Let's try this again ...

I haven't updated this blog in forever. Lame.

I didn't think I had anything to say. I mean, this blog was sort of a gimmicky idea and it felt like the cleverness had run its course. But then I thought of all the hoping-to-adopt blogs I read, and how even when there's nothing new that's specific to the adoption world, the blog authors write about their lives so that prospective birth families can get to know them better.

I don't think I've done that at all. How full of fail am I?

So I've decided that I'm going to update a lot more often, mostly with really stupid things about my day or things that make me happy, in case there are any readers who want to get to know me before committing to an "adoption" plan.

Sound good?

I'm going to pretend that all two of my readers answered in the affirmative.

...

Now that I've given myself carte blanche to ramble about whatever the heck I want, I'm going to complain about my air conditioning.

My air conditioning likes to randomly turn off. Sometimes I discover it when I'm at home and I realize it's a little warmer than I like, and other times I don't discover it until I get home from work or somewhere else, and it's 90 inside my condo.

I've had a repairman here twice. The second time he said that the unit was just old and that it was going to keep breaking down. I relayed this information to my landlords. They are, understandably, reluctant to buy a new AC. I've never bought one before but I'm assuming they're ridiculously expensive. Especially here in Phoenix. In a place as hot as this, AC companies can charge pretty much whatever they want to, and we'll pay it, because we have no choice.

I would like a new AC though. Is that awful of me? I mean, I do like my landlords very much. But the old AC is a relic, and my electric bill is pretty scary, and I keep thinking that a quiet, new, Energy Star-compliant AC would be nice. Did I say my electric bill was scary? I should have said my electric bill is a horror film. I can't open an envelope from SRP without first fortifying myself with a piece of chocolate, and sitting down.

Of course, SRP is like the AC companies - they can charge whatever they want per kilowatt-hour, and people here will pay it, because when it is 115 degrees outside, reliable electricity isn't optional. I suppose that strictly speaking they have competition from APS, but the company you buy power from depends on where you live, and I'm in SRP territory.

I just keep reminding myself that in a month or two, the rest of the country will be cold and dark and miserable and eventually buried in snow, and I'll be driving around town with my windows down, wearing short sleeves and flip-flops.

Theoretically.

In practice, living here has made me enough of a wimp that when it dips below 75 outside, I start wearing jackets and shoes that require socks, and drinking hot chocolate to keep warm. I'm not even kidding.

I think that's it for now.

I suck at blogging lately. I remember when I started this blog I had all these fantastically clever ideas for blog posts. I'm not sure what happened to them.

I'm feeling like a bit of a Debbie Downer lately, and you're going to have to read about it.

One of the fun (ha-ha) things about being single is that any time the topic of conversation turns to relationships, you're subjected to a slew of platitudes and cliches and trite reassurances. I've begun collecting them, and each one is as nauseating as the last ("There's a shoe for every foot! There are plenty of fish in the sea! He's out there somewhere!") Everyone has a story about someone they knew who didn't get married until they were much older than you are, and so you shouldn't give up.

I appreciate that other people have so much faith in my future. It's nice that every single person I have ever spoken to thinks that soon (like, probably tomorrow) I am going to be swept off my feet by the most amazing, handsome man in the world, and all this will just be a memory. It's sweet how stupid people can be, it really is.

The fact is that there are plenty of women who never marry, and I'm no better than any of them. My single sisters tend to be highly educated, well-paid, successful, and happy. There are worse ranks I could join.

I don't particularly want to join those ranks, but this isn't the sort of choice that I get to make for myself. And I know that you (yes, probably you) could tell me about this great woman you know who didn't marry until she was 37, and she's so happy now, so I shouldn't give up. Do me a favor, and ask that happily married friend how many dates she went on. I don't care if they were bad dates. A date is a date.

I have never been on a date. I am twenty-seven years old. Guys just don't seem to look at me that way. I don't take it quite as personally as I used to, because the older I get the more that I realize many, many men out there simply don't ever grow up. Men who don't grow up don't date or get married (as a general rule).

