I totally don't understand so much about this process. I am totally going to need every bit of the next three or four years to figure out stupid little things like "choosing an agency." I'm one of those kinds of people who will have to be incredibly comfortable with that decision, because I will be freaking out every step of the way, anyway. But then, I have a knack for having epically poor luck when it comes to choosing service providers (see: endocrinologists), so maybe I should just pull a name out of a hat and go from there.
Either way, a few years ago, I came across Rainbow Kids, an informational site about international adoption. It's actually a pretty fantastic resource for several things. I spent a few hours the other night going through their special needs section, as it lists a lot of the common issues that fall under that special needs heading. If you read my last overly-neurotic adoption blog, you'd see that I was struggling with whether I felt capable of taking on a special needs child. After reading through the very brief information Rainbow Kids had on each issue, I was better able to understand what we would be taking on... But more on that later. They also have a section that lists adoption agencies by the country from which you wish to adopt.
As I mentioned before, I fell in love with the idea of adopting from Ukraine several years ago. My husband thinks it's important to adopt a child that "looks" like we do; he says it is hard enough growing up adopted without having to add having a different racial/ethnic background from one's parents. Not being adopted, I really don't have a leg to stand on in that argument, and if it's something he believes so strongly, then that's the direction in which we will go. So, when I began researching, I kept it to the Eastern European countries. At the time, Russia and Ukraine were the biggies, with a few adoptions taking place every year from some of the other former USSR countries. I wouldn't count out any of those countries, but I just never felt very comfortable with Russia's program. They didn't seem to exude the care and concern for the welfare of their orphans that Ukraine did. Ukraine really seems to have the best interests of their children in mind, and I can appreciate that.
So, I took a look at the agencies listings on Rainbow Kids and read through their mission statements, services, breakdowns of cost, etc. There were a handful that work with not only Ukraine, but also some of the other program like Hungary, Latvia, Bulgaria, etc. I think I would like to have the option to work with an agency who has multiple relationships in that part of the world in the event that Ukraine doesn't work out or doesn't feel like the right fit for us, anymore. I'll probably go back and read through them all again, but at the moment, I think I have narrowed it down to four: About a Child, Adoption Ark, Kids to Adopt, and Children's House International (in that order).
About A Child works with military families, and that is evident just by reading their cover page. I get a good feeling from their page, and when it's time to request information, I will be looking into them. Adoption Ark was an agency I looked into a few years ago. I think I even requested information, but I have no idea what happened to the packet they sent. Kids to Adopt seemed to be fairly honest about the Ukrainian program, and that puts me a little at ease. And CHI has been around since the 70s, so they have a lot of experience, but I do kind of worry that they would be so big, they wouldn't have as personal a touch.
So, now I'm wondering: when is the right time to realistically request information? I know it's just information, but I don't want to jump the gun like I did the last time around. Three years is a long time and a lot can change between now and then... Or maybe I should just do it so I can really get to researching?
Pfft, I'll just nerd out with some spread sheets and call it an evening.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
When Are You Going To Be Home? Or: Why I am in Georgia
E and I tend to scram when S is going to have a heavy workload; this is reason number one we are in Georgia for the fourth time in six months. Sure, there are other reasons like: Washington make me want to rub my face on pavement, I needed an entire week that was a temperature over 55 degrees consistently, and that damn volcano.
I swear, if that thing ever erupts in my lifetime, it will be while I am living within proximity of that shitstorm.
Anyway, this summer, S's unit is providing the support for the training camp all ROTC students must attend before commissioning as officers. Since learning of this huge undertaking a bagillion months ago, we have been repeatedly told why we would never see our spouses. Ever. It's a 27/7/60 kind of job. It was brought up at every FRG meeting and every coffee group I have been to since the beginning of the year, and each time we were reminded that we would be seeing very little of our guys and girls.
My thoughts on this subject went a little something like this: 3 hours of regular family time daily/new summer schedule = my brain exploding.
So, I decided to bring the munchkin home for a visit with her favorite people and keep my sanity. Because, well, we have officially entered the terrible twos. It's tantrum city up in here, and anything from a dirty look to not being allowed to lay in the middle of the road during rush hour results into a 5 minute melt down followed by even less cooperation.
