No, Virginia, There Isn’t A Santa Claus

"No, Virginia, There Isn’t A Santa Claus."

That’s what my parents told me growing up, and I never could understand why they called me “Virginia.” Besides that, I was cool with it. The presents you get at Christmas were from your parents, grandparents, friends, and other folk who worked hard for the money for it, and cared enough about you to get what you wanted. You didn’t have to tell Santa that you wanted a six-foot-long Brontosaurus stuffed animal because you already told your mom and she was buying it (or sewing it herself like mine did, two years in a row, because the first one was loved into extinction). It wasn’t about being a relatively good boy or relatively bad one, it was about being loved even if you were a bit of a shit. Which of course I wasn’t, but I could have been for all you know.

Re: Santa Claus, my little brother and I were told the story, but it wasn’t any different than being told the story of Peter Pan, King Arthur, the Cat in the Hat, Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, Br’er Rabbit, Snow White, Eloise, Bilbo Baggins, and all the other characters who are fictional but whose stories have worth. (Actually, an aside, my mom would say King Arthur was probably based on a British commander with a Roman name who fought the Anglo-Saxons in the late 5th or early 6th century, but I digress) The guy who lives in the North Pole with elves and Mrs. Claus and Rudolf and occasionally Frosty when that special aired and hung out in malls, we were told all about that, because to be in ignorance of that is to be a freak. We were told that many kids believed that Santa was real because that’s what their mommies and daddies taught them.

And that was fine. We had friends who were Jewish, Quaker, Christian Scientist, Catholic, and a whole bunch of other beliefs we didn’t share, but we weren’t to make fun of them for that. This was the original early 70s Sesame Street debuts multicultural “Free To Be You & Me” generation, after all.

So, there was no trauma about that growing up. Adults hearing that I was raised as a Santatheist, however, tend to be horrified more often than not. It is as if I were abused or at least pulled from my childhood fantasies to the cold realities of life too soon. I don’t know. I certainly wouldn’t discourage any parents from telling their kids that Santa is real, if both parties get some enjoyment out of it. But will I do that for my kids when I have them? I don’t know either.

We do have a tree, and some stockings by the fireplace, and lights on the house. And though it’s looking unlikely that we’ll have a child in time to share this Christmas with, we are pretty certain we’ll have one or more for next. And like so many other things, we’ll figure out what to do on this issue when the time comes.

For the time being, though, you can hear me exclaim as I drive out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

Keeping Walking

“If we are facing in the right direction, all we have to do is keep walking.” – Buddhist proverb

How do you update a blog when nothing’s happening? I feel like I need to have an update at least monthly, but honestly, if you want to hear about any news or development, you can stop reading now.

Ian and I were touched by the reaction to the last blog. I think it had become understood that we would be getting the twins, and it would be a lot of work, but we would handle it. But that’s not how it turned out, it seems. It would have been heart-breaking if we had actually met G. and J., but the fact that we could let them go is evidence in itself that we made the right decision.

We’ve received a couple phone calls about potential matches since then, so we know we’re still on the agency’s list, even if they haven’t been right. We still have a little dream about getting a baby for Christmas.

In the meantime, we’re just a couple months away from my brother and sister-in-law having their first child, a girl. They’re in a flurry of baby-showers and birth classes and name debates, which is fabulous to participate in, as uncles-to-be.

I’m still expecting that sometime in December or January, the novel will be published online, but we’re still figuring out the contract. So that might not happen. I’m still looking into other publishing options.

All of this is to say that there’s no real news or development. No news isn’t bad news, it really is just no news.

It’s like sitting on a powder keg watching lines of the slowest black powder fuse inching their way closer, knowing everything is going to explode eventually. Hmm, maybe the Buddhist quote about walking is a nicer way of putting it.

