for her

Why do I carry on?  I ask myself this on day's like yesterday.

Why add more things to do? Why this blog?

At the end of the day, when I laid my head down and stared at the slanted light on the ceiling, I asked myself this.  And then came the still small voice that speaks to me when I am lost and I stop to reflect on my path.  I'm my mind, it is God the Llama. Monocle and all.

You know why.  

And I do.

The answer is my great-great granddaughter.  I'm banking on that girl.  I'm assuming she will care enough to want to know.  About me. And the minutiae of my life.

So today my post if just for her.  This girl I'm banking on.

I want to tell her that I love the sound of water lapping the side of a boat.

I want her to know that after family dinners, my grandpa finds a comfy chair and nods off to sleep with his hands crossed over his belly. And when he does this, it makes me feel that everything is right with the world.

I want to say that I've learned that following the zeitgeist of your time will only make you feel as though you are never enough.  Strike out on your own.

She should know that I love to run my fingertips through the whispy ends of weeds in a meadow.

And that I am painfully shy, but fighting to overcome it.

I want her to know that if the best day of your life is your wedding day, you are in trouble.  If done correctly, the best days are yet to come.

I want to tell this girl so much more. About love and life and how I'm learning to love life.

So I'll keep writing it all down.

For her.

Kelly snapped these photos of me on the sly while I was scouting out spots to shoot our model.  She sent them over as a surprise. That's why I love her.

blood is thicker than water

Do you think we look alike?

I want to say something to everyone today.

DNA dosen't mean crap.

And I have a little story to illustrate my point.

Some years ago, even before The Boy was born, The Sugar Daddy and I were starting to consider adoption.  And I was down with it. Except. 

Except I was sad that my children wouldn't look like me.

One day I was home alone thinking about this and feeling a little upset, shuffling around the house in my pajamas.  I went to get a cheese stick out of the refrigerator.  At the time we had the kind of fridge that you can hang stuff on with magnets and we had the whole front covered with photos and what not.

So I was getting this cheese stick and one photo in particular caught my eye.  It was a photo of my younger brother, The Rooster.

Now, The Rooster and I, well, we don't look a thing alike.  We share the same DNA, but you'd never know it.

Matter of fact, I don't look a whole lot like any of my siblings.  We are a strange family that way.  Do I love them less?  

So I saw this photo and I was struck by the fact that DNA doesn't mean crap.  It may get you your grandmother's nose, and a kidney if you need it, but it doesn't make you family.

A body is made of cells.  Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.  It's all just matter.  Crap, if you will.

People tell me my babies look like me.  I think people want my babies to look like me.  I don't know why. Maybe it's some underlying way of reassuring themselves that these children were meant for our family.  That the universe got it right.

I get that.

But let me ask you this.  I have a friend who's father was a serial murder.  She is a beautiful, amazing person. Did the universe get that wrong?

Blood is thicker than water, but blood is just blood.  

Just sayin'

charley d.

Charley D. is four years old.

Charley D. likes to eat cold cereal on her knees at the bar.

Charley D. also likes strawberries and powdered doughnuts.

Charley D. truly believes she is a princess and who's gunna argue with that?
I mean really.

Charley D. is my niece and I miss her so very much.

and she's ours.....

photo by little ol' moi, "Sweet Amelie"( more on this tomorrow)

Today is the big day.

Today the courts stamp the papers.

Today we become legally responsible for our daughter. Heaven help us. Seriously. Heaven, please help us be the best parents possible.

We are to be at the court at 8:30. Eight-thirty a.m. That's what you get when you let Sugar Daddy arrange things. He's an early riser, that one.

Me, not so much.

But maybe it's a good thing because as of late our sweet little bird has been cutting teeth, and folks, it's been ugly.

I'm starting to wonder if she might be cutting fangs.

If we can catch her after her breakfast and Tylenol and before her morning nap we may have a fair chance of getting some semi-decent photos.

But I'm not holding my breath.

No, today is a day to exhale. No more papers. No more social worker visits. No more interferences with the Lord's grand plan.

Ahhhhhhhh...........................................

finally

We would like to interrupt this blog to make the following announcement:

You see this baby? Yes, the little cherub in the above pic. That's the one.