She's been having a blast. She loves her Ya-Ya, Grampa, and uncle, and all of the time she has been getting to spend with them. She blossoms every time we come "home;" her language skills flourish, she makes incredible strides developmentally, and she becomes so independent and helpful. She has taken on the job of making sure every door in the house is always closed, she grabs someones hand and pulls when she wants to go do something, she has decided she no longer needs to sit in the high chair. Her sentences have gotten longer and more complex; being around other people who love and adore her every day has just made a huge difference... She is more herself. It just further cements in my mind that WA is not the place for us.
If it weren't for my husband and pets and HHG (House Hold Goods) all being there, I probably would never go back. Ever.
The worst part about hating where we live is not being able to talk about it with most people. The second I do, they assume we don't go do things or explore, or plan play dates or see friends. They think I just need to "make the best of things," and if I don't like it, I haven't tried very hard... or at all. The military community can be very judgemental, sometimes, and when a spouse voices her dislike for anything, there can be a mass-attack.
I don't think any of them really realize that that just makes things worse. It's not working. I'm miserable all. The. Time. And either that is affecting my child or she is miserable, as well. I just wish someone would say: "You know, it's okay that you hate it. I hate it, too." Or "I'm sorry you aren't having fun. I wanted to gouge my eyes out when we lived at Fort___." However, everyones instinct is to say "I LOVE Fort Lewis. There is so much to do and here are all of the reasons why." Follow by all of the above.
The good news is, we will get to leave. Someday. The bad news is: I don't know when, and it's probably at least a year and a half away.
Okay, I have to stop thinking about Washington. I can feel my soul slowly slipping away. In the meantime, I am going to try to forget it exists and instead focus on the sun, the warm, the thunderstorms, the friendly people, and our amazing family, instead.
Except the humidity. It can go straight to hell with Washington.
I swear, if that thing ever erupts in my lifetime, it will be while I am living within proximity of that shitstorm.
Anyway, this summer, S's unit is providing the support for the training camp all ROTC students must attend before commissioning as officers. Since learning of this huge undertaking a bagillion months ago, we have been repeatedly told why we would never see our spouses. Ever. It's a 27/7/60 kind of job. It was brought up at every FRG meeting and every coffee group I have been to since the beginning of the year, and each time we were reminded that we would be seeing very little of our guys and girls.
My thoughts on this subject went a little something like this: 3 hours of regular family time daily/new summer schedule = my brain exploding.
So, I decided to bring the munchkin home for a visit with her favorite people and keep my sanity. Because, well, we have officially entered the terrible twos. It's tantrum city up in here, and anything from a dirty look to not being allowed to lay in the middle of the road during rush hour results into a 5 minute melt down followed by even less cooperation.
She's been having a blast. She loves her Ya-Ya, Grampa, and uncle, and all of the time she has been getting to spend with them. She blossoms every time we come "home;" her language skills flourish, she makes incredible strides developmentally, and she becomes so independent and helpful. She has taken on the job of making sure every door in the house is always closed, she grabs someones hand and pulls when she wants to go do something, she has decided she no longer needs to sit in the high chair. Her sentences have gotten longer and more complex; being around other people who love and adore her every day has just made a huge difference... She is more herself. It just further cements in my mind that WA is not the place for us.
If it weren't for my husband and pets and HHG (House Hold Goods) all being there, I probably would never go back. Ever.
The worst part about hating where we live is not being able to talk about it with most people. The second I do, they assume we don't go do things or explore, or plan play dates or see friends. They think I just need to "make the best of things," and if I don't like it, I haven't tried very hard... or at all. The military community can be very judgemental, sometimes, and when a spouse voices her dislike for anything, there can be a mass-attack.
I don't think any of them really realize that that just makes things worse. It's not working. I'm miserable all. The. Time. And either that is affecting my child or she is miserable, as well. I just wish someone would say: "You know, it's okay that you hate it. I hate it, too." Or "I'm sorry you aren't having fun. I wanted to gouge my eyes out when we lived at Fort___." However, everyones instinct is to say "I LOVE Fort Lewis. There is so much to do and here are all of the reasons why." Follow by all of the above.
The good news is, we will get to leave. Someday. The bad news is: I don't know when, and it's probably at least a year and a half away.
Okay, I have to stop thinking about Washington. I can feel my soul slowly slipping away. In the meantime, I am going to try to forget it exists and instead focus on the sun, the warm, the thunderstorms, the friendly people, and our amazing family, instead.
