Thursday, October 30, 2014

Share with someone you know who is affected by infertility, adoption, or crisis pregnancy!

Readers, November is National Adoption Awareness Month. In honor of this special recognition and all the families affected by infertility, adoption, and crisis pregnancy, I will post a relevant article in my blog each week.

Today, I share "Don't Hate the Wait." The Wait for a child can be grueling for hopeful parents. Do not underestimate the weight of the wait! Please read this article and share it with anyone you think it may help. 


Click the links at the bottom of my post today to read the first five chapters of The Eye of Adoption.

Click the link at the bottom of my post to see fantastic adoption-themed books that are on sale for 99 cents throughout the month of November!

Enjoy, and happy Friday!


I wrote this article for the wonderful organization, a company committed to help men and women realize the dream of becoming parents!

May 11, 2013

Don’t Hate the Wait. Learn From It. families, I congratulate you for having the heart to begin the adoption journey. One of my friends acknowledged, “Everything about adoption is hard, except loving the child.” I agree, and I think you are in the hardest part of the whole experience: the mysterious, incalculable WAIT. But, The Wait will strengthen you. The Wait will educate you. The Wait will make you better parents.
I hate to wait. If a restaurant hostess hands me a buzzer, I beg my family to eat in the bar. In the springtime, I purchase and plant all my annuals on the same day to rush the bloom of color in my yard. My computer often locks up because I open too many windows and the applications can’t match the speed of my commands.
My husband, Jeff, and I had our first child, Houston, in January 2002. That same year, we began trying to conceive a second child, and, for the next six years, endured costly, embarrassing infertility treatments with no success. From 2002 to 2008, life routinely schooled me on grief, prayer, tolerating thoughtless comments, and overcoming intense emotional pain. Then we began the domestic adoption process. You can imagine that the adoption route was a significant challenge for an impatient person like me, already weary and tired of waiting for a baby.
The next two years proved to be the greatest education of my life, and I would like to share a few of the lessons I learned.
Lesson #1: Ask for help. You need it, you deserve it, and people are happy help you. Who doesn’t want to be part of a sweet adoption story? The prayer committee at my church, our friends, our doctors, the copy shop down the street, and even our veterinarian played a part in bringing our son home, once I asked.
Lesson #2: Trust other people. My husband is a procrastinator, but he eventually did everything I asked of him, and did it beautifully. Family members, social workers, clergy, and physicians have the same goal you do: a healthy child in a healthy home, but not necessarily on your schedule. Give them time.
Lesson #3: When we become frustrated as we wait in lines, we are likely focused on ourselves. We think, “Hurry up! Now I’ll have to lug my groceries through the rain, or “Great, now I am going to be late for work.” Instead of obsessing over your goal (which is totally worth obsessing over), concentrate on serving other people, especially the birth family. After you meet your child’s birthparents, your mind may still wander in worry that they will change their minds. That is normal. But, instead of panicking for you, pray for them.
The Wait allows hopeful parents time to become just that — parents. When you welcome your baby, you will need help. Ask for it. When you have to work, get the flu, or just need a break, you will have to depend on other people. Trust them. Take time now to master the most important parenting skill of all — putting someone else’s needs ahead of your own. Focus on the birth family.
In May 2010, on Jeff’s birthday, we welcomed our second child, Scotty. I thank God, social workers, selfless birthparents, and The Wait, for preparing me, not only to have a baby, but also to be my baby’s mother.
In order to encourage, enlighten, and even entertain adoptive families, I narrate my family’s adoption journey in my book, The Eye of Adoption: the true story of my turbulent wait for a baby. I hope that, by reading my post and perhaps my book, the lessons I learned will help you as you endure The Wait.

CLICK HERE to see the wonderful books on sale throughout November. (Once there, click on book cover images to visit the authors' Kindle pages).
Need more help? Email me at I love encouraging waiting parents.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Theory 53: This only child loves attention. And appreciates her readers.

