Two Things

Awhile back, someone asked me in the comment section if I would mind sharing some of my scrapbook work sometime. I am no where near the caliber of scrapbooker whose work you can find in books and magazines and all over the web, but it’s a hobby I enjoy and am always complaining that I can’t seem to make the time to do it often enough. Perhaps if I took the time I spend *complaining* and used it actually *scrapping* the problem would solve itself.

I finished this layout a few days ago and liked it, so I thought I would share it with you. It accomplishes two things:

1. Lets me give you yet another peek into our private lives (oh, joy for you, I know, try not to strain yourself with happiness) and,
2. Saves me from having to think of anything else to blog about

Two things from the comment section recently:

1. Yes, my computer is working fine now. It was just that one program that got messed up and after I marched my happy self back to the store, they fixed it for me. Fixed, in the sense that they agreed the program was fried and gave me a pirated bootlegged stolen gently borrowed copy of another one, and,
2. Ah, yes, the great High School Musical Sequel last night. Of COURSE we were all glued to the TV at “8/7 Central, Mom. We’ve got to record it!!!” It was hokey, and predictable, and despite the fact she’s the oh-so-cute-and-perky-heroine, that Gabriella is so sickeningly sweet I have the urge to give myself an insulin shot every time she’s on the screen. I have no doubt that thanks to the DVR, I’ll be treated to several encores this weekend. Yippy. Skippy.

And my mom is here now, which can only mean two things:

1. Surgery this week for Blaine, and
2. Egads, the return of the dreaded one dollar bills.

But for now, I include the following scrapbook layout for your viewing pleasure, because, yet another perk, it keeps me from having to type up the very last Alaska update. Hey, if I haven’t TYPED that it’s over, then it’s really not over, right???







Journaling as follows:

“Growing up, I was part of a stereo-typical nuclear family -- two parents, two kids, one dog, one house. Although I had obviously heard of divorce, I hadn’t experienced it up close and personal. Perhaps that’s why when I first met Blaine, I was a little confused (ie, stupid) about the inner-workings of a step-family. Blaine explained to me that his mom, Shirley, had divorced his biological father when he was very young. The man she married, Rodney, moved the family from Texas to Oklahoma, adopted Blaine, and raised him as his own. Blaine’s four older siblings all eventually migrated back to Texas to live with their father, but not Blaine. He never had a relationship with his father, who died before I met Blaine.

“When Blaine and I first started dating, anytime he said anything about his “dad”, I would interrupt him to ask, “Rodney? Or your real dad?” until finally one day Blaine said to me, “Look. Rodney IS my real dad. He raised me, he took care of me, he loves me. HE is my dad.” I didn’t realize how prophetic and wise those words would be until years later, when Blaine and I were in the process of adopting Brayden.

“My favorite story about the relationship between Blaine and Rodney took place when we were expecting Kellen. Knowing that the type of muscular dystrophy my father had was genetic, we were sent to visit a genetic counselor during the pregnancy. Worried, nervous, we sat across the desk from her, ready to answer her questions and listen to what she had to say to us. She started out by taking our initial information, and the conversation went a little something like this:

Counselor: “So, besides the myotonic muscular dystrophy, and his heart problems, does your father have any other major health concerns? No? OK, what about your mother?”

Kristie: “Oh, my mom’s in excellent health.”

Counselor: “OK, Blaine, what about *your* mom?”

And Blaine went on to tell the counselor about his mother’s brain aneurysm years before, and how she had been on kidney dialysis for years -- in essence, poor health like my dad.

Then the counselor asked, “What about your dad? How is his health?”

And Blaine replied, “Excellent, my dad’s very healthy and active.”

At which point I turned to him and said, “Uh, Yeah. --- Except he’s DEAD!”

For just a second, Blaine had a very blank look on his face. Then he turned to the counselor and said, “Oh, that’s right. My dad is dead.”

And I burst out laughing.

I’m not sure if the counselor thought we were too ignorant to be parents (who forgets that their father has died???) or perhaps too cold-hearted, considering it *appeared* I was laughing at the fact Blaine’s dad was dead. But I was really laughing at the fact that after all these years, Blaine was still letting me know, even in his own way, that Rodney really WAS his dad, no matter what the birth certificate or blood line might say.”