Today, we FINALLY got word that we’re having our Travel Call. In fact, we’re having it tomorrow morning. Our agency sent us a rough outline, in an effort, I assume to streamline the 2-3 hour call. They attached some other helpful FAQ-type sheets by people who have been there done that. I have obsessed about what to pack, and I have to say up until today I *really* thought I was prepared. I knew all about the prescriptions we have to bring, I’ve studied about the benefits of bringing a beach ball for the kids to play with (they fold flat AND it’s a toy!), and I’ve dedicated countless hours to calculating the number of American diapers we’ll need to pack (Chinese diapers are fine for the daytime, but you want the security of American diapers at night to prevent blowouts). I’ve spent MONTHS on message boards and blogs; heck, there are entire websites dedicated to adoption travel. Never—not once—during all my research did I come across this little tidbit:

“Also, bring a half dozen or so adult size diapers. You may become sick on a day of travel and you will be very glad you have them.”

Whoa. This stopped me dead in my tracks. I mean, it makes sense, sure, but I have to say that it never crossed my mind that at the tender age of 35 that I’d be researching adult diapers. For me. Not for an aging parent, or somebody in hospice, but ME. I’ve had my share of funny (okay, borderline embarrassing) moments during this process. I like to think that I tend to find the humor in all situations, but this? This was WAY too easy. I collapsed in totally juvenile fits of laughter as I typed in the search request on Amazon. I fully realize that this makes me no better than an 8 year-old, but come ON.

There have been a LOT of days where it felt like we would never get here, and days when I didn’t want to get out of bed. There have been even more days when I have literally screamed in frustration and cried from the anxiety. When we started this journey, the wait was around 9 months. Four and a half years later, we’re finally here. We got our visas today. Tomorrow is our travel call. If everything goes according to plan (which, let’s face it, it probably won’t. That’s another lesson we’ve learned. I firmly believe that one of the things I was supposed to learn from this was patience, and boy, have I ever gotten that hammered into my head), we could be traveling in as little as 6 weeks. The Travel Call has been the light at the end of my tunnel, and until today, I was having a hard time seeing it. Now, though, it feels like I’ve stepped out into the bright shining sun. Everything came into sharp focus today, and I get to spend the next few weeks packing everything my little man needs. Have I committed to buying the adult diapers? I’m not sure yet. It Depends.

We live in the best little town ever. Tonight we drove up to St. Simons Island, GA. It’s been on our To-Do List since we moved to Fernandina Beach, but we’ve just never gotten around to it until now. Kevin came home a little early from work, and it seemed like a perfect day to check it out, plus I wanted to try a BBQ joint that I saw on the Food Network not too long ago.

St. Simons Island isn’t terribly far away (we basically live in Georgia as it is). It’s a pretty little drive up there, and the view over the bridge is stunning. The village itself is cute, but I immediately felt like downtown Fernandina Beach is MUCH cuter. The waterfront was perfectly pleasant, and we found a nice little wildlife observation area, and then we headed to the beach (if I’m around a beach, I HAVE to check it out). Again, I really think that Amelia Island has the edge. After that, we headed to dinner at Beachcomber Barbecue. I first heard about this on “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” on the Food Network, so I had pretty high hopes. Yeah…..not so much. I’ve been totally spoiled by The Happy Tomato, and I only have to drive about 5 minutes to get really exceptional barbecue. I think that The Beachcomber is a perfectly wonderful bar, but for seriously good pulled pork, I’ll stick closer to home.

Bottom line: St. Simons Island was pleasant. It was definitely worth the trip up there to check it out, and I’m looking forward to going back up that way to check out Jekyll Island, as well. However, I have to say that Amelia Island is WAY better than St. Simons, and it’s also the best-kept secret on the east coast. I’m in love with our little island. Our tiny little town is just about perfect. Our beaches are pristine (and they’re not crowded, plus they all have sand, which we didn’t find to be the case in Georgia). I honestly think we won the lottery when we moved here, and I don’t ever want to move.

We’ve had a lot of helpful advice from parents who have been there and done that, and it’s been invaluable. We’ve also had a lot of input from well-meaning people who have absolutely NO CLUE what they’re saying. Few things push my buttons more than somebody patently dismissing my concerns for my child (i.e. “Well, you really don’t know how your child will be affected. He could have no issues whatsoever.). These kinds of statements seem innocuous, but they are at best naive, and at worst harmful. While it’s true that I won’t know just how MUCH my child will be affected, I DO know that he WILL be. And while I fervently hope that he will have “no issues”, I doubt that will be the case, and there’s no harm at all in being prepared for that.