As of 8:30 on February 24th the State of California will declare that she is all ours.

(Not that we needed them to tell us that.)

Please stay tuned for a ridiculous amount of pictures following this event.

persuasion

I don't live where is snows. I like it that way.

Last Friday it was eighty degrees and I wore flip flops while I baked Christmas goodies.

But every now and then my dad likes to remind me how beautiful the snow can be. He sends me photographs that he has taken around his icy home. Maybe it is his last ditch effort to persuade me to move back closer to my family.

It's not a bad tactic. It works pretty good.

For about ten minutes or so, and then I realize I really like to look at snowy photos, but I love living in a warm climate.

Nice try Dad. Your photos are amazing, but I think I'll stay right where I am.

meet the meekers

In the beginning there was just the two of us.

Me and Sugar Daddy.

For almost ten years we lived and loved as two. We were compadres, best friends and lovers.

We grew lonely for children, for that is what infertility is at it's core. Collective loneliness.

And then the boy arrived, unannounced. A huge surprise. Oh happy day! We were three. We bought the family meal at Oscar's. We signed our Christmas cards Love, the Meekers.

But still, in our heart of hearts, we felt like two plus one.

Today I awoke to the soft heavy breaths of my lover. Today I have a son, a daughter, a dog and a fence around my yard. I have tomato plants and dirty dishes in my sink. I have play dough crumbs on my table. Today I have spit up on my pajamas and bikes in my drive way.

Today I realized that my biggest childhood wish had come true.

Don't be surprised if I also become a mermaid and have a house made out of candy. Magic is in the air.

spring break

Spring break.

Three boys.

Lick-Em-Sticks.

Farts.

Giggles.

Kung-Fu fights.

Cartoons.

Twizzlers.

Pillow wars.

Strawberry waffles.

Blanket huts.

Feats of strength.

Secret hand shakes.

Sunscreen.

Sand.

And one ladybug feeling a little too loved by his mother.

the course ahead

On Friday we are boarding a plane to Utah. We have several items of business to take care of while we are there.


First and foremost, we will get to meet our birth mother face to face. I am so excited and nervous I don't know what to do with myself. I am searching for the perfect outfit that says "I will make a great mom for your baby". Tell me, what does that look like exactly? If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them. Please note that Lee jeans and Rockport shoes are out of the question. As are scrunchies, most sweater vests and any item with a Disney character on it.

Second, my father will be turning sixty-three. I swear he is more active now than he was at nineteen, when this photo is taken. His hairline hasn't changed a bit, but he only has a few black hairs left. His left ear still sticks out a little and we girls of the family think it is charming. Happy Birthday Daddy-O.

And then of course, there is Easter. Hopefully this year Thom will lighten up his game a bit and let some of the younger kids find an egg or two. Last year was a little embarrassing. I'd like to find a good recipe for hot cross buns to make for Sunday dinner and a really great tie for Sugar Daddy.


Today I should be getting the wash done and looking for a kennel for Finn, but instead I am going to the beach to play in the sand with my ladybug. There is not that much time left. . .

five and a half

Amy and Dave

Tomorrow I will be thirty-five. Damn I'm getting old. Maybe I'll get some Botox and a pair of Spanx. Actually, I'm going to see Hans because he can always work some magic and make me feel divine.

My little sister, Amy, is five and half years younger than me. It makes a big difference. She isn't getting wrinkles yet. She can still count her grey hairs.

When Amy was first born, she was my living doll. She was a beautiful child, all curls and smiles. She flourished in the lime light of our little family. At five and a half, I thought she was my personal miracle. I loved her dearly.

Amy, Dave and Charley

And then my brother was born. What can I say? Eight-year-old girls can be fickle creatures.

It was many years before I rediscovered the magic that is my little sister. Lost years.

I have worried about the age difference between Thom and the new baby. Will they play together? Will they be close? I have come to the conclusion that it may take time, maybe years, but they will have their own unique relationship. I won't be able to choreograph it, it will happen on its own, organically. He already sees her as his own personal miracle. He keeps reaffirming to me that she will be "his baby".

He has called dibs on all night feedings which sounds fabulous, if only it worked that way.