Except the humidity. It can go straight to hell with Washington.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
I need a Jar, a Dictionary, and a Spreadsheet
Recently, I mentioned that I had a newly renewed interest in pursuing an international adoption in the future. The idea had been slowly reintroduced to me over a couple months, but what really caught me by the heart and dragged me in was Lora's story, which I found through a mutual friend. Someday, I might muster the courage to reach out to Lora, but right now, I am just going to cower behind my computer screen and hope she doesn't catch wind of the fact that I have been obsessively stalking her adoption story (and by stalking, I of course mean, reading avidly).
Writing about it here like an idiot probably isn't helping matters.
Anyway, she has given me a lot to think about, as have some of the ladies on the Army Officers' Wives Facebook page... But mostly Lora (can I call you "Lora?" Geeze, my interwebz etiquette must really be lacking... I have no idea how to behave, ugh). I don't want to tell her story, because she does such an amazing job doing so herself--seriously, take a few days, and go read it; it's funny, and heart-warming, and heart-wrenching, and scary, and amazing. So is the rest of her blog, but I had enough trouble getting through the adoption posts without someone trying to wipe snot all over my legs... The rest might come later. If ever (although, I read her new posts everyday).
(^See? I ramble).
Anyway, I was particularly intrigued by her story because (aside from the fact that her daughter was born in Ukraine) she and her soldier-husband chose to adopt a child with special needs. In her first adoption post, she mentioned falling in love with a picture of a child, knowing that child was supposed to be a part of her family, and then looking into adoption. I, on the other hand, had researched the shit out of this topic a few years ago, and know, more or less, what lies along that path. Even still, I couldn't help but follow her links, which led me to a non-profit organization called Reece's Rainbow that advocates for special needs children living in Eastern European orphanages who need families. I felt as though Lora had issued a challenge to me, and I was willing to accept, despite my unease with the nature of the organization (not what they do... just to say that the whole ministry thing sort of puts me ill at ease, not being Christian and all...).
So, I began to "thumb" through the pictures of waiting children they have posted, wondering if I would feel the connection she felt, which eventually (in a round-about sort of way) led her to her daughter.
Lucky for everyone, I was not love-struck this go around.
Sure, "lucky" probably seems a bit harsh, but I am nowhere near ready for this, and I would have jumped headfirst into it if I had been shot by cupid's mom arrow.
Phew. Bullet dodged. For now.
But, it did make me think about adoption in a whole new way: Would I be willing to adopt a special needs child? That's a really big undertaking, especially on top of all of the other things that can come with adoption. Being married to an adoptee is probably a much different experience than parenting one, but there are still unique challenges. I started to mull it over, because, of course I would have to be ok with it before asking if my husband was. And then I called him and we had a short chat about it.
His major concern, of course, was whether adopting meant straying from our baby 2013 plan. No. Definitely not. I'm talking 5 years down the road minimum (I think...eek). And then I asked him about considering special needs. He was quiet for a minute, and I could immediately tell he was on the same page I was: yes, but not really.
A lot of those illnesses and diseases and conditions scare me. Terrify me. Not all, but most. Is that bad that I am admitting that? I feel like I am being insensitive for wanting to reserve myself for a "healthier" child, if not a healthy one. It just seems like a dick move to say "here is my list of approved illnesses and conditions." And do they even do that? Either way, I am going to be in for a lot of research in the next few years (to go along with my "adoption jar"). I knew I should have gone to med school, even if to just understand some of the terminology that goes along with a special needs child (damn you, chemistry, you heinous bitch, you).
And then there is the Army.
We have big dreams of living overseas when our children are older--old enough to remember it and go do things. But bringing a child with special needs into the family can potentially kill that dream in an instant; if it's determined there won't be adequate facilities to address the needs of that child overseas, they won't let us go. It's a practice I can both appreciate and hate at the same time--best interests over dreams is no contest, but it still makes me sad that I would be losing that dream.
It's not off the table. Again, this is me rambling and trying to work through a very complicated series of thoughts and emotions. I really need to focus my attentions on things a little less taxing like which kind of apple pie to serve at the next FRG meeting or how to explain to my husband that 11 hours of sleep IS sleeping in.
So, I think I will start collecting the names of agencies and looking into how much this will cost so I can get to saving... While making PubMed my best friend.
Writing about it here like an idiot probably isn't helping matters.
Anyway, she has given me a lot to think about, as have some of the ladies on the Army Officers' Wives Facebook page... But mostly Lora (can I call you "Lora?" Geeze, my interwebz etiquette must really be lacking... I have no idea how to behave, ugh). I don't want to tell her story, because she does such an amazing job doing so herself--seriously, take a few days, and go read it; it's funny, and heart-warming, and heart-wrenching, and scary, and amazing. So is the rest of her blog, but I had enough trouble getting through the adoption posts without someone trying to wipe snot all over my legs... The rest might come later. If ever (although, I read her new posts everyday).