I wore a bra for the first time today. Whoa, let me rephrase that. I wore a bra for the first time in 1984 at the ripe old age of 9. I wore a bra for the first time today since my surgery, October 1. Today is October 24. I’m not going to lie. I’m actually going to be cliché and say the same two sentences that EVERY woman I have EVER met who has had breast reduction has uttered with total certainty:

1. “It is the best decision I have ever made.”
2. “I should have done it ten years ago.”

In last week’s post, I stressfully summarized my state of mind/blog ability for the day by writing, “See Theory 52.” I literally (no pun intended) had time to type two words and one number. As I explained in Theory 52, I have BIG things happening now and in the near future. Let me recap and update you readers who are probably already sick of hearing me write about me (thanks, by the way, because your attention and comments and emails truly help me):

ISSUE 1:                Breast reduction surgery.
STATUS:               Completed! Whooooooooooooop!
That/they is/are out of the way. Yay! I honestly believe that getting Atlantic and Pacific reduced and out of my way has changed the speed at which I operate. Burdens were lifted. I can mop faster, reach higher, high five without bumping boobs with the other high-fiver, lie on my back and read. Heck, I can even cross my arms! My buddy Digits is working up the nerve. She took one look at me and emailed my surgeon. Go girl! Get rid of those girls!

My surgeon

ISSUE 2:               MASTER’S DEGREE
STATUS:               Lucky me!
I have earned the privilege of sitting in one spot for four straight hours tomorrow (Saturday) to take a comprehensive exam. I must articulate my teaching philosophy. That’ll be fun. Oh, and did you all know that tomorrow is game day, Tennessee vs. Alabama? Buck Fama. Sorry. Had to. #VolForLife#GBO

Pimp that ride


STATUS:                Yee. Freakin. Haw.
Delicious, Red Hot Backspace, and I edited, formatted, proofed, and labored through the impossible: inserting footers to finish the manuscript. I uploaded the big         fancy final project to my publisher/distributor yesterday and ordered a hard copy proof. Even the cover looks good!  Next, I get students to collect orders from family and friends. We are planning a book launch with the Scone-Ad’s Teen Living and Family & Consumer Science classes. I can’t wait to launch this book with my students. I am unbelievably proud of my students. I can’t wait!!!

STATUS:                 I feel some major adoptive mother guilt here. 
While I barely have time to come up for air (though I am breathing more easily thanks to ISSUE 1), I still desire to do anything and everything Tinkerbelle (Gnome’s birthmother) desires. She is more than reasonable and very sweet and respectful. Even my subconscious is stressed about this issue. Two nights ago, I dreamed that she was pregnant again. We were at a party together and all my cousins were there to meet Tinkerbelle. (No one in my family has met Tinkerbelle). Anyway, she and I had on long, layered, neon dresses. The dresses were designed to burn one layer at a time, from the bottom up. HUH? Once our dresses were mini-skirts, we got tattoos together. Say what?!? Ideas? Suggested prescriptions for me?



I'll just say this. Look, insurance is the name of the game. The moment Tall Child and I left the safe harbor of my banking career and all its benefits, Sharky tripped and broke his two front teeth in half. Then, I had a female “issue”---nothing shameful, just aggravating. Then, we adopted Gnome. All under the fake-pathetic-rip-off whatever coverage of a BCBS (BS) self-employment policy. Needless to say, we paid premiums AND all medical expenses. As Tall Child put it, “The only way that insurance policy was going to pay off was if one of us got cancer.” Well, I guess that’s why they call it catastrophic coverage. It’s catastrophic alright. Let me think of all the C words that apply:

Credit goes to crap
Corrupt industry
Can’t go to the doctor when you are sick unless you won the TN State Lottery
Continuous anxiety and expense
Certainty that your “self-employed” rear will leave that comfy house-wife sofa to land on a teacher stool

Okay, I’m off the insurance soap box. Anyway, my job and health insurance status are safe, but I’ve gone and applied to a fantastic former employer. I am waiting to hear if they have an offer, and for how much. And then I’ll do the math. The mental math. 