The Latest (and Last) On The Twins

Today, we talked to our social worker and told her that we would not be taking the twins. It was a hard decision. For three months now, we have been fighting to get information on them that we knew their pediatricians had, while we window-shopped for all the twin accessories and imagining the wonderful, impossible tasks ahead. We had begun reading “Raising Emotional Healthy Twins,” concentrating on the philosophy to think of them as two children rather than “the twins.” (Obviously, that never completely stuck) We had talked to pediatricians and specialists about the children’s known medical issues, and there are some esoteric subjects on pediatric endocrinology we could claim amateur expert status at discussing.

Days, weeks, and months went by, and we still couldn’t get satisfactory answers to our questions. It was probably selfish of us to hold on for as long as we did, when the twins might be placed with other prospective parents less concerned with some of these medical issues. We also know that if we waited any longer, it would be harder to place the children so near the holiday season.

Our social worker assures us this case was unusual, and that saying no to this particular match won’t muck up our chances of getting another match with another child or children. For not being religious, we are curiously fatalistic – we will get the right kids for our family when the time is right.

And the twins, G. and J., will get the home they deserve. With all our heart, we wish them well.

On The Brink

Something’s gonna happen, I just don’t know what or when.

I haven’t updated the blog at all this September because while things are progressing on the novel and baby fronts, they were progressing slowly and I kept hoping to have some announcement to make. Instead, out of a sense of obligation to have at least one new blog post each month, consider this a situational overview.

On the novel front, I’ve been contacted by a new online literary magazine about serializing the novel, publishing two chapters every month for eight months starting at the end of this year. Can’t talk too much more about that except that they’ve sent me a contract and it’s in the hands of my agent and lawyers.

On the baby front, well, something will undoubtedly happen in the next week. The major frustration has been getting straight answers about potential medical issues. Apparently, until we’re at least foster parents, we’re not supposed to talk to directly to the twins’ doctors, so we’re forced to play the world’s slowest game of 21 questions, sending them to our social worker, who sends them to the county social worker, who sends them to the doctor, who has his nurse practitioner answer them. Or not answer them. And then begins the follow-up questions, including questions about why previous questions weren’t answered.

Next week, they have a doctor’s appointment, and we’re sending the questions once again, hoping they get answered with fresh eyes. If they do, and even if they don’t, something will happen in October because we really have to say Yes or No now.

And thus concludes the no-news-is-good-news update.

The County Of Los Angeles Deems Them "Cute"

I have pictures of the twins, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to share them on a public blog, particularly since they aren’t ours … yet. But damn, are they cute. Trust me on this. Or you could trust the official statement of the County of Los Angeles on the matter on their adorability. From the report we were given today on the girl:

Current caregiver perceives child as: happy, easy going

CSW perceives child as: cute, curious

And on the boy:

Current caregiver perceives child as: happy, stubborn

CSW perceives child as: curious and loving.

Both are also describes as “very affectionate.” So the huge smiles in the photos are not just for the camera.

We’re sending the reports on to some pediatricians to see if there are any notes back from them. The next step will be to meet them at their foster home … and then, to take them home.

It may just be a matter of a few weeks now. Oh, boy. And girl.

Twin & Tonic

So we just got off the phone with our social worker after her meeting with county social workers. Overall, more good stuff than bad. Our concern about the twins not being developmentally on target is largely gone. Since we last talked, they are not only sitting on their own, they’re crawling, cooing, engaged and interested in everything, and sleeping through the night. Who knows, they might be walking soon too.

On the bad side: the mom right now is in rehab, so she sees the kids for 3 hours every Sunday. The county social workers say this is the usual pattern, but once she’s finished with rehab, she’s likely to disappear altogether. The other annoying bit is that the judge on the case is “very thorough,” which our social worker says means parental rights won’t likely be terminated very soon. On the other hand, the county social workers are adamant that the twins shouldn’t be given back to the mother … who, by the way, is pregnant again. Our social worker still consider this a “low risk” case as far as reunification goes. It just might take a while.

So, we said to sign us up for the next appointment, where we meet with the kids’ social worker … I believe we see a photo!