As for Amy and I, well, five and a half years is only a measure of the time we didn't get to spend being sisters. I think we have more than made up for lost time.

these hands

I don't have pretty hands. It's a fact. I've come to accept it. They have always been wrinkly, like I just got out of the bath, and my nails are often chipped and black from working with silver. I usually hide them in my pockets when I am feeling self conscience.

I tried getting fake nails to glam them up a bit, but they just looked like wrinkly hands with thick plastic ends. I spent the first day of my honeymoon ripping them off.

I inherited my ugly hands from my father, who, in turn, inherited them from my grandmother. My grandmother's name was Vola. Vola Wyatt. She was the pinnacle of our family. She made Christmas happen.

Her hands, her wrinkly hands, kneaded and draped and clipped and cleaned and stirred and smoothed until Christmas, Campbell style, materialized. Then she dialed and served and presented and hugged and made each of her grandkids feel like her favorite. I miss her so much this time of year my chest constricts each time I make one of her recipes or catch myself humming the way she used to hum. And, oh how I miss her hands. If only I could feel her stroke my hair or grasp my arm. If only I could plant one more kiss on her downy cheek.

And now it is up to me. I have to put my hands to work and recreate the type of Christmas I had as a child, the type of Christmas I want Thom to have. They are large gloves to fill.

second sister

This photo was taken in 1980. I was five, and my Irish twin, Heidi, was six. We were born only eleven months apart. We spent everyday of our childhood together. We were everything to each other. My sister spoke for me before I uttered my first word. She was my first confidant and my partner in crime.

When my little sister, Amy, came along five years later. Heidi and I viewed her as the youngster, the interloper. But life is funny, as we have grown older, Amy and I have formed a friendship that is as deep as my childhood bond with Heidi. There is nothing like having a sister that is also your best friend.

My relationship with each of my sisters is unique. We relate to each other in different ways. We live in three different states and at times I miss them both so much my chest hurts and my eyes sting. I long to hear Heidi laugh and listen to Amy use the lingo of our childhood.

I am so excited to feature today's artist and give you a chance to win some of their work. In the spirit of sisterhood, this one's for Heidi and Amy.

Say Your Piece

Eileen is a ceramicist who works out of Fairfield, California. She started an online company called Clayful Moments which specializes in beautiful clay impressions of the hands and feet of babies and small children. She expanded her work when she opened her Say Your Piece Etsy shop. All of her pieces are customizable and unique. You can also check out her other Etsy shop for more designs.

I am planning on ordering Thom's teachers personalized dishes for Christmas. They are just the right price!

Leave a comment and win this set of "sisters" dishes.
Sleep and Her Sisters

Katherine Quinn is an artist who lives in Napier, New Zealand. She creates the most whimsical and feminine paintings. She sells her originals in several different galleries. Her Etsy shop is Sleep and Her Sisters. She sells prints and magnets that would make a great stocking stuffer for your own family members. You can also read more about her here on her blog.

Leave a comment and win this print from Katherine Quinn!

Okay folks, I'm going to say this again.

You must leave an individual comment for each item you would like to win!

Sorry to yell, but because each item goes to a different winner, I need to have two separate lists. Your comment will not be included in the drawing if you don't specify. Sorry to be so strict, but that's just how the cookie crumbles.

The drawing will take place Monday morning. Please check back in to see if you have won. I will need you to send me your shipping address.

ohana

Camo Crab

Sugar Daddy says I pick up old habits when I get with my "clan". Habits like, popping my gum, pinching bottoms and a certain wicked sounding laugh us Campbell girls have developed over the years. I really can't help myself. It's not that I am a chameleon type of person, quite the contrary. It's just that the way I was raised is so much a part of the fabric of who I am that I will never, even when I am old and grey, out grow it. And I'm not sure I want to.

The last time my family was together in Hawaii was 1980 and we were minus the joker. He wasn't born for two more years. Here we are, I'm the sassy one in the front in the smart blue jumpsuit.

Heidi, Amy and me. We were already cackling at this young age.

Ohana: n. family. Ohana is comprised of the Hawaiian word that means ‘to sprout’ (‘oha) and the suffix ‘na’. Together, ‘oha and na mean ‘off-shoots’ or ‘sprouting from’.