Here are the variables in this equation:
Time off
Stress level
Opportunities to be creative
Opportunities to make even more money
Opportunities to help my family and help others
Further education/training

Here are the constants:
Tall Child
TIME I NEED to party in Townsend, which brings us to ISSUE 6

ISSUE 6:                RIVERDANCE
I told you that Delicious (a retired school teacher who knows exactly how much it costs in gas to get from Sevierville to Knoxville and back) and I, a fledgling school teacher/possibly banker/unsure really, are trying to buy a second home in Townsend, TN. Look. We dream big!!! We do not factor money into our dreams. Why would we? Sometimes we have it. Sometimes we don’t. We are still here. When we dream, we work. And, despite what we lack in the beginning, we usually see our dreams come to fruition.

When Pooh passed away, Delicious made about $25,000 a year and I was a freshman in                 college. I took my pitiful self to IHOP and worked. Hard. I helped her pay bills. I high school, I busted (burst) my behind to secure scholarships. I worked. Hard. I graduated early with no debt.

When I met Tall Child, I knew I wanted to marry him. I was a perfect girlfriend. No ultimatums. No pressure. I never did one stick of his laundry. We didn’t live together. Heck, I bought my own house when I was 25. I worked. Hard. Many years later, he fell               prey to my predatory ways. Happily ever after…sort of…you know the drill. Poor guy.

After Sharky, we wanted another baby. For the next eight years, Tall Child and I struggled through the misery of infertility and its treatments, then the   mental/financial/emotion test from Heaven and helk: the adoption process. I worked. Hard. When we applied for adoption, I had $100. Two years later, we brought home our Gnome. I worked hard and was blessed beyond measure to meet Tinkerbelle.

I dreamed of becoming a published author. I dreamed of writing something that would minister to the adoption community. Tall Child said I was crazy and didn’t have time. I woke up at 5 a.m. for a solid year. I worked. Hard. I published The Eye of Adoption in March 2013. Since then, I’ve published a small collection of essays, a short story, and I’ve written countless articles and blog posts.

So Delicious and I want a second home, a dumpy little cabin that’s more like a box-shaped tent, close to the Little River. Why? Because that was Delicious and Pooh’s dream. Just looking for a place has given her new life! We act in faith, ya’ll. So should you. I bought diapers and baby blankets in the eight years I waited for Gnome. Delicious and I scavenge through Goodwill and thrift shops for river house furniture. We aren’t greedy. We aren’t even materialistic. Once, I did a spreadsheet and showed Tall Child my figures. I spend around $1500 on myself per year. (That amount even included two Dollywood Gold Passes and two Knoxville zoo passes)! I’m frugal from day to day. I’m conservative.

In The Eye of Adoption, I quote an acquaintance who said, “If what you are doing is right with God, the money will show up.”

Delicious and I are dreamers. And, we share the spoils of our dreams with those we love. We don’t buy stuff. We buy experiences and memories!

Do I come across as self-involved lately? If so I apologize. And, at least I admit it. Hey, I’m a stereotypical only child. I like attention, I may communicate in an odd fashion from time to time, I need my mama, and I see the world through a focused view (from me outward). Not sure about all that grammar right there. I’ll get mama to proof. Anyway, thanks for listening/tolerating. Once I get all these big things wrapped up and finalized and over with, I’ll get back to being funny. I promise! I warned you, readers, waaaaaay back in Theory 1: People write diaries hoping someone else will read them.

Readers, what are your dreams? Do people laugh at them, only to respect you later for having the intestinal fortitude to bring those dreams into reality?

Hey, thanks for hanging with me and being this lonely only’s online friends. I value your insight and love you more than you’ll ever know. I wish I could hug you. Though I’m not sure the hug would be as enjoyable as it would have been a month ago.