Other than that, looking forward to our 3-day-weekend which begins to tomorrow. In Vegas baby!

Ian says he’s going to “invest” $20 on slots because babies need new pairs of shoes!

Careful What You Wish For

I was in the gym this morning, when I got the voice message from our social worker, “You and Ian have been selected as parents for the twins. I’m going to give Ian a call now.”

What followed was a series of attempted phone calls between me, Ian, and our social worker. I was on my cell phone getting bad reception in the gym garage, Ian was dealing with work phone calls, and Kitaho was en route between home and work herself. And then there was my brother and sister-in-law calling in because they knew today we were supposed to get the news, even though we had assured them that since the other family had been waiting for children longer than we have, the odds were that we wouldn’t have good news.

So finally, we all connected. It seems that the twins have more medical issues than we thought, and we’re looking into the seriousness and treatability. They are not developmentally where 11 month old children should be, but that is not unusual for preemies. Once we get the medical records, we’ll know whether they’re progressing or if the issues are serious. And the parental rights have not yet been terminated, though that seems to be the direction things are headed. On the plus side, the kids are apparently mentally and emotionally on target, and particularly giggly.

Next step is another, more detailed meeting about the kids and their needs with a larger group of social workers, and when we get the information on that, we’ll know what all is likely to be involved with taking care of them. And then, if we think we can handle it and want to proceed, we’ll meet them in a couple weeks.

Very excited, but on information overload. It’s a lot to process, thinking about dealing with major medical issues for one child, let alone two, so we’re still a bit cautious until we have more details.

Still – I think champagne’s called for. (But then again, isn’t that always true?)

Growl

So, today, we were supposed to be hearing the result of the 9 o’clock meeting to determine whether we’d be getting the 10 month old twins, who are frankly pushing 11 months now. We received word at 8:30 that the meeting has been put off for another week while they work things out legally. We also were told that the other family in the running has been waiting for six months longer than we have, so as I said in the last post, that means that unless we are demonstrably a better match for the twins, all things being equal, they get the babies.

Oh well, what will be will be. If not these babies, then others will come our way. We’re still naturally optimistic people.

That Pollyannaish sentiment aside, I’m really growly at work right now. Heh heh heh.

Update on “Ring, Phone, Ring, Part 2”

So we got the phone call about the twins on Monday, and quickly said “yes.” We thought we’d hear back an update the next day, but our social worker only heard back that she’d get a response on Wednesday. Come Wednesday afternoon, we were told we’d hear something today. Not really expecting to hear anything today, we were pleasantly surprised to get an update of sorts.

Long story short: we have a week before we know whether we’re getting these twins or not.

They’re scheduling a “Staffing” which is a meeting where our social worker, another family’s social worker, and the twins’ two social workers (I did not ask if the twins had twin social workers, but that would be cute!) all get together, talk about them, talk about us, talk about this undoubtedly unworthy alternate family, and decide our fate. Apparently, if all things are equal, they decide based on which family has been waiting longest. No idea whether they’ve been waiting for a longer or shorter time than we have.

Also, no idea if it will ultimately be just one other family in the competition (hate to use that word as if it’s a game with children as the prize, but it’s appropriate to how it works).

So after next Thursday morning, we’ll get our real Ring, Phone, Ring call back, and see whether our lives have been turned upside down or not.

Ring, Phone, Ring, Part 2

It has been over four weeks since we got a phone call about children available for foster care, since it looked like we might be getting a newborn named Abraham. At the time, we consoled ourselves that it wasn’t meant to be, and the next time, surely, that would be the one for us. Over time, though, it began to get a little frustrating, even though logically we knew some day we’d get another call, patience was at a premium. This week, I’m on a tight deadline for the game I’m working on, so I consciously said on Monday, “This would be a bad time to be told there’s a baby available. I bet I get a call.”