(^See? I ramble).
Anyway, I was particularly intrigued by her story because (aside from the fact that her daughter was born in Ukraine) she and her soldier-husband chose to adopt a child with special needs. In her first adoption post, she mentioned falling in love with a picture of a child, knowing that child was supposed to be a part of her family, and then looking into adoption. I, on the other hand, had researched the shit out of this topic a few years ago, and know, more or less, what lies along that path. Even still, I couldn't help but follow her links, which led me to a non-profit organization called Reece's Rainbow that advocates for special needs children living in Eastern European orphanages who need families. I felt as though Lora had issued a challenge to me, and I was willing to accept, despite my unease with the nature of the organization (not what they do... just to say that the whole ministry thing sort of puts me ill at ease, not being Christian and all...).
So, I began to "thumb" through the pictures of waiting children they have posted, wondering if I would feel the connection she felt, which eventually (in a round-about sort of way) led her to her daughter.
Lucky for everyone, I was not love-struck this go around.
Sure, "lucky" probably seems a bit harsh, but I am nowhere near ready for this, and I would have jumped headfirst into it if I had been shot by cupid's mom arrow.
Phew. Bullet dodged. For now.
But, it did make me think about adoption in a whole new way: Would I be willing to adopt a special needs child? That's a really big undertaking, especially on top of all of the other things that can come with adoption. Being married to an adoptee is probably a much different experience than parenting one, but there are still unique challenges. I started to mull it over, because, of course I would have to be ok with it before asking if my husband was. And then I called him and we had a short chat about it.
His major concern, of course, was whether adopting meant straying from our baby 2013 plan. No. Definitely not. I'm talking 5 years down the road minimum (I think...eek). And then I asked him about considering special needs. He was quiet for a minute, and I could immediately tell he was on the same page I was: yes, but not really.
A lot of those illnesses and diseases and conditions scare me. Terrify me. Not all, but most. Is that bad that I am admitting that? I feel like I am being insensitive for wanting to reserve myself for a "healthier" child, if not a healthy one. It just seems like a dick move to say "here is my list of approved illnesses and conditions." And do they even do that? Either way, I am going to be in for a lot of research in the next few years (to go along with my "adoption jar"). I knew I should have gone to med school, even if to just understand some of the terminology that goes along with a special needs child (damn you, chemistry, you heinous bitch, you).
And then there is the Army.
We have big dreams of living overseas when our children are older--old enough to remember it and go do things. But bringing a child with special needs into the family can potentially kill that dream in an instant; if it's determined there won't be adequate facilities to address the needs of that child overseas, they won't let us go. It's a practice I can both appreciate and hate at the same time--best interests over dreams is no contest, but it still makes me sad that I would be losing that dream.
It's not off the table. Again, this is me rambling and trying to work through a very complicated series of thoughts and emotions. I really need to focus my attentions on things a little less taxing like which kind of apple pie to serve at the next FRG meeting or how to explain to my husband that 11 hours of sleep IS sleeping in.
So, I think I will start collecting the names of agencies and looking into how much this will cost so I can get to saving... While making PubMed my best friend.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Transitioning into a Jedi Master
One of the things I have been wrestling with lately is my lack of blogger-focus. I kind of remind myself of Luke when he goes to get trained in the force by Yoda, but all I can focus on is moving the damn rock instead of moving the damn rock (do I know what I am talking about, or what?). It's total force-by-blogging... And evident that I am very much a nerd and my husband's nerdiness is rubbing off on me.
Or something.
Anyway, if the paragraph above is not evidence enough that I am a rambler, I'll repeat: I ramble, and the complete lack of focus on my blog is even starting to bug me. I think about the bloggers I read and the blogs they write, and they write about one or two aspects of their life, and leave the rest to the imagination... Jamie entertains with her craftiness and interwebz-finds, Kerry explains what it is like being an American in Australia, and TheBloggess writes about being TheBloggess...
And what do I write about?
I don't even know.
So, I am going to start focusing. Focus, focus, focus. I am going to make that plane rise out of the swamp, and then I am going to ruck-march a small green alien. From now on, I am going to try to keep it to the transitions in my life (you know, using that dumb title I came up with a few months ago in a coffee-induced haze): becoming and growing as an Army family, living diseased, and writing/publishing. And food. Cause I like food. If I'm good, I'll be able to link all of those things together. That will make for some interesting titles, eh?