I would still love dearly to adopt a husband. But I guess my feeling these days is that if I've done all I can do and I don't see any results, it's time to put my focus elsewhere. The longer I cling to the idea of being someone's wife, the worse off I am. I wasted my early twenties telling myself that this thing or that thing wasn't important, because I was going to get married. As a result, I am much farther behind in my studies than I should be. I never bothered to choose a major or look into careers because I didn't think I'd have to. Now I'm in a position of having to support myself. I can't plan ahead as though I'm going to get married, because it just doesn't seem likely at this point.

I don't know what more to do to not be single. It's not as though I've got ridiculously high standards and I'm turning men down. I don't think I'd ever say no to a first date. But I'm not being asked.

I've found that when I start to lament my single status, my mother tries to cheer me up my telling me how wonderful I am. I'm not sure what she hopes to accomplish with this. All it do is convince me that I must be physically repulsive, because if I really were that wonderful, I'd have married eight years ago. My mother once made a list of all the great things about me, and my physical appearance didn't make the cut. I sound like a bad personal ad. I have a great personality.

I don't mean to sound like such a negative nancy, really. Most of the time I am quite happy being single. It would just be easier to be happy being single if married people weren't so vocal about how happy they are to be married. I wish they could just be married and shut up about it.

Okay, I'm done whining.

The Obligatory "Sorry I Haven't Been Updating" Update

I haven't updated this blog in more than two months. I think I may have said this before, but I'm coming to appreciate how hard it must be for couples to update their adoption blogs. What is there to say when there's nothing to say? Absolutely nothing has changed. I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to and it just hasn't happened yet.

I've talked to my bishop about things because I've been discouraged. His advice wasn't anything shocking - focus on the things I can change, improve myself, and let God take care of the rest. And so I'm working on it. I'm going back to school in January if I can get financial aid worked out, and I'm looking into student loans that will also cover living expenses (rent, for instance) so I can move out and be independent and meet new people in a new place.

I don't want to say I've given up on adopting a husband. I would still love that more than anything. But I'm not obsessing about it anymore. Que sera, sera and all that. I'm trying to take the mental energy I used to spend thinking about my (lack of a) love life and channel it into something more productive.

I'm considering learning to knit, for instance.

Only I seem to remember giving knitting the old college try a few years back, and I also seem to remember sobbing, in the fetal position, surrounded by piles of knotted-up yarn. Maybe knitting isn't for me.

I could learn Spanish. I'm thinking that's a good idea, actually, because I was recently called to play the piano in my stake's Spanish-language branch, and the only Spanish I know is ... let's see, los nombres de los animales, y los colores, y un poquito de las palabras yo no hablo delante de mi madre.

(And please don't comment to correct my horrible Spanish. I know it sucks.)

My biggest problem in not focusing on my lack of a love life is my mother, whose most recent Facebook status update was "It's raining men!" I have tried to kindly explain to her that it's difficult for me to not focus on romance when it's all she ever talks about. I have done this more than once, and I still find myself listening to her talk about a dinner date with one man, a lunch date with another. And one of her more persistent suitors sends flowers several times a week, so there are visual reminders as well.

I feel like a jerk for telling my mom, basically, to shut up about her love life. I really do. But if I were on a diet (which I am, incidentally) and she was constantly talking about fattening desserts she'd eaten, it wouldn't be unreasonable for me to ask her to stop. I have to consider my own sanity, right? Such as it is.

Anyway. That's about all I've got to say on the subject for now. I'm working on a few actual, relevant blog posts. We'll see how that goes.

Mama Said ...

Sometimes I like to make my mother listen to me whine about being single. It's fun. For me, anyway. Not so much for her, but I can't be arsed to worry about that. One thing she likes to tell me to try to make me feel better is that there is an amazing man out there for me. She doesn't seem to know where on earth he is, and neither do I, so that doesn't do me much good.

She also tells me I have to be patient and that things will happen when they happen, not when I want them to. Not that that's news to me. I KNOW I have to wait. I can't just make thing happen because I'm tired of waiting.