And, of course, I did. Yesterday, five minutes before a big meeting, our social worker called to tell us about twins. A boy and a girl. Ten months old, currently in foster care but needing an adoptive home. I said yes, and then called Ian and said, “Twins. I said yes. I’ll give you the details later” as I rushed to the meeting. Bless him, he just said, “Okay, I’ll be waiting.”

Now we’re waiting again to see if we got accepted. Apparently, they’re collecting case files to see which family is most suitable. It may not be us.
On the novel front, really enjoying the latest rewrite. After the latest person came back and said he loved the book but was confused by the relationships between the (vast) cast of characters, I’m cutting with extreme prejudice and simplifying the relationships so they aren’t cousins and nephews and nieces of my main character, but direct descendents. What’s nice is that having fewer characters requires the characters who are there to do more, so they’re all getting richer and more interesting as I go.

So between that and the game, I’m keeping my myself busy while we wait for the call … Ring, phone, ring …

Feckless Friday

Today, I went to the dentist, was informed that we would not be getting a baby boy we hoped for, and an agent turned down my novel. It’s one o’clock in the afternoon right now, and I figure the weekend has to pick up from here.

Rats.

Actually, the dentist thing wasn’t that bad. I switched to a different insurance carrier, so I switched dentists, to Dr Boris Shlayman in the Valley. I mention his name because so far, he’s been excellent. He gave me a temporary onlay – a sort of half-crown – which required drilling up a tooth which was half broken filling, half decayed to the point where he took a photo of the back of it to show me it had turned blue. Not apparently a healthy tooth color. Today was Take Your Daughter To Work Day, which he observes. I got to hear his daughter as she peered into my mouth during the procedure say, “Is that the inside of his tooth? Gross!” Absolutely no pain. He even gave me a topical numbing before the injection, so I could have dozed off during it.

Then I came into work and checked email and got the two unwelcome ones. The one from the adoption agency was particularly disappointing. Briefly, we had been told on Wednesday that there was a month-old preemie baby at Children’s Hospital they wanted to release at the beginning of next week. His name was Abraham. We immediately said yes, we wanted him, and our social worker hung up to talk to the county social worker. Three hours went by without reply, and then we were told she finally got a hold of her, and we were third on the list – behind a family who had adopted one of his siblings years earlier and a family who has been waiting longer than us. None of us ended up with Abraham though: the email told me that a cousin of his Mom’s – someone who had been ruled out as unsuitable before – had been given him. I sure hope that first evaluation was wrong.

And then the rejection from the agent. Well, rejection is part of being a writer … one might argue it’s part of being a person. At least, the rejection wasn’t a form letter. He said he found the premise “intriguing” but “there was not enough line-by-line tension in these opening pages” to draw him in. Something I might look at.

And now, let the weekend drinking begin.

The Pride of Hollywood

The Grand Marshall for Long Beach Pride? San Francisco Mayor, gay marriage advocate, and state gubernatorial candidate Gavin Newsome. The Grand Marshall for San Francisco Pride? First Lieutenant Dan Choi, bringing attention to the continued enforcement of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell despite the administration’s promises. The Grand Marshall for DC Pride? Cleve Jones, gay right activist going back to the days where he interned for Harvey Milk (he is a major character in the recent film). The Grand Marshall for NYC Pride? Rupert Starr, former POW and decorated WW2 war hero.

The Grand Marshall of our own Hollywood Pride parade, in these everything's-changed-post-Prop-8 days?

Chelsea Handler, comedienne and author of "Is That You, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea."

Risk, Repeat

Having a child is always a risky proposition. Having a child through adoption has additional risks, chief among them the risk that you won’t be able to keep the child you love. That’s true with private adoption or foster-adoption: the mother may change her mind or behavior, and a court may be called on to decide the fate of your family. It is the position of the California foster and adoption system that if possible, children should be with their biological parents. Perhaps that’s good for the kids, which means it’s ultimately worthwhile ... but that doesn't mean it's good for the nerves of adoptive parents.