We'll see how this goes...
Or something.
Anyway, if the paragraph above is not evidence enough that I am a rambler, I'll repeat: I ramble, and the complete lack of focus on my blog is even starting to bug me. I think about the bloggers I read and the blogs they write, and they write about one or two aspects of their life, and leave the rest to the imagination... Jamie entertains with her craftiness and interwebz-finds, Kerry explains what it is like being an American in Australia, and TheBloggess writes about being TheBloggess...
And what do I write about?
I don't even know.
So, I am going to start focusing. Focus, focus, focus. I am going to make that plane rise out of the swamp, and then I am going to ruck-march a small green alien. From now on, I am going to try to keep it to the transitions in my life (you know, using that dumb title I came up with a few months ago in a coffee-induced haze): becoming and growing as an Army family, living diseased, and writing/publishing. And food. Cause I like food. If I'm good, I'll be able to link all of those things together. That will make for some interesting titles, eh?
We'll see how this goes...
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Thinking Hurts
I've been away from my regularly scheduled program, which is why I haven't posted anything in... Forever. I am sure I am due a few things about which someone might actually care, but instead you are stuck with this, because, well... This is what I want to write about.
A few weeks ago, one of my friends from back home (we were in school together all through K12 and were pretty close in middle school) left me a comment and recommended that I read something on one of her other friends' blog. I cannot for the life of me remember what it is I wrote that spurred out that particular transaction, and really, in the grand scheme of things, it probably isn't important.
Anyway, my friend sent me to My Camo Kids, which is written by a fellow Army officer wife, Lora. I get the impression she is from my hometown, and if I had to fake a guess, I would say she was probably my friend's older sister's friend in real life, but I have no idea, and I am shy enough that I will probably never ask (why am I saying all of this? I swear, I have the worst time getting to the point). I'm really good at imagining things in my head, sometimes, and this very well might be one of those times, but I'm just going to go with it. Anyway, I read whatever it is my friend wanted me to read, had a quick ponder over it, and then headed to the "about" section of her blog, simply because I am overly curious. There I learned that we not only shared an Army bond (Hooah...ish?), but that she and her husband grew their family through an international adoption.
Okay, I can almost see your eyebrows lifting in question (in that wtf-is-this-nutshell-talking-about), but if you bare with me for a few minutes, I'll elaborate as best I can. Several years ago--I was still a student at Georgia Tech, so it was at least 4 years ago, but more likely to be like...6-7 years ago--I somehow became interested in International Adoption in general, but adoptiong from Ukraine in particular. I did some research, had rambling conversations with my husband, and eventually decided that was something I wanted to pursue in the future. I was going to set it on the back burner, because, well, I was A) too young at the time and B) was not wanting children any time soon, anyway.
Over the years, the image I had painted of the process slowly began to be eaten away. Several of the courses I took in both my undergraduate and graduate degree programs began to make me waiver in my desire to adopt from Ukraine (not to mention that the country closed down adoptions there for a period of time sometime in there somewhere...). It all because a little complicated and confusing for me, and I ended up moving the idea from the back burner to the freezer.
Fast forward a few years; I got bit by the baby bug, I got pregnant, E was born, and adoption was the last thing on my mind. And then, one day, I was driving on post and there was an MWR (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation) sign that was begging for JBLM families to foster. It got me thinking about adoption, again, but this time from the domestic side. My academic conscience couldn't find a while lot wrong with adopting domestically (though the legality that comes with foster-adopting is scary stuff). A few days later, in the Army Officers' Wives Facebook group, someone brought up adoption and it became a rather popular discussion. A lot of women on there discussed their reasons for going the international route for their adoptions: it's tough to do a domestic adoption in the US. It's nearly impossible for military families who constantly move (this is just the opinion of a handful of people, but it made enough sense to me). They expressed their preference for international adoption, simply because it is easier, and my academic self was tackled by my common sense self; I was reminded of what I had probably known all along: having a family might just be the most important thing to a child without one, regardless of where that child is born.
So, the thought reentered my mind, and it once again became a possibility for the future. And then I found Lora's blog. Today, I went and read through some of her posts that were tagged "adoption," and I got a better feel for what her early-on experiences were (I haven't made my way through all of the posts)... And for someone who really has a hard time believing in things like signs and "meant-to-be's," it sure felt like a kick in the pants.