I do know one thing for sure, though: My child is the cutest, most awesome kid EVER, and I can’t wait to bring him home.

As part of our homestudy update, Kevin and I both have to obtain new statements of good health from our doctor. This really isn’t a big deal, especially because, this time around, it only has to go to our social worker (instead of being sent to China). We did have to have some routine blood work done, though, including the standard HIV test. In an effort to be thorough, the doctor ordered some additional tests.

This is also the perfect time to remind you, dear reader, that we live in a VERY small town. Our doctor’s office is located right at the front of our neighborhood, so pretty much everybody that lives in North Hampton goes there, too. Kevin had already reminded me that almost everyone who works where he does uses this particular doctor, so, like everything else, I needed to be on my best behavior with everyone there (hello? I don’t even get the mail unless my hair and makeup are done, and that’s only at the end of the driveway). News travels fast around here, and that news could be something as trivial as seeing somebody’s wife at the grocery store with curlers still in her hair. Yes, I’m serious.

There was a HUGE wait yesterday at the lab, and I was at the end of the line. There was only one person behind me. They call patients back in groups of two, so she and I walked back together. The phlebotomist told the other lady to have a seat, and then she began to get to work on me. She was reviewing the doctor’s orders, and then she proceeded to say:

“OK. You’re here for HIV, syphilis, Hepatitis, and a full STD panel, right?”

It was at this point that I became acutely aware of the other patient in the room. She had been fairly unobtrusive before, but she didn’t quite manage to stifle her gasp. I could feel her eyes boring into me, and it dawned on me that she was clearly thinking that “Escort” was definitely listed on my resume.

I tried to think quickly. I started to explain to the phlebotomist that “It’s for adoption”, but as soon as I started talking she said:

“Did they explain to you that you have to come back in to get your HIV results? We can’t give them out over the phone”.

Now here’s the part that gets a little cringe-worthy. I’m sure we’ve all had moments where you wish you could reach out and physically take back the words that just came out of our mouths. This was one of those moments. I said:

“Oh, I know. I’ve done this a few times. I’m a pro.”

Yikes. I actually heard the other woman’s jaw hit the floor. Good job, Merrin. You just confirmed (in her mind, at least) that you are, in fact, a HOOKER.

A couple of minutes later, she was all done; my blood was in neatly labeled vials ready to head to the lab. I got up to leave, and I made the BAD mistake of looking at the other patient. There was a look of horror mixed with pity on her face as she quickly averted her eyes. I couldn’t help it; I started to laugh. Uncontrollably. Somehow, I managed to choke out “Have a nice day!”, and I fled the doctor’s office with tears of laughter streaming down my face.

It’s only a matter of time until I run into her, either while I’m out walking the dog, or at the grocery store. I can only imagine how quickly this “news” is going to spread, and I suppose it’ll go a little something like this:

“Lock up your husbands, ladies; there’s a brand new bunny on the block.”

I had a great time in Texas….but I think my visit was WAY too short (Kevin would disagree). I loved visiting with Camille, Josh, and GMan, and I loved getting to see their families and friends. G is growing up too fast for me, so I can only imagine how Camille feels about all of this. When I was a kid, Mom always said she was going to put bricks on my head so I would stop growing; I totally get that now. I don’t feel like the grown-ups are getting any older, but the kiddos sure are shooting up like weeds!

I’m also SOOOOOO glad that I made the time (finally) to go home. I haven’t been back to the Fort since we moved to Florida, and boy, have I ever missed it. I got to spend time with my family, and I also got to see SO many friends (to those of you I missed on this trip, I’m truly sorry, and I miss you. I’ll try to be back soon, I promise). I think I was long overdue for this trip, too (and not just because I’ve been in severe Mexican food withdrawal). Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE Amelia Island. I don’t want to move away from here anytime soon. But Fort Worth is home. Mama’s Pizza, the museums, family, friends, cruisin’ the Bowie…..All of those things are part of the fabric of, well, me. As much as I love having people come and visit here (and those who HAVE come to visit are probably SO tired of hearing us gush about just how awesome this town is), it’s not the same as being with those people back in the place that made me.