We just said we’re not interested in taking on twin boys, a couple days old, born premature. They’ve got some health issues – one needs to stay in the hospital while his lungs develop, both had prenatal exposure to crystal meth – but they were so much exactly what we wanted in any other way, we nearly said yes. The problem for us was the risk of having the babies taken away from us, which was pretty high. The mother had drugs issues (obviously), but she was in a treatment center and had been there for a month. She had given up other kids for adoption, but she was visiting these ones in the hospital. The father seemed to be involved as well. All signs pointed towards a mother who had made some mistakes, but was on the road to recovery and was going to fight for her kids. Better to put the little boys in the hands of someone who just wants to foster and not adopt, to care of them until the court decides the mother is ready. We wish them, and the mother all health and happiness.

Damn, though. It would have been great.

Next ones we hope will have a risk level we can stomach.

Editor & Prey

I’ve given my novel to a couple different people since Thanksgiving for their feedback and suggestions, and as I’ve incorporated their suggestions, I’ve given new versions to new readers. My sister-in-law Kelly is the latest to read and review it, and in some ways, has been my most valuable editor.

Of course, that’s not to be dismissive of the feedback from everyone else, but they are all very connected to me biologically or romantically, so Kelly – as close as we are – is near as I’ve come to getting input from a Trusted Outsider. Besides being a great technical editor, Kelly gets a different sense from some of my characters and their motivations than people who have known me longer and subconsciously fill in the blanks.

Of course, Kelly is a sweetheart and all her notes are prefaced with, “You don’t have to worry about this if you don’t want to … This is just my opinion …” and then in the margins “This made me cry” and “I loved this part.”

Noel Coward said, “I can take any criticism provided it’s unqualified praise.” He never met Kelly. Because of her, I have to write a new chapter to my novel to support an alternate MO for the main character’s actions which was implicit but not expressed is given its due.

Nursery Sublime

As I write this, Diego is at work in our spare bedroom, turning it into a nursery. Since we don’t have a child (or children) yet, we don’t know the gender, so we’re doing it in various shades of brown, white, and beige, with bits of orange and red. I did the preliminary (rather amateur) painting pass, and hopefully when Diego adds the chair rail and the crown molding it will cover up the spots where my enthusiastic brush and roller went awry. Then, he’s creating a window seat in the bay window that opens up for storage, since what we have been told over and over again is that a nursery can’t have too much storage.

It should be done by the end of the week. Meanwhile, we’re reading our books (The Baby Book by Dr Sears; What To Expect The First Year; The Happiest Baby In The Block and The Happiest Toddler In The Block), going to meetings (Popluck Club in West Hollywood every month; online and group meetings with the Southern California Foster Family and Adoption Agency at St Anne’s), and getting earfuls of advice from everyone with or without a baby.

We are apparently at the top of the list and could get a phone call at any time. In fact, we got a phone call last week about a pair of siblings, a two-year-old and a four-year-old. We still have our heart set on a baby, so after a discussion, we decided to say no. We hope with all our hearts they’ve found another good home and family.

And I’ve begun serious work on novel #2 while I wait on word from readers of novel #1. It’s going to be a love story.

Now I have to figure out how to upload photos to show the nursery work in progress.

Ring, phone, ring.

At 9:30 this morning, Ian and I signed our final paperwork as officially certified foster parents. I had lunch with my bosses to talk to them about taking paternity leave whenever I get the phone call, be it tomorrow or months from now, and what is funny is, they had no official policy towards maternity or paternity leave, despite the company being around for over ten years now. The reason is easy to understand: I’m in the video game industry, and it is largely dominated by men, and most of those men are single and straight. It’s pretty unusual for them to reproduce, and it’s still fairly unusual for men to take paternity leave, even in this day. So I’m the test case.