A few weeks ago, one of my friends from back home (we were in school together all through K12 and were pretty close in middle school) left me a comment and recommended that I read something on one of her other friends' blog. I cannot for the life of me remember what it is I wrote that spurred out that particular transaction, and really, in the grand scheme of things, it probably isn't important.
Anyway, my friend sent me to My Camo Kids, which is written by a fellow Army officer wife, Lora. I get the impression she is from my hometown, and if I had to fake a guess, I would say she was probably my friend's older sister's friend in real life, but I have no idea, and I am shy enough that I will probably never ask (why am I saying all of this? I swear, I have the worst time getting to the point). I'm really good at imagining things in my head, sometimes, and this very well might be one of those times, but I'm just going to go with it. Anyway, I read whatever it is my friend wanted me to read, had a quick ponder over it, and then headed to the "about" section of her blog, simply because I am overly curious. There I learned that we not only shared an Army bond (Hooah...ish?), but that she and her husband grew their family through an international adoption.
Okay, I can almost see your eyebrows lifting in question (in that wtf-is-this-nutshell-talking-about), but if you bare with me for a few minutes, I'll elaborate as best I can. Several years ago--I was still a student at Georgia Tech, so it was at least 4 years ago, but more likely to be like...6-7 years ago--I somehow became interested in International Adoption in general, but adoptiong from Ukraine in particular. I did some research, had rambling conversations with my husband, and eventually decided that was something I wanted to pursue in the future. I was going to set it on the back burner, because, well, I was A) too young at the time and B) was not wanting children any time soon, anyway.
Over the years, the image I had painted of the process slowly began to be eaten away. Several of the courses I took in both my undergraduate and graduate degree programs began to make me waiver in my desire to adopt from Ukraine (not to mention that the country closed down adoptions there for a period of time sometime in there somewhere...). It all because a little complicated and confusing for me, and I ended up moving the idea from the back burner to the freezer.
Fast forward a few years; I got bit by the baby bug, I got pregnant, E was born, and adoption was the last thing on my mind. And then, one day, I was driving on post and there was an MWR (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation) sign that was begging for JBLM families to foster. It got me thinking about adoption, again, but this time from the domestic side. My academic conscience couldn't find a while lot wrong with adopting domestically (though the legality that comes with foster-adopting is scary stuff). A few days later, in the Army Officers' Wives Facebook group, someone brought up adoption and it became a rather popular discussion. A lot of women on there discussed their reasons for going the international route for their adoptions: it's tough to do a domestic adoption in the US. It's nearly impossible for military families who constantly move (this is just the opinion of a handful of people, but it made enough sense to me). They expressed their preference for international adoption, simply because it is easier, and my academic self was tackled by my common sense self; I was reminded of what I had probably known all along: having a family might just be the most important thing to a child without one, regardless of where that child is born.
So, the thought reentered my mind, and it once again became a possibility for the future. And then I found Lora's blog. Today, I went and read through some of her posts that were tagged "adoption," and I got a better feel for what her early-on experiences were (I haven't made my way through all of the posts)... And for someone who really has a hard time believing in things like signs and "meant-to-be's," it sure felt like a kick in the pants.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Movie Review: Like Crazy
I'm just going to start off by saying: you're "like" crazy if you watch and enjoy this movie. On the Netflix star scale, I have this movie a great big uno. And only because giving it a zero isn't an option.
Now, I was pretty excited about the film, because it had won some awards and had been talked about as a possible Oscar contender this last year. I saw some of the previews for it and it looked like it could be cute and sweet... In fact, that's how it had been categorized by some real critics: a funny romance. I can only deduce that it is one of those incredibly artsy films that no one understands but film students at NYU, and thus it should not be shown to the general public. 10 minutes in, and we were already considering turning it off, slipping it back into it's little paper pocket, and shoving it in the mailbox.
Unfortunately, for us, we kept watching in hopes that it would turn around and somehow become worth two hours of our time.
Wrong.
[Spoilers Below...as in, the whole movie plot]
Okay, for those of you who are still intrigued, Like Crazy is a film about a long distance relationship between an English girl and an American boy. The girl (Anna? Hannah? See, it was so terrible, I didn't even care to remember her name) is studying at a university in LA when she meets boy (don't remember his name, either). They fall in love, have a romance, and she promises she will come back to visit so they can keep their love alive. Her parents love him (mom is River Song), she loves him, their future is bright, life is wonderful. Well, in an idiotic move, she declines to go home when she is supposed to, thus violating her visa (keep in mind, she knows she is violating her visa and says "I don't care, I'm in love."). She then tries to return later as a tourist, but the US won't let her enter the country because of her violation.
