immediately after our return.  And here's what I've come up with.

When I finished my undergraduate degree, I applied to all the best MFA programs.  I did not get into any of them.  If I go back now and read the poems I was writing, it is no wonder.  I was not young, but I had not learned much discipline in my writing.  I am better now, but discipline is still a struggle for me.  So, in graduate school (more at UTD than Auburn because there were just more creative writers there), I learned about workshops.  I learned how to take advice from other students but to still hold onto my voice.  But, if I'm honest, mostly I learned that workshops gave me structure and deadlines (the discipline I lacked).

So, when I applied to have a one week intensive workshop with a few other poets and Marge Piercy, I really was still looking for that..structure.  A motivation tool to get me working on my poems again.  What I got was what I expect people in MFA programs get.  A week with a whole group of talented writers and a mentor who is a major American poet.  What I loved about Marge is that she is a no bullshit woman.  If she likes a poem or a line she says so.  If she doesn't like it, she says so.  There was no time for anything else.  Not only does this help improve a workshop, it is a great way to live life.

And this is my challenge to myself:  stop the bullshit.

In the south, to be impolite is a sin.  But, I never felt Marge was impolite.  Instead, she was kind but honest.  I have spent most of my life bending over backward to make myself seem easy to get along with.  I have spent thousands of hours spending time with people I don't like because I felt I should.

No more.

So, if I call you or come see you, it will now only be because I want to.  And if you think you look fat in that dress, don't ask me, because you probably do and I will kindly tell you, yes.  :)  Okay, maybe I'm not quite that far progressed yet, but that is the ultimate goal.

And, of course, Wellfleet was absolutely gorgeous. Amazing what a town can do when it decides it doesn't want any chain restaurants or big condominiums built there.  It is nice to know that somewhere in this country people still believe that a beach without buildings is worth protecting.

Oh, and I also wrote some amazing poems.

I recently heard a great answer to the does this make me look fat question:  no, the jeans don't make you look fat, your fat makes you look fat.

The Club

I guess I'm now the member of a very old club.  I always wonder about selective clubs, about people who choose to keep other people out.  But a club that is self selecting isn't quite as troublesome to me.  Anyone who is able can be a member.  That seems okay.

But there is something strange about my induction into the motherhood club.  First, I think I have a special membership card that is stamped ADOPTION.  Now, maybe that makes me "special" and maybe not.  I don't have any way to compare it. Someday I'll have to find some people who have both biological and adopted children to see how much the different experiences matter.   If nothing else, the experiences are different.  I didn't have to push Zi out of my body.  Sometimes, I am thankful for that.  Sometimes, I am not.

Anyway, back to this club thing.  I noticed it immediately.  People who may have (and typically did not) never spoken to me before, began to strike up conversations with me.  This happens particularly often in grocery stores and Target.  And I don't mean a simple nod with a smile or quick hello.  I mean women who want to tell me all about their children, who want to know quite a bit of information about Zi, women (strangers, mind you) who suggest products that I should or  should not purchase.  I still find it slightly off-putting.

But what has been more interesting than those strangers is the women that I am friends with who now talk to me about things I didn't even know that they cared about.  Women whose children are grown talk to me about teething rings and naptimes.  Now, is this because I am suddenly consumed with Zi?  Probably.  But I have also had the distinct feeling several times that these conversations were always waiting in the wings, and it was not until I stepped into my role as "mother" that I could have them.  It is simply the phenomenon that strikes us when we buy or become interested in a new car and suddenly find that car everywhere?  Is that a club too?

And, this is not my imagination.  My blog is the perfect example.  I've been blogging for years.  Not many people read it.  Now suddenly, I have a whole new readership.  Mostly, those newbies are mothers.

Is this the nature of human existence?  That we are social creatures looking for any connection we can find, being a parent is just a new way to connect?  Or is parenting somehow different?  Is it natural selection that helps us join together to raise our children for the good of the entire group?

Is this gender related?  I don't think that this happens to Charles EVER.  I don't think (I need to ask him before I make too many assumptions) he feels any such "club."

But something about it still sits uneasily for me.  Yes, now I understand what people mean by the hardest job you'll ever have.  It is.  But there were things about being without kids that my friends who had children early never knew.  Yet, somehow, I never thought of not having children as a "club."

I'm still wrestling with this.  I don't really want to talk to strangers in Target.  But, I have enjoyed understanding things about my friends and family that I didn't understand before.

Nothing is ever simple.  And, I know, most of you come here for pictures.  So, here she is:

Party dresses

I don't actually wear party dresses very often.  But I do like them, so I buy them for Zi.  But people give us a lot of cute little dresses too.  This one was a gift from dad and Brenda.

I have been pouring quite a bit of creative energy into poems, so you will have to forgive me for posting mostly pictures lately.  I promise to write an actual blog soon.  In the meantime, enjoy the pictures.

The perfect onesie

When I saw this onesie, I immediately thought of one of Zi's Yangxi sisters, Shauna, and we sent her one for her first birthday.  But, of course, I needed one for Zi too.

While some days are challenging, Zi is one of the very best things in my entire life.  It took a long time and a lot of heartache to get her, but man, she was worth it.  Even when she is in full blown:

Video of Zi in Wellfleet, MA

I know that these HD videos run over into the sidebar, so if you'd prefer, you can go to YouTube and watch them.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpiEELT_Uzw

Sugar Highs

We had a wonderful whirlwind tour of Alabama this past weekend.  On Thursday, Zi and I went to Auburn and Montgomery to see some of my friends:

On Friday, Zi met my mother's family and ate birthday cake:

Then we drove to Pensacola and picked up Charles.  On Saturday morning we visited Ang, Buddy & Sylvia and Jordan, and then went for a walk on the Fairhope Pier:

Saturday afternoon we had a grand-slam birthday celebration with the Perry family:

She is sleeping a little more than normal today.  I wonder, why?  :)

For Phoenix

As most of you know, we euthanized Phoenix yesterday.  I wrote this for him this week.

RIP little buddy.

Lung Cancer

     for Phoenix

He grabs for breath, his rib cage pulsing like an accordion

that only rasps in a single note.  I can hear the fluid

holding him to the life raft, his eyes glassy as they look to some lost

place.  I cover him with blankets, bring water and my body

to comfort him.  He takes a drink and lowers his head

back to the bed; I disappear.  The air surrounds us

and my chests aches with the ease of my inhale, the exhale

following without my control. His struggle’s weight

caves the bed’s center, and he coughs, lightly,

as if there is nothing there to expel.  I know better.

When he gags, spits out a tiny mouthful of blood,

I wonder how much liquid a lung can hold.  How much

will drown him?  This is not the single, clean inhale

of salt water after a shipwreck.  This is a long, slow

death process that feels like sawing off pieces

of my body, one mouthful at a time.  

Last few days

It is probably better to die suddenly, with no warning.  I think if given the chance to know the exact date and time of my death, I would pass.

The first sets of tests support cancer in Phoenix's lungs.  There were also tissue samples that should be analyzed by Friday.  But, the doctor is not optimistic.  So, we get to have him home for a few days while we wait on those final results to make sure that there is nothing else we can do for him.  His breathing is extremely labored, I need to keep him calm, still, and quiet, and I have to get him to take some medicines.  On the other hand, he is still eating and drinking (albeit in small amounts), he still goes potty outside, and he is still his sweet, loving, beagle self.

So, we do get to have a few days more with him.  While I am abundantly thankful for this time, it is hard to watch him dying.  It helps to look over at Zi and to see her smile.

He has been a wonderful pet.  We will miss him terribly.