I have to say, they’ve been awfully supportive about this, particularly since I can’t tell them when I’m going to suddenly take off for a couple weeks to bond with my baby. We could be in the middle of a busy time at work – in fact, we are always in the middle of a busy time, so that’s guaranteed to be the case. I volunteered to have SVN file-sharing software installed on my home computer and all the editors so I could do work from home, but my boss stopped me and said, “No, if you’re going to take paternity leave off, you shouldn’t be working. You should be spending time with your baby.”

This coming from a straight non-breeding breeder, by the way. Pretty incredible.

Now, ring, phone. Ring.

Safety Last

At 10:30 this morning, an inspector from our foster adoption agency came over to our house to see whether we had a safe environment for a child. We had diligently built a fence around the pool and a screen in front of the filter; we put plastic catches to make it hard to open a dozen cabinets, and magnetic locks to make it impossible to open another six without the right key; we put chains over our liquor cabinet and one across the door to the office cunningly fashioned so the cat could get in to his box but a toddler couldn’t get in or get stuck; we put plastic cushions on every corner of every hard bit of furniture; we put plugs into all electric outlets, and locking devices over the toilets; we put a rubber cushion around the bath faucets; we got a crib and changing table and linens.

The guy took about ten minutes to check it all off and say, “Looks good. Safer than my house.”

So we passed as “suitable for placement.”

We’re not quite there yet. They have to finish a report on us, and we have to go in and sign some papers. But there’s nothing we have to do now.

Ditto the novel. I have it in a dozen different people’s hands, and all I have to do is wait while they read it.

So what do you do when there’s nothing to do?

I’m going to work on the nursery. Get it painted and organized. Since I don’t know whether we’re getting a boy or girl or a set of siblings, and what their ages will be, I can’t finish the job, but I can get pretty far.

I can read books about how to care for a child between the ages of 0 and 3.

I can keep looking for babysitters and daycare centers.

I can go to the Pop Luck Club meeting on Sunday, and find out about all the things I’m too ignorant to be worried about.

I can look for more people in publishing who could look at the novel, and gently nudge the people who have had months to read it so far.

Considering I have absolutely nothing to do but wait, I’ve got a pretty long To Do List.

Pedia Tricks

From time to time, we get to see how the other halves live. Going to Hollywood premieres and parties in gorgeous houses on the beach on one hand, riding public transportation and seeing how medical care works, or doesn’t, for the poor on the other. I’ve been spending the last couple of days trying to get a pediatrician for my imaginary child. While he or she is in foster care before adoption, we will be using Medi-Cal, which is normally what the poorest people use.

Now, most people when they’re having a baby, talk to their friends and family to get pediatrician recommendations: who is the nicest, most experienced, most convenient, most comforting. We go to the website for our insurance carrier, and since we have a PPO, chances are this spectacular doctor is listed. Or we call him or her up, and they say, “You have Blue Shield PPO? Of course, come on in.” If you go to Medi-Cal website, you don’t see a listing of doctors who take Medi-Cal. You are told to click on a couple acronyms – CMC, NDC, NPI, etc. It turns out none of them include listing of doctors. If you call up the pediatricians your friends recommend, I assure you none of these excellent doctors takes Medi-Cal. Nor can they give a reference, because no one they knows takes Medi-Cal. Eventually, it comes down to doing endless google searches to come up with a list of pediatricians who say they take Medi-Cal, but God knows if they are any good.

Through a gay dad’s organization Ian signed us up for, I found one pediatrician who alerted to me to the fact that the Children’s Hospital Los Angeles, only the biggest and best children’s hospital in America … takes Medi-Cal! The problem is that it’s some distance away, and I would really like a pediatrician who is closer in case of emergencies. Still, I feel I’m getting closer.

Speaking of getting closer, the novel is finished and in various people’s hands, some friends and family members, a couple people who might be in the position to help me get it published. They call this kind of thing a waiting game, as if there’s any game aspect to it. Speaking as a professional game designer, I can say with authority that there is no such thing as a waiting game.