On the islands, ohana is the not the most important thing - it is the only thing. Sure you have to work, but that is to support your family, sure you go fishing, but that is to feed your family, sure ... you even go out and party, but that is with your family, sure you have friends .. but they shortly become your family.

luck of the scottish

My little brother has lived a life of bad luck. Since birth he has always been a sort of Charlie Brown type kid. He was the one who received the deck of cards at the family Christmas party only to find that the entire deck was made up of jokers. He stood limply holding his cards and watched the other children open cap guns and remote control cars. This scenario was repeated year after year with various crappy gifts. In kindergarten, after an episode of throwing a chair across the classroom, he was diagnosed with ADD. After much thought, my parents decided to medicate him which started a decade of drug induced mild nausea. When he was nine, his beloved parakeet, aptly named Toronto, crawled under the dryer and died. Bad luck is a way of life with him.

Everything came to a head when adolescent stupidity collided with his knack for misfortune. There were several run-ins with local police. Handcuffs were involved and on several occasions, his face was pressed onto the cold hood of a cop car while he was patted down.

So it only stands to reason that I would be with him when I got my first ever speeding ticket. I've gone twenty-two years with no tickets, but as soon as I drive around with my charmed brother, some cop decides to pull me over. Evidently I was going 57 in a 35 zone. And there was the small matter of my expired proof of insurance and past due registration. I didn't take it too hard. After all, I had eluded the authorities for two decades.

So, here's a little tip for ya. When the officer writes your court date on your ticket, you may want to take it seriously. Apparently, this is an actual legal court hearing that you must attend and they don't take a spin class as an excuse. I actually totally spaced my court date and didn't even remember until a few days later.

Thom and I went to traffic court so I could clear up my little, now getting bigger, legal matters. We took a number. We waited next to the chain smoker who wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands without a cigarette to occupy them. We waited for 30 minutes.

I was informed by the contrite little man behind the counter that my fee would be $1,400. At that point, I had to do some major clenching for fear that I would loose my bowels right there in traffic court. After some meager attempts at flirting and leaning on my forearms to create cleavage (desperate times call for. . .) I haughtily handed over a check and said to Thom, loud enough for Mr. Traffic to hear, "Let's get out of this nasty place."

All this took place over a week ago, but I'm just now able to talk about it without a hateful, smarting sensation rushing through my body. Next week we go to Hawaii with my brother. The motto on our family crest translates to "Forget Not". Believe me, I won't be forgetting. I plan to give him a wide berth while we are on the island. I can just see me losing a digit to the beak of an octopus, choking on a lump of poi or more likely, getting arrested for trespassing.

If you are thinking of buying some Secondsister jewelry, now would be a good time. My bank account is a little depleted if you know what I mean.

gratitude

I was complaining to a friend that it seems like all I've heard lately is bad news. I really just want to hear some good news. I was reminded today, as I was cutting roses from my garden, of a poem by my favorite poet.

A Prayer in Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;

And give us not to think so far away

As the uncertain harvest; keep us here

All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,

Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;

And make us happy in the happy bees,

The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird

That suddenly above the bees is heard,

The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,

And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,

The which it is reserved for God above

To sanctify to what far ends He will,

But which it only needs that we fulfil.

-Robert Frost

moment of weakness

It's not that I have neglected my blog this week, it's just that I am having a "feel sorry for April" hiatus, which is unattractive and something I try not to air publicly. But some itches must be scratched, even if other people are watching. So if you just aren't in the mood for whining, click over to frecklednest.blogspot.com. She is in love and always very cheery.

***WARNING: WHINING AHEAD WARNING: WHINING AHEAD****

I'm thirty-four. 34!!!!! And I only have one kid. I know there are infertile people out there with no children who will read this and roll their eyes. That was me for 9 years of my life, so now it is my turn to have one and want more.

Thomas wants a sibling so bad he makes his friends (boys) play like they are his sister. It's pathetic.

This week I am so frustrated with the Chinese government adoption agency that I could just scream. The rate of child abandonment isn't down, yet they are working at a snail's pace. At this rate, we won't have Mei Mei until 2012! AHHHHHHHH.