She cries, he might cry... Life is terribly sad. They start living separate lives, she as an assistant to a magazine editor, he designing and making furniture (mostly really, really ugly chairs). He starts seeing someone else (Jennifer Lawrence, aka Katniss), she starts flirting with her neighbor. All of a sudden, she misses him, and asks him to come see her. He flies to London, life is great... Her parents--who love him, remember--suggest they get married so she can move back to America. And then they don't "click" like they used to, and there is some apprehension. He gets pissed off and leaves.
They decide they miss each other, again, and he flies back to London. She talks to a lawyer, who says after they get married, it's 6 months until she can get a marriage visa. So, they get married. The love each other. Life is wonderful. He goes back to LA to work (because, apparently, it is impossible for him to design and make ugly chairs in the UK), and she waits patiently for his return.
He comes back six months later, they go to the US Embassy to get her visa straightened out, and it's denied until she gets her previous violation taken care of. He's sad, she's sad, they take it out on each other... He goes back to America.
He and Katniss get hot and heavy and she has her sexy neighbor man move in with her. She gets a job promotion, and sexy neighbor man has her parents over to celebrate. It's obvious they don't much like sexy neighbor man. Sexy neighbor man pops "the question." She never actually says no, but it's obvious she is going to.
She texts boy, he refuses to text back... He's going at it with Katniss.
Her lawyer calls--her visa issues have been cleared up, she can now go to the US. Katniss is out. Girl moves in with him. They act like they are really bored.
End of movie.
Real life? Yes, probably. Movie worthy? Um, hell no. The whole thing was lots of shaking cameras, scenes where no one does anything but cook dinner, lots of montages of them sleeping in bed. Neither of the characters were particularly likeable--he was stubborn and all "me, me, me" and she was stupid and kind of overly emotional. There was no big hook. It was just... a long distance relationship that should have ended after its first 6 months. And comedy??? Where was the comedy?
Unless, of course, we're talking "omg, this movie is so terrible, it's funny."
Unfortunately, for us, we kept watching in hopes that it would turn around and somehow become worth two hours of our time.
Wrong.
[Spoilers Below...as in, the whole movie plot]
Okay, for those of you who are still intrigued, Like Crazy is a film about a long distance relationship between an English girl and an American boy. The girl (Anna? Hannah? See, it was so terrible, I didn't even care to remember her name) is studying at a university in LA when she meets boy (don't remember his name, either). They fall in love, have a romance, and she promises she will come back to visit so they can keep their love alive. Her parents love him (mom is River Song), she loves him, their future is bright, life is wonderful. Well, in an idiotic move, she declines to go home when she is supposed to, thus violating her visa (keep in mind, she knows she is violating her visa and says "I don't care, I'm in love."). She then tries to return later as a tourist, but the US won't let her enter the country because of her violation.
She cries, he might cry... Life is terribly sad. They start living separate lives, she as an assistant to a magazine editor, he designing and making furniture (mostly really, really ugly chairs). He starts seeing someone else (Jennifer Lawrence, aka Katniss), she starts flirting with her neighbor. All of a sudden, she misses him, and asks him to come see her. He flies to London, life is great... Her parents--who love him, remember--suggest they get married so she can move back to America. And then they don't "click" like they used to, and there is some apprehension. He gets pissed off and leaves.
They decide they miss each other, again, and he flies back to London. She talks to a lawyer, who says after they get married, it's 6 months until she can get a marriage visa. So, they get married. The love each other. Life is wonderful. He goes back to LA to work (because, apparently, it is impossible for him to design and make ugly chairs in the UK), and she waits patiently for his return.
He comes back six months later, they go to the US Embassy to get her visa straightened out, and it's denied until she gets her previous violation taken care of. He's sad, she's sad, they take it out on each other... He goes back to America.
He and Katniss get hot and heavy and she has her sexy neighbor man move in with her. She gets a job promotion, and sexy neighbor man has her parents over to celebrate. It's obvious they don't much like sexy neighbor man. Sexy neighbor man pops "the question." She never actually says no, but it's obvious she is going to.
She texts boy, he refuses to text back... He's going at it with Katniss.
Her lawyer calls--her visa issues have been cleared up, she can now go to the US. Katniss is out. Girl moves in with him. They act like they are really bored.