So, this afternoon, I was washing dishes, and although I've heard that song about whistling while one works, I've never been able to whistle. So I had the TV on instead, on one of the music channels we get as part of our cable package. I prefer channel 925, which is Party Favorites. I started to sing along with one of the songs that came on halfway through my dish-washing, and as I did so, I thought, yes! That IS what Mama said!

No, not that there'd be days like this (my mom's an optimist), but that you can't hurry love. You've just got to wait!



Apparently, Diana Ross and I have the same Mama.

Waiting

I think I've mentioned it before (if not I know it's somewhere in my sidebar) that I am a birth mother. Several months ago, I could mostly only see adoption from my side of things, and I had a hard time relating to or understanding adoptive couples. Their perspective was distinctly foreign to me, and although I couldn't understand their position, I didn't envy them for it either.

Then a few months ago I decided maybe I needed to approach marriage from the same angle as couples who want to adopt. I wasn't having any luck with the way I was thinking, and if the hoping-to-adopt angle helped grow families of two into families of three or more, it could certainly grow my family from one to two!

And while I would never, ever presume to say that I understand the heartache and the interminable wait that couples go through, I think I've got a bit more sympathy now than I ever did before. Because I am doing everything I can possibly think of to keep myself occupied while I wait, and I'm running out of ideas and starting to wonder what exactly it is that's kept me from being chosen yet.

I've long since grown weary of people's suggestions for things I can do to attract a potential husband. But I've taken them anyway. And I've run out of ideas. Now I'm at the point of second-guessing even the most minute of my decisions and actions. I'm just not sure what more I could possibly do. What in my life is lacking? Marriage is a righteous desire. I pray every night that I can meet a good man who will marry me in the temple. Am I somehow unworthy? Has God found me wanting? Undeserving of a husband and children?

I'm not only second-guessing my decisions, I'm second-guessing myself. I'm at the point where I think, something must be wrong with me, or I would be in a relationship. My mother assures me that there's nothing wrong with me, that I am smart and funny and clever and a good writer. She doesn't usually say I'm pretty, which makes me think I fit the dreaded "great personality" category reserved for people who can't honestly be described as even okay-looking.

Again, I certainly don't ever want to diminish the pain that infertile couples feel. But I've always thought, they at least have each other. All these amazing couples who are certified with LDS Family Services might not be able to bear children, but they are sealed to each other for eternity. I've got bupkis.

It stinks. There's nothing I can do but wait. Waiting is the hardest part. It's interminable. I could be waiting for the rest of my life. Sometimes it already feels like I've been waiting forever. I don't know what else I'm supposed to do. And so I wait.

I Almost Forgot!

My brother was kind enough to point something out that I neglected to mention, something that is very important to me and my family.

My late father would never, ever forgive me if the husband I adopted was a fan of the New York Yankees. I realize these are fighting words, but in my family it's better to die alone than to marry a Yankees fan. So, let's add that to my list: must love baseball, but not the Yankees. A Dodgers fan would be a plus, but so long as you're willing to root for whomever's playing against the Yankees, it's all good.

Oh, Ireland ...

I had the idea in my head that I might adopt a husband in Ireland. Oh, not really. I'm not stupid. But I thought, wouldn't it be nice? And I do love it here, so how perfect would it be if I got to get married and live here to boot?

Alas. It seems that every citizen of the good old R of I has either a drinking problem, or a smoking problem, or a swearing problem, and quite frequently it's all three. Men here also seem to think that an appropriate way to let a woman know they find her attractive is to honk at her and shout suggestive things through the open windows of their automobiles.

Classy.

So I think I'm back to the idea of adopting domestically. Fewer legal issues to worry about, and I'll at least know where my future husband's family is coming from. There aren't a lot of big, important cultural differences over here, but I think, what if I did marry an Irish man, and his mother held it against me that I'm American? What if she'd had her eye on a local lass for her son to marry and she hated me for ruining her plans?

Really, I've dodged a bullet here. Ideally, I'll adopt a husband from a nice family who loves me and thinks I'm great. People here just seem to think I need a flatiron.

But it is lovely and green, and I'm going to miss it. I'd love to come back someday soon. I'm thinking honeymoon.