I am one of the luckiest people I know when it comes to friendships. I’m one of the fortunate few who can say that I still have some of the same friends now that I had when I was a kid (Angie: I’m SO glad we’re able to pick up right where we left off!). I have girlfriends who have held my hand through heartbreaks, who stood up for me at my wedding, and who have (on more than one occasion) kicked my ass back into reality when I was being an idiot (by the way? Thanks, Megan and Jessica. Y’all have always been there for me, and always without judgement. I love y’all). I love that, one day, all of our kids will be able to get together and talk about the stories that they’ve heard about when their moms were younger. Wait. On second thought, maybe we should censor some of those stories.

As much as I was ready to go home and see my husband and my dogs, it was H-A-R-D to get on that plane. I could’ve used just a couple more days back in the fold of what is so familiar to me (plus, I really could’ve gone for one more enchilada). The bluebonnets were still going great guns, and I’ve missed that. I would’ve liked to have taken a walk through Trinity Park, preferably during Mayfest (but without the hailstorm, thank you very much). I also didn’t get to see everybody I wanted to (you know who you are). The silver lining in all of this, though, is that now I *know* I won’t let as much time pass before I come back. And also? New buildings may pop up, and roads may get a little wider, but Fort Worth never really changes. There will always be bricks on Camp Bowie, Mama’s Pizza will always be tasty, and the Mexican food will—-without a doubt—-be better than anything I can get in Florida.

And no matter what Thomas Wolfe says, you can, in fact, go home again.

Don’t get me wrong; I love social media. It’s even safe to say that I’m addicted to it (hello? Words With Friends is my LIFE). The problem is that I have become a master at summing up my life in 140 characters or less, and in so doing, I’ve sacrificed the chatty part of myself. I came to this stark realization today when I went to tweet about the genius that is Baz Luhrmann, which is something that just simply cannot be done within the confines of 140 little characters. The other issue is that while my Facebook account is extremely private, my blog has ALWAYS been public. I *like* that my blog is public. I enjoy knowing that anybody anywhere can see what I write without unfettered access to every detail of my life (which is precisely WHY my Facebook account is private).

I’ve missed the outlet of putting virtual pen to paper and yammering on about whatever happened to be on my mind at the moment. I’ve gotten lazy, I admit it. Twitter is convenient. Facebook is convenient. And maybe blogging is old school, or even obsolete, but I miss it.

You’re welcome.

However, while I can extoll the virtues of chlorine bleach as a staple in my cleaning cabinet all day long, I find myself faced with what I think is a serious problem now that we’ve moved. Ever since we left Texas, I’ve complained repeatedly about the horrible water quality here in Florida. Orlando is bad, Tampa is bad, but NOTHING comes close to how bad our water is here in Fernandina Beach. I’ve known it since we moved up here; my clothes fade REALLY fast in the wash, my skin always smells faintly of chlorine after I shower or wash my hands, and I’ve even been known to give the dogs bottled water (I have YET to drink the tap water here; it scares me). Five minutes ago, though, the depth of the problem *literally* hit me right in the face. I realized that the toilet in the guest bath was running (as it is prone to do), so I opened the door to fix it. Oh. My. God. The overwhelming stench of chlorine from the running water has burned the inside of my nose. I have a headache from two seconds of exposure. That bathroom smells like it has been SOAKED in bleach, and it was caused by RUNNING WATER.

Roughly 9% of all rectal and bladder cancers are due directly to the long-term consumption of overly chlorinated water (source: July issue of the American Journal of Public Health). Chlorine has also been linked to artery damage (awesome, since I live with a cardiac patient), as well as digestive imbalance (chlorine kills protective acidophilus found in most drinking water). I don’t think there is a filter on the market that is capable of removing the chlorine from my water. I will definitely be looking into a shower filter, though, because chlorine is absorbed through the skin, which can lead to melanoma.

I’m not usually an alarmist, and when we lived in Texas I had no problem drinking the tap water, even without a filter. But there is NO way anybody can tell me that my water here is safe, and if they’d like to try, I’d love to extend the invitation to come on over and spend 5 minutes in my guest bathroom with the door closed and the water running. I’ll stick with my bottles of water, in the meantime, and I honestly don’t care that my carbon footprint is the size of Sasquatch because of it.