Getting My (Embarrassed) Nerd-On

I’m baaaaaack!

All four of you who noticed I’ve not blogged in a while have my apologies. The holidays, rewrites, and a bout of general writing apathy combined in a swirling vortex of laziness, keeping me away for a while.

So I’m just going to jump right in with a new topic.

It would seem that teenagers (not that I have one, yet) are the leading authorities on embarrassment. It is a scientific fact that kids from the ages of twelve to nineteen are in a perpetual state of  mortification brought about by their parents (I’d site my sources, but I have none).  What these ambassadors of cool fail to realize—or perhaps they just don’t care—is that they were, in fact, the source of a great deal of embarrassment felt by their loving parents at various times throughout the childhood leading up to their current state of teenagery.

A toddler, especially, has the power to embarrass. Whether it’s an ill-timed tantrum (Like, you know, while you are attempting to shop in an Amish grocery store and your normally mild-mannered and well-behaved child is screaming like a demon spawn, completely inconsolable and drawing stares from patrons and employees alike as you try to rush out of the store with even a shred of dignity remaining), or making boisterous announcements in public (“THAT MAN SMELLS FUNNY!”), our wee ones are quite capable of dishing out undignified moments.

So, fellow parents, what is the most embarrassing thing your child has ever done? For me, there is one moment that wins, hands down. No contest. Most of you who know me have heard this one before, so feel free to return to your regularly scheduled programming, already in progress.

Allow me to begin my tale of woe…

In the summer of 2009, my husband, son and I traveled to San Diego. My husband had always wanted to attend Comic-Con, and I will gladly jump at any chance to visit So Cal. So off we went, my husband to panel discussions and booth upon booth of entertainment, while our son and I went off on daily adventures with our good friend who had come down from Los Angeles. We went to the zoo, LEGOLAND, Sea World, the beach (another funny story for another time), and had a great time. Our son was about 18 months old at the time, and was quite the little explorer. He had a great time, save the occasional tantrum.

While in San Diego, we stayed at the Comic Con host hotel, which along with being convenient was great for celebrity spotting.

At the time, our son was very into walking by himself—no hand holding, thank you! He just loved to wander around, taking off in random directions while we followed, close on his heels.

On the morning we went to Sea World, my husband was attending a panel discussion, so we were killing a bit of time waiting for him to get back, since he wanted to go with us. Little man and I went off on one of his walking journeys, perhaps more accurately described as me chasing him around journeys, and the San Diego Marriott is perfect for it. It’s a huge hotel with two separate lobby areas, so he could wander to his heart’s content.

As we made our way through the second lobby, I noticed—not five feet away—Allison Mack, one of the stars of Smallville. I glanced away from my son for a moment in a “Wow, that’s Allison Mack,” sort of way, and as I looked back, to my horror; it became painfully clear he was milliseconds away from accosting this guy:

And, yes, he does actually look like this in real life. Yowza.

Justin Hartley, another star of Smallville, was crouched down near the floor, talking to his daughter.

It seemed to happen in super-slow-motion, me reaching for my son shouting “Noooooooooo!” as his little hands, palms flat, landed on Mr. Hartley’s back with a thud.

Since we’re talking about the world of Superman, here, I suppose it was more of a KA-POW!

He jumped up and spun around, a surprised look on his face as I began apologizing immediately. It’s all a bit of a blur, but I think it was something like, “OhmygodI’msosososososorry!” I think I even stuck in a “We’re big fans of your show!” (Complete with awkward laughter).

Fortunately, he was very kind, taking the time to crouch back down and talk to my son for a few minutes, asking his name and if we had big plans for the day. He even introduced us to his wife and daughter.

We made a not so gracious exit as he thanked me for watching the show.

At least I managed to get out of earshot before calling my husband and leaving a “Your son just jumped on Green Arrow!” voicemail.

After recently watching an episode of Chuck in which he guest starred, I said to my husband, “Well, I guess it’s official. I will never be able to watch Justin Hartley on TV without thinking about our kid accosting him.”

Such is parenthood.

What Matters the Most

I’m just going to come out and admit it: I’m a little weird. And a bit irreverent, too. This will come as no surprise to anyone who has spent more than five minutes with me. My irreverence, especially, has a habit of popping forth at the most inappropriate times. I once got the giggles at a wedding during A Very Serious and Deeply Religious Moment when the bride sang “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” to her groom in this high pitched, yet wispy, voice. I’m a bad person.

You know what the gasoline dumped on a fire of giggles is? When NOBODY else thinks it’s funny (even though it totally is). Stern looks are just fuel, people.

Today, however, I want to talk about something serious. I’m pushing aside my goofy nature (not to be confused with a Goofy nature. I’m not an anthropomorphic talking dog, after all). Most of you probably don’t know it, but November is National Adoption Month, and anyone who knows me knows this is something very important to me, and to my family.

My husband and I were the typical adoptive couple, and came to the decision to adopt in the most typical way. Years of heartache and failed medical procedures left us at the end of our emotional rope, and my body felt like it had been through a needle and prod factory (Don’t ask me what a prod factory is. I wouldn’t really want to know, would you?). We had all but given up hope of being parents, but the human spirit is a resilient thing. We decided to give it one last go: adoption. I think this is where so many people get it wrong; making the assumption that adoption is a measure of last resort. That it is somehow a second choice—or third, fourth…well, you get the idea.

Having been through the gauntlet and out the other side, I can tell you this with certainty: There is nothing I would trade in this world for the adoption experience. Yes, it is a long, winding journey with twists, turns and pitfalls, but nothing can describe the feeling of holding your child in
your arms for the first time, knowing your moment has finally arrived. The reward of parenthood is that much sweeter for those who struggle. If you’ve never struggled, never run with your arms outstretched, your lungs burning from the effort while your goal remains just out of reach, well, you can’t truly understand how fortunate you are and what a remarkable gift you’re finally cradling in your arms.

After nearly four years, I still marvel every single day at our unbelievable luck. As I run my fingers through my son’s downy waves of hair, when I look into his eyes, when I hear those magical words, “I love you, mommy,” I’m still amazed.

Consider adoption. It will make your life remarkable in ways you can’t even imagine.