End of movie.
Real life? Yes, probably. Movie worthy? Um, hell no. The whole thing was lots of shaking cameras, scenes where no one does anything but cook dinner, lots of montages of them sleeping in bed. Neither of the characters were particularly likeable--he was stubborn and all "me, me, me" and she was stupid and kind of overly emotional. There was no big hook. It was just... a long distance relationship that should have ended after its first 6 months. And comedy??? Where was the comedy?
Unless, of course, we're talking "omg, this movie is so terrible, it's funny."
Friday, June 1, 2012
Baby Fever
Must... Not... Have... Baby....!
It's figuratively killing me. A friend from high school and college just had a baby this morning, and seeing her posts on Facebook about the experience, new baby, etc. have my biological clock clanging like Big Ben on steroids. But, don't worry, I refuse to have anything but fall birthday babies, so no one has to worry about seeing any pregnancy announcements any time soon.
However, that hasn't stopped me from worrying about the most ridiculous things. Sure, some of the things like prenatal care, my thyroid issues, having my husband around, E, etc. are probably considered legitimate things to worry about. And then there are the usual baby worries--is the baby healthy, will it be a viable pregnancy, am I going to get gestational diabetes? Then we have the slightly more ridiculous out-of-my-control worries like: will we be in WA, will we be back on the east coast? Will I be moving with a newborn for the second time? How will we make THAT work?
And then my new favorite set of worries: the extraordinarily ridiculous. Who will take the newborn photos? What if we have twins? Or septuplets? Will we ever agree on names? But most importantly... Who will take our newborn photos?! (See? What did I tell you?)
E's newborn photos were done by Jill Samples Photography back in Georgia. She did a beautiful job and I would go back to her in a heartbeat if we just so happened to be there... But that's fairly unlikely. If we end up in MD (it is on our list), I have a friend, Danna Stumberg, who does amazing work, as well. I would LOVE LOVE LOVE for her to take pictures of my kiddo[s]. In fact, I have seriously contemplated asking her if she would be willing to be paid to drive down to VA while we're there just to do a photo session (which I would also pay for. Obviously). But what if we are still stuck in the Pacific Northworst??? I have some friends that do some amateur photography, and would ask them, but I'm not sure how set up they are to do that. And what if we end up somewhere else? Like Oklahoma. I just don't think I could go to Sears. It would kill me.
And this, my friends, is why babies are contagious and will make you go insane.
(I'm going to make a book review post or something here, soon. I promise. I don't think even I can take any more of me....)
It's figuratively killing me. A friend from high school and college just had a baby this morning, and seeing her posts on Facebook about the experience, new baby, etc. have my biological clock clanging like Big Ben on steroids. But, don't worry, I refuse to have anything but fall birthday babies, so no one has to worry about seeing any pregnancy announcements any time soon.
However, that hasn't stopped me from worrying about the most ridiculous things. Sure, some of the things like prenatal care, my thyroid issues, having my husband around, E, etc. are probably considered legitimate things to worry about. And then there are the usual baby worries--is the baby healthy, will it be a viable pregnancy, am I going to get gestational diabetes? Then we have the slightly more ridiculous out-of-my-control worries like: will we be in WA, will we be back on the east coast? Will I be moving with a newborn for the second time? How will we make THAT work?
And then my new favorite set of worries: the extraordinarily ridiculous. Who will take the newborn photos? What if we have twins? Or septuplets? Will we ever agree on names? But most importantly... Who will take our newborn photos?! (See? What did I tell you?)
E's newborn photos were done by Jill Samples Photography back in Georgia. She did a beautiful job and I would go back to her in a heartbeat if we just so happened to be there... But that's fairly unlikely. If we end up in MD (it is on our list), I have a friend, Danna Stumberg, who does amazing work, as well. I would LOVE LOVE LOVE for her to take pictures of my kiddo[s]. In fact, I have seriously contemplated asking her if she would be willing to be paid to drive down to VA while we're there just to do a photo session (which I would also pay for. Obviously). But what if we are still stuck in the Pacific Northworst??? I have some friends that do some amateur photography, and would ask them, but I'm not sure how set up they are to do that. And what if we end up somewhere else? Like Oklahoma. I just don't think I could go to Sears. It would kill me.
And this, my friends, is why babies are contagious and will make you go insane.
(I'm going to make a book review post or something here, soon. I promise. I don't think even I can take any more of me....)
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