If you need me, I'll be here (eventually):

Don't let people laugh at your dreams. If they do, don't invite them to the second home you can't afford.


See you next post. Until then, DREAM BIG and think outside the barn, no matter how big it is!

Friday, October 17, 2014

Busy Busy Busy

See Theory 52. Ha!

TGIF! (Except that I have class all day tomorrow). Ugh.

Happy weekend, readers!


Friday, October 10, 2014

Theory 52. Working mothers are “the man.”

Way back in Theory 4: Don’t judge a woman by her accent or breast size, I expounded on the myth that big breasted women are wild and loose. I further explained the burdensome load of being well-endowed in Theory 38: Orthopedic bras aren't sexy. Part DDDD, then H, then J. At the end of that post, I told you that I had scheduled breast reduction surgery. I planned to do it at Christmas time, for two reasons. 1. I’d have plenty of teacher time off to recover, and 2. Last Christmas break was marred by theft, exhausting work, annoying obligations, and, to be honest, grotesque, gag-me-with-a-dead-Smurf shopping that I dread and despise. I figured doing the surgery at Christmas would be par for the yucky pressure-filled seasonal course.

As all working mothers know, plans are pointless. Right? JUST when you think you have everything figured out, all helk breaks lose. And, doesn’t it seem like EVERYTHING happens at once? I am coping with so many “big” things right now, that I had to make a list and tape it to my computer so I wouldn’t neglect a life event. The bullet (not to be confused with bucket) list:

  • Breast reduction surgery (four hours “under” and 2-3 week recuperation time)
  • Finish master’s degree in curriculum and instruction (December comprehensive exams and graduation date)
  • HUGE student anthology project with 470 author-freshmen (Red Hot Backspace and I will edit, format, upload, proof, order, proof, revise, proof, order, ship, etc. by December 9)
  • Gnome’s birth mother wants to do a family photo shoot with ALL of us in October so she can take an album on her trip to visit Gnome’s birth father the first week of November.
  • My principal informed me that I may not have a teaching position at my (the best ever) junior high school next school year. I teach vocational courses and the district is changing the vocational offerings at the high school, which trickles down changes at the freshman level. I have no tenure. Last in, first out. So glad I took accounting so I’d understanding my situation. My dear principal, with whom I have a great relationship, promises to try to find me another position in my district, but she has little to no control over that. And, no one leaves M.C. Schools. I drive 40 minutes one way to work in that prestigious district because the students are ideal, my colleagues are outstanding, and the pay scale is one of the highest in the state. Why, even with a master’s degree (see bullet # 2), I’d take a $7,000 pay cut to work in the county where I live. I’m not sure my attitude would adjust. Plus, Sharky is in a new, pricey school and we still pay daycare. So, that settles that. My options are: get lucky and find some spot (any spot will do) in my perfect district or leave teaching.
  • WHICH MEANS I am job hunting. At the perfect age of 40.
  • The whole family must adjust. Not only may I end up changing jobs, I may end up changing industries, which affects Gnome and Sharky the most (think summer, Christmas, spring break, fall break --- what do I do with them?). And, quite honestly, leaving the education profession will break my heart because I love the creative, dynamic, fulfilling experience that teaching provides.
  • If I change jobs, my new employer may ask that I tone down my blog. I'll keep readers posted if the tone of Theories: Size 12 must change. We'll see. Oh, and, if I change industries, I'll have less time to write. So many goodbyes, potentially, coming my way. But, good things, too!
  • Did I tell ya’ll that Delicious and I are trying to buy an old house near the Little River in Townsend, TN. Sure, why the helk not? Subtract paycheck. Add mortgage. Makes sense to us. HA!
Or, as Gnome would ponder aloud, “Seriouslessness?”

But, I BOUNCE BACK! I've been through much tougher times. Haven’t we all?
Working mothers, these are the reasons I write so often about our toil and triumph! We are so strong! My sweet colleague, Tech Savvy, tried to make me feel better. She suggested, “Bug, why don’t you just hang in there with the district and do some interim work like cover maternity leave for other teachers until [so-and-so] retires at the high school?"

