Someday Someday I'll stop saying "someday." I'll quit maniacally crossing days off the calendar. I'll be blissfully ignorant about the latest adoption news. I'll forget how many hours and minutes have passed since we submitted our 171. Someday it won't just be the two of us. Our family room will be decorated with tiny toys and stray Cheerios. We'll make funny faces and do anything for sticky baby hugs. We'll know the menu at Chuck E. Cheese and forget how to make margaritas. Someday we won't remember what life was like before she came. TubaDad will smile bigger than Texas when he teaches her to golf. I'll beam when I teach her about painting and drawing. We'll chuckle when we teach her to eat brownies for breakfast. I can't really picture all the great things that someday will bring. Or know exactly how we'll feel when it happens. I just know that someday I'll stop saying "someday." And it will be amazing.If you think of a good line or stanza to add to the poem, please leave it in the comments section. We'll pick our favorite one, announce the name here, and send the winner the button, magnet, or sticker of your choice from the Salsa in China Store. Here's to someday!
Saturday, May 6, 2006
Got a message from my little brother basically saying he hadn't talked to me in a while. He's a funny guy, though, so what he said was "You don't call. You don't blog. How am I supposed to know what you're doing?" Heh. He's the third person today to mention the (ahem) lack of scintillating new content on the ole blog. But the boring fact is that we're just still waiting. Dum de dum de dum (drumming fingers on desk). Nothing exciting to report. Well we did get a letter saying that our new fingerprints had cleared. But to be honest I didn't even know we were supposed to get a letter, so I flitted blithely through the entire week not stressing about it. Let's see... Oh, I've been taking golf lessons, which is fun. I have absolutely no athletic ability so it's a little embarrassing, but the fresh air and really cute shoes make up for it. The teacher nailed me within the first 2 minutes though when she poked at my excrutiatingly tight grip and said "So, I guess you're a Type A person, right?" And as I clenched the golf club so tight my arms quivered, I ground out "Ha. Wrong! I'm a Type AA." Damned perceptive golf instructors... Oh well, in lieu of exciting progress on the adoption front, here's a short little poem that has been rattling around in my head.