Here they are. All lined up and ready for someone to snatch them up. I'll take the one with the chubby cheeks in the yellow Hello Kitty blanket please.

Missing Piece Necklace

Okay, now I'm done whining.

the big idea

Last night I was brushing Thom's teeth before bedtime. We talked a little about how if we don't brush our teeth the "sugar bugs" will eat holes in them.

"Mom, I know why the sugar bugs make the holes."

"Why's that?"

"For tunnels and doors for their city."

"Oh, you're probably right."

"Mom, we shouldn't kill the sugar bugs because they are nice."

"But they eat holes in our teeth."

"Yeah, but I think they are nice. Do they have legs?"

"Humm, I don't know if they have legs, but, we just brush them off our teeth and spit them down the drain and then they can build their city in the drain and not in our mouth where they can ruin our teeth."

I tucked Thomas into his bed and laid down by him. He likes someone to lay with him for a while, and it is a good time to talk one on one so I humor him.

"Mom! I know! We can get one of my teeth, when it gets loose, and put it in a jar and whatdosugarbugseatagain!?"

"Sugar."

"Oh yeah. And then we can get some sugar and sprinkle it on the tooth andthenthesugarbugscanliveonthattooth!!!!"

"Oh well that's an idea, but I think sugar bugs would prefer to live in peoples mouths."

"Oh."

We laid there for a while. Thomas wiggled around and kicked me a few times.

"Mom, the road outside belongs to God."

"Really? Time to go to sleep now."

"Mom, when our China baby grows up she will be my sister, right?"

"Yep, your little sister. Good night Mr. Bean."

"Mom, is my bike outside?"

"I don't know, go to sleep."

"Mom, I'm thirsty."

"No you're not. Go to sleep."

Silence.

"Mom?"

"What Thomas? What is it now?!!"

"I love you."

Ish Kabibble

I come from a long line nicknamers. Everyone in my family has a nickname. My mom stayed with us for a week and for some reason, unbeknownst to us all, started calling Thom (a.k.a. The rodent, a.k.a. Mr. Bean, a.k.a. Tommy B) Iscabibble.


Me: "Mom, what's up with that name? Where's it from?"
Mom: "What? Iscabibble? Oh, I don't know. Grandpa called him that last time you were out."
Me: "Well, like, where is it from? It sounds Jewish."
Mom: "You know Grandpa, he has all kinds of names for everyone. Fits him though, don't ya think?"

Well, actually, it kind of does.

But I really did want to know where the name came from, so I did a little sleuth work online. It turns out the name "Ish Kabibble" shows up here and there throughout time, in children's books and music. I think, however, that it is most likely that my grandpa heard the name on the radio.

Ish Kabibble was the nickname or stage name of Merwyn Bogue (born 1908), a comedic singer and trumpet player for Kay Kyser's swing band on a radio show in the 1930s.

I also read on one website that “ish kabibble” is Yiddish for “I should worry?”

I was able to snap a few jewelry pics when the sun finally came out yesterday, right before it went down.

gong xi fa cai!

新年好！新年快乐！

Tell me, how does one go about writing the first entry in a new blog? Introductions seem superfluous, you can read about me elsewhere on this site.

Maybe I will start with a few disclaimers. First off, let me just say right now that I am essentially anti-grammar. People rarely speak in full grammatical sentences, and because I intend this blog to become a "stream of consciousness" of sorts, I refuse to adhere to, what I perceive as, constricting grammar rules. SPOGG members beware. *

Secondly, I have come to the conclusion that many people create blogs as a forum in which it is socially acceptable to brag. I am no exception. I think my family is wonderful, my art meaningful and my taste impeccable. But there is a small caveat here. I also know that my family is far from perfect, indeed sometimes down right weird. At times, I have extreme insecurities about my jewelry and other artistic ventures. As for my taste, well let's just say I've been told by those near and dear to me that I tend to get eccentric every now and then. SO- just know that although my posts may sound rosy most the time, I'm here at home, unloading the dishwasher, kissing hurt knees, worrying about our adoption and screaming at the dog (I find I am more of a "dog screamer" than a "dog whisperer").

*These people need to feel the exhilaration of breaking a rule every now and then.