I appreciated her advice, and she is trying really hard to help me by asking around the area about potential openings as well as sincerely praying for me. But, unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of taking interim, short-term, mixed assignments because, as I told her, and as I told my principal, “I am basically the man.” Not “the man” as in a stud, but “the man” as in “the woman” whose job must not only provide a good income, but must also provide health insurance, dental insurance, vision insurance, and retirement benefits.

Please note that I honor and respect my husband. Tall Child is the man, too. He works very hard, loves his job, employers, and clients. He is a good daddy and spends lots of time with Gnome and Sharky. Helk, he even went to the grocery store last week. But, the insurance burden is on me. Even though I sport a uterus, I provide for my family. Just like the traditional, proverbial, bread-winning man.

I figure I'll get some housewife panties in a wad over this post. Yes, it is tiring taking care of children all day. I know. I was a housewife for a bit. But, and I only speak from my personal experience, there is NO comparing the difficulty in being a working mother and being a stay-at-home mother.

Once, in an unwise moment when I was a full-time bank executive working from 8 to 5:30 Monday through Friday (Fridays til 6), with customer call nights every other Thursday til 8 and working every fourth Saturday, 49 weeks a year, Tall Child smarted off, "Wow, this house is a wreck. [Friend's stay-at-home wife] keeps her house clean and smelling good all the time." That was the time I threw my underwear drawer across the bedroom. It shattered. Of course, I had to buy wood glue and fix it.

Sorry, but this is my truth. As my hard-working, single-parenting, dynamo sister-in-law Dogwood Debutante recently said, "Wow, my house would be clean, too, if I had an extra 50 hours a week at home instead of work!"

We've/I've hustled at different levels. A was the hardest. E was the easiest.

Level A: Bank executive
Level B: Teacher and author running small publishing company
Level C: Teacher
Level D: Part-time worker (substitute teacher)
Level E: Housewife

I am not afraid to say that being a housewife (Level E for Excellent) was profoundly easier than being a working mother. Tall Child worked very hard to give me those years with Sharky and I will be forever grateful. Unfortunately, the recession changed things for us. BUT, but, but, I LIKE working, and don't think I'd go back to housewifery again, even if I had the choice. Who knows? And, I may be headed back to Level A, but I'm okay (actually a little excited) to do so. The important thing is that I adapt. That's what working mamas do, right? 

So, friends, forgive my woe-is-me diatribe, but I write from my core, and my core is sore. Oh, yes. Sore from stress, but also, ding!-ding!-ding!, sore from surgery!  Because of the possible mid-year job change, my surgeon agreed to move my surgery up to my fall break (last week). YEE-HAW!

On the morning of October 1, I checked into the hospital a whopping, strap-straining, back-aching size 34J. Late that night, I checked out of the hospital at least 2.7 lbs lighter in the bra and potentially (once the swelling subsides and I can take the bondage-bandages off) 8, yes, E-I-G-H-T cup sizes smaller. YAAAAAAAAAY!

If I weren't looking for a respectable job, I’d post pictures. This is the best I can do. And, it’s not too far off the real deals.



So, one bullet down (or should I say two bullets down?) and a few to go.

Friends, thanks for listening. I feel like I got a lot off my chest (sorry, couldn't resist). I appreciate you. 

Working mamas, this post is dedicated to you. Keep taking care of business!

Oh, and I DO have a funny post in progress. Stay tuned and think outside the barn!


Let's talk! Find me and friend me!

Also, visit or my website to read about my book, The Eye of Adoption, my short story, Field Day, and my collection of essays for parents and teachers, Parents, Stop and Think.

Author website:

Facebook: Theories: Size 12 (See each post, comment, share, and talk directly with others readers and me!) I'd LOVE to hear your theories!