There I was, minding my own business, not even planning on blogging on Chronicles today (or this week, or… well…), when a comment came in on an old post from March of this year. Odd, I thought. I figured it was spam. It was better than spam!

It was an adoption agency worker! Swell.

You can view the thread that Heidi from Adoptions from the Heart decided to crash, get name-cally, get angry and then seemingly apologize for at the end in its entirety over on the original post. What’s not on the post is her email that she sent after she faux-apologized. So we’ll put it here.

You say that you would only delete a comment or get upset if someone was personally attacking your family. The negative rumors on your blog are attacking my family. Not my work family but my actual family. I have no problem with people sharing their opinions and I expect to hear negative feedback occasionally. I hear lots of good feedback as well. Maxine is my mother, she founded this agency, so when I read false rumors being spread through the internet it is like a personal attack. Negative feedback is one thing rumors are another. I would have completely understood if you had taken that comment and investigated it and if you found something posted your findings but to put it out there the way it is hurts not only the agency and my family but also those families and women who are working with us. I apologize for not leaving information and moving on – the comments are getting out of hand and they are turning into an attack on me personally now . You want to protect those who feel free to post on your site and have it be a safe place for them to express themselves, yet I am being blasted for expressing mine.

I share that so everyone doesn’t think that the discussion ended with her “apology.”

Because my blogging ethics were called into question, let’s take a closer look at the ethical train wreck that is Adoptions from the Heart.

Want to know my Number One Reason for Hating Adoption Agencies? And it’s not how they treat or mistreat birth parents. It’s treating children like a commodity and, more specifically, treating non-white children like a lesser commodity. That’s right: Adoptions from the Heart charges different prices by race.

From their “domestic minority” pdf (as a warning, the monetary breakdown of how much children cost night make you sick):

Placement fees for African-American children are subsidized due to the great need for families to adopt children of this heritage. Placement fees can be found on our fee schedules. Fees and costs for the program are based on the fee schedule in effect at the time services are provided.

And, it gets even better from their FAQ:

8. We have wonderful biological children and want to adopt in order to give a child a home, do we have to be infertile to adopt?
Not necessarily. Currently there are less available Caucasian infants than there are families requesting to adopt them. Therefore AFTH will not be accepting applications for our Caucasian adoption program from families who are able to conceive a biological child. However, there is a need for families for African-American children in the US and many International adoption programs that allow families with children to adopt.

And so, in short, you can have yourself a black or biracial baby for cheaper! And if you can have your “own” babies, well then, you can still get one of our cheaper African American babies! See! We’re doing you a favor.

So, let’s get down to it if we’re going to talk about ethics, information sharing and the adoption industry. Suz saying, in the comments of a post specifically asking for information about adoption agencies, that she had unsubstantiated information and that it was hearsay was not an unethical discussion. Me asking for more information, but not following up because the couple adopting found out the unethical race issues in this post before I could even share the original post with them, is not an ethical misstep on my part. What was an unethical misstep on my part was not going back to the original post an letting all readers know that Adoptions from the Heart treats children of AA heritage as though they are somehow less than.

Price breakdowns by race are disgusting. (Of course, price breakdowns for any adoption at all really rub me the wrong way, but by race is horrifying. This is 2011, darn near 2012.) I don’t want justifications like “biracial babies are harder to place” or any such nonsense. Stop doing it. It’s wrong. It’s ugly. And, when it comes down to it, it’s just about the almighty dollar for the agencies. It’s not about “finding homes for the harder to place biracial children.” It’s about agencies knowing that they can charge more for white babies; it’s about knowing how to make more money.

And it’s disgusting.

Call me unhappy. Call me upset. But call a spade a spade: Adoptions from the Heart isn’t concerned with ethical adoption. They’re only concerned about “rumors” on the Internet and how they may or may not be perceived by those considering adoption. The truth, not the rumor, is this: Charging different prices for race is unethical. End of discussion.

Words are powerful. You can pretend that they’re not. But they are.

Listen. Process. Think before you speak.

Before I found the remote, What Would You Do? came on. Right off the top, they started talking about adoption. I decided to watch the show for a little bit to see how it went.

For those unfamiliar with the premise of the show, actors and actresses act out a scene in a public place in voices that can be overheard. Cameras are watching, of course, to see if anyone intervenes with the situation at hand. Eventually, those that intervene learn that it was a social experiment and they give their thoughts on the issue driving that particular scene.

Last night’s scenario? Transracial adoption. Oh dear.

In the first version of the scenario, a white woman meets her white female friend at a diner. She has her newly adopted child (four-ish) in tow. Her friend exclaims, “You didn’t tell me she was black!” Cringe. They sit down and the friend begins to berate the newly adoptive mother about the color of her child’s skin, saying everything we’ve all heard before.

I wasn’t sure anyone would intervene with this one. People often don’t want to touch race issues with a ten foot pole. Interestingly, an older woman — I’d place her in her late 60′s or early 70′s — did intervene. And then my husband had to pick my jaw up off the floor.

She said that she didn’t agree with transracial adoption. She gave this as her reason.

Blackbirds stick with blackbirds. Doves stick with doves.

Mind you, that’s not an actress being fed that line. That’s a real human being sharing her own words and opinions on the situation. I think I saw some shade of red after she opened her mouth. She did go on to say that even though she didn’t agree with it, what’s done was done and that as a friend, the other woman should support the new mother. Well, at least she wasn’t a total bigot.

A few more people intervened — in favor of the adoptive mother though. Thankfully.

Then they switched the scenario, bringing in two black women; the adoptive mom picking up her newly adopted white child was met with the reverse, “You didn’t tell me she was white!”

They sit down at the table and the friend launches into all the reasons that this won’t work. She actually says, “With all the needy black children out there you had to go and adopt a white child?” The adoptive mother plays into the question, explaining that the child’s mother died of breast cancer. Family was brought up and how she’d be better off with “her own.”

Again, I wasn’t sure people would intervene.

Then a nice man made me blubber like a baby. When the friend went off to the bathroom, a white man at the booth behind the adoptive mom leaned over and showed the mom a picture of his family. It then launched into his family’s history; when he met his wife, she was already parenting a son who just so happens to be black. They got married, the man adopted the son and the couple went on to have three more sons. The son is now 35, a grown and happy man, and they have two grandchildren from him. He shared how families are families. Later, when asked why he intervened, and he shared his story, I just wanted to hug the man.

And then there was a little old lady. She shared how when her granddaughter got pregnant with a “black man” (she had to gasp/say that twice because she kind of stuttered over it like it was a cuss word, sigh), she wanted her granddaughter to “give the baby up” or have an… and she stuttered again and wouldn’t actually say the word abortion. She went on to say that the baby, her great-grandchild, is now the reason she breathes. I’m not sure what it says if she can’t actually say the word “black man” without faltering, but her grandma heart made me feel a bit warm.

– __ — __ —

Watch it for yourself: What Would You Do?, Friday, February 25, 2011:

(PS: My favorite part is when the first little girl exclaims, “It’s fake!,” and her adoptive mom shushes her. Heh.)

– __ — __ –

I know there are people who believe like the first woman. I’m related to some of those people in various ways. I live in a city with people who think that way. I hear things — regularly — that make me cringe, that hurt my heart for the amazing parents, children, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters I know that live the transracial family life. A friend of mine who didn’t know about the Munchkin referred to a biracial child as an “Oreo.” We’re no longer friends. Dee once overheard a comment like one of these while at a restaurant. I hate it.

As someone said during the scenarios, I’d like to think we’re evolving past some of these issues. In some ways, I know that we are. But we still have a long way to go until families are recognized as families — no matter their makeup — and humans are recognized as humans — no matter their skin color.

(Please note that all words used in this piece were based on what the show used.)

I live in Ohio. And here? Race has everything to do with it. Okay, well, not everything. Those who aren’t concerned about his “being black” are concerned with the “fact” that he is Muslim. Or that he kills babies. Or that he’s the anti-Christ. But, yes, most of it goes back to his skin color. And this drives me absolutely insane. (Obviously, there are intelligent, non-bigots that support McCain but even those among my real life friends have talked about this sad reality.)

I made it out to a rally yesterday. My first and, obviously, only of the season. I missed previous ones due to short notice, other plans and random illness(es). All the same, standing outside yesterday, even though it was in the upper 60′s, has left me almost without a voice today. (My chorale director will be thrilled, no?) I stood there, in what was touted as Columbus’ biggest rally ever, and looked at the people around me. White families. Black families. Hispanic families. Mixed families (which included one in our group).

It was just very moving to me. To see people in this state, of all states, come together. To hear them united in a cause instead of spewing hate at one another. To feel encouraged that Obama might actually win instead of discouraged by the words of hate that I’ve had to endure for months and months. To feel that perhaps change is possible. And not even all of the change that even some supporters are skeptical of Obama delivering. While it would be great if everything fell into place, I’m well aware that it will be a tough, long road for some of the reforms.

But the change I’m looking forward to?

When my daughter and her daughter and my friend’s daughter who was with us might actually be able to believe that they, too, could be President. When gender won’t be an issue. When race won’t be an issue. Well, maybe not the complete absence of an issue. But perhaps to the point where those who actually vocalize their distaste in voting outside of their own racial identity will be in the vast, vast minority and shunned as the ignorant fools that they are.

Someday we’ll be able to stand together, even in this strange state of Ohio. Until then, my task is to raise my sons to feel and think the same way despite what others around them may do or say. And, sadly, that will be a task enough in itself thanks to the hatred that lives in this area.

But I’ll hold out hope. Tomorrow and always.

First and foremost, I was being recognized as a parent. True, I’m an everyday parent to BigBrother with another one on the way. But my family includes more than just these two boys; it includes the presence of my daughter and her family. Within that stretch, there are more than three different races being represented, bringing the issue into the core existence of what our family is, stands for and hopes to be in the future.

More over, however, was the fact that I’ve still been silently stinging over an issue that happened late last year (that I didn’t find out about until early this year). After the article and picture ran last November, featuring my face next to the Munchkin’s in newspapers and on computer screens across the nation, a very opinionated blogger took the story and basically decided to rip me a new one. For being a racist.

I cannot adequately describe the shock that I felt upon reading the hate-filled words that he and some commenters had for me, my daughter, her family, our situation and the adoption in general… without knowing any of us past two quotes, a smidgen of information and our pictures. Never, in my then-twenty-five-years on the planet, had I been called a racist. I was caught off-guard. It really took me off my center. I was upset for days. My Husband reassured me that it was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard. A fellow birth mother tried to get me to realize that he was just looking for hits on his own blog. Munchkin’s birth father actually laughed, reminding me that our relationship hadn’t been based on my hatred of the African-American people.

But I was still left stinging. For months to come.

So, in case anyone was left wondering, I did not place my daughter because she is of a different race. The only time race came into play regarding my adoption plan was when I learned that J’s boys were also transracial; I thought that might give them an edge that other families didn’t possess. I figured if I couldn’t parent her (which is what I believed at the time), someone with experience on certain subjects would be a great advantage to themselves and the Munchkin as she will surely face issues in the future.

The stinging has mostly alleviated. I know who I am at the core: I am a mother to the most beautiful girl on the planet and two boys. And while I’m lots of other things as well, that mothering part of me wants my children, all of them, to be raised with the understanding that we’re all amazing. Not just because all humans share certain qualities, making us believe that we should love each other as ourselves, but because we all bring something totally unique to the table. Those differences fascinate me and implore me to continue learning about all kinds of different people and cultures. I hope to pass that love of people, in their blessed uniqueness, onto my children… daily parented or not.

And so, as Cloudscome asked: how did it feel to be tagged? Darn good. While some not-so-nice (and now not-living?!) blogger may have misjudged my character, others who have been privvy to my most-inner thoughts and outward deeds have seen me for who I hope to be: a mother who loves her children equally and who only wants the best for them in this life. I only hope my children will see the same exact thing and be forever blessed and changed by that vision.

(As a note, I will not link to the blogger’s post because, even though he’s now deceased, I do not want the blog to be receiving hits from any of my blogs. Contact me via e-mail for a link if you so desire.)

1. I am:

Polish, Irish, Scottish, British and a smidgen of Cherokee. I can’t remember, without calling my Mom up at work right now, if there is actually Hungarian on my paternal side or if Grandma just has a lot of Hungarian recipies. Either way, she’s a magnificent cook. I identify a lot with my Polish ancestry because of my paternal Grandma. In fact, I want to go to Poland someday to explore and seek out relatives that are still in the “Old Country.”

2. My kids are:

Unique? Obviously, Munchkin has my heritage and then from her biological father, she has some African-American, British, Jamaican and some other things that are slipping my un-coffee-laden mind. Of course, this is all genetically speaking; she has an entire other history from her adoptive parents. As for BigBrother and LittleBrother, they have my heritage and whatever TheHusbandMan’s happens to be. No, I don’t know the answer to the question, “Are you guys related to the infamous Hatfield clan?” No one has done their geneaology. I really need to get to work on that… eventually.

3. I first started thinking more about race, culture, and identity when:

I was in high school. Prior to that, I wasn’t really aware of race issues. While our school wasn’t overly diverse, I didn’t see a difference in playing with x-race or y-race. In high school, however, I “dated” (prior to being allowed out of the house to date, so basically we held hands at school, passed notes and talked on the phone) a guy who was a year older than me… and African-American. While Mom and Dad didn’t expressly forbid the relationship, Grandma (yes, the Polish one) was a bit more verbal. I was shocked by this fact. I had been taught to love everyone and I was very confused. I was also hurt for my (short-lived!) boyfriend.

4. People think my name is:

Oh, gosh. No one could/can pronounce my maiden name. No one. It’s aggravating. In fact, when people called and mispronounced my name, I would say, “Nope, no one by that name lives here.” As for my married name? The Hatfield and McCoy jokes just keep coming. (I just made a humorous post on the family blog regarding the issue.) To answer again, no, I don’t know if we’re related to any of the infamous clan. I can hope not to be, right?

5. The family tradition I most want to pass on is:

I’d like to see our boys pass their first name on to their sons as the middle name, as it’s gone through generations on my Husband’s side of the family. I’d like to see them pass a love of Paczki on to their families during Lent to identify with their Polish heritage. Part of me doesn’t want them to do the next one because I’m an over-protective mother but, in all honesty, if they also joined the fire service (like has been passed through the blood for generations), I would be a proud Mama. As for Munchkin, if she would pass on the Leigh to one of her children (as she also bears my middle name), I would feel honored. Heck, if she became a fire fighter, I’d be a super proud Mama (but that doesn’t flow through my genetic makeup… so it’s up to TheHusbandMan to influence her!).

6. The family tradition I least want to pass on is:

Let’s break the cycle of unplanned pregnancies (maternal side), shall we? While I can hope that by the time all three children are facing such issues and decisions that adoption will have been thoroughly reformed, I’m also realistic. It is my greatest fear that any of my children will have to face any of the issues I have faced (and continue to face). (That said, I would move mountains to support them in the wake of an unplanned pregnancy. Any of them.)

7. My child’s first word in English was:

I don’t know Munchkin’s first word. BigBrother’s, of course, was dada, followed shortly behind by ball.

8. My child’s first non-English word was:

I don’t know Munchkin’s. BigBrother was “hola.”

9. The non-English word/phrase most used in my home is:

Yia yia, which is Greek for Grandma. (Yes, I’m aware that we are not Greek!) It is what BigBrother calls my mother. We’re not particularly sure why; he just started doing it one day. When my mother told a coworker who happens to have Greek heritage, she informed my mom that it was Greek for Grandma. Apparently my Son is a freaking genius.

10. One thing I love about being a parent is:

Snuggles. I don’t get enough of them since a) Munchkin lives quite a distance away, b) she doesn’t stop moving when we do see her, c) BigBrother is a constant ball of movement as well. However, as BigBrother has been waking up early (!) as of late, we’ve been cuddling in my(our) bed in the mornings while he finishes waking up (thus fully waking me up as well!). The only other time I really get significant snuggles is when he’s not feeling well so I don’t really wish for those ones.

11. One thing I hate about being a parent is:

Judgment. I know. I should have a thicker skin. (I mean, I just wrote about it yesterday!) But it is one thing I hate dealing with as a parent. The fact of the matter is that I am a mother to the Munchkin and my boys. There are certain people or groups of people that don’t want me to wear that title for my daughter because I don’t kiss her boo-boos or do the daily (and hard!) work of a parent. However, I am her mother. When I talk about her placement, people automatically want to pass judgment on me, assuming I fit any of the multiple stereotypes that surround birth parents. They’re shocked when I don’t and want me to fail in some other way by stating that I must cross boundaries or cause her parents a lot of mental anguish. They tell me that my boys will be confused, that the Munchkin will be confused. And quite frankly, I’m done with all of that mumbo-jumbo. Our family is different. It is unique. It is not “wrong.”

12. To me, being an anti-racist parent means:

Teaching all of my children (in various ways) that we are more than our skin, more than our heritage, more than our past wants us to be. To do that, I continue to surround myself with others who think in a similar fashion, read books, blogs and articles that challenge me to think bigger and broader and pray for guidance on this issue that will hit my family in unique ways. Thankfully I was blessed with a Husband who thinks about these issues in the same ways (or, really, I wouldn’t have married him!) so we can also put up a united front for our children. Unfortuantely, being an anti-racist parent also means educating certain family members who use derogatory words and spew negative speech… without murdering them… so that my children will not be negatively affected by their hatred. I won’t stand for it. Ever.

As for tagging, I’m totally late to this meme because last week was crazy, crazy and thus, I don’t know who has and who has not completed the meme. If you want to participate, I’d love to read your answers. Leave me a comment to let me know if you participated!

Boy, was she wrong.

I’d love to support a company run by a birth mother. I’d love to bind together with someone who has been through similar things and understands the issues surrounding the loss of a child. However, I don’t view adoption as a gift. So, right off the bat, there was a deep chasm between the two of us. And then… and then… I clicked on the dolls page. Now, understand that these are dolls to represent the countries that the babies are available from. What’s available to represent America?

A white doll. With blonde hair. And blue eyes.

To be somewhat fair to the owner, she stated in an e-mail (in which she insists that she’s not racist because she’s going to offer a doll from Africa! … sigh) that the doll is modeled after the child she placed for adoption. Okay, ya know, I get that. I do. I’d want to immortalize Munchkin if I could, though no baby doll could ever do her beauty any form of justice. But, if you’re offering one doll, from each country, for parents to give their children a resemblance of the country they come from… and you’re only offering a blonde haired, blue eyed little girl…

Is anyone else’s mind exploding?

And then you want to justify that decision by saying, “I’m offering one from Africa soon.” And you don’t see the injustice laying under the rubble of your money-making scheme? ARGH. It’s just someone else trying to profit off of adoption. That’s all it is.

So, it looks like Munchkin can’t have a doll that looks like her since she’s not white and she’s NOT FROM AFRICA. Neither can Madison. Or Maeve. Or, ya know, any of the BRUNETTE children from America. Or the red heads. Or the hispanic children. Or the Asian children. Or (do I need to go on)…

You can justify things all you want. Besides the fact that I feel like N and find the adoption of baby dolls to be somewhat HORRIFYING, neglecting to offer children of different races and creeds and solely representing America with a blonde haired blue eyed girl is offensive.

And my heart continues to break for our children. NOT just for Munchkin. But for BigBrother and New Baby and … all of them … who will continue to have to fight this battle, even if we do raise them with hearts full of love and pride in diversity.

Someone, in my age bracket though slightly younger than me, responds to me, in actual written word, regarding the unique spelling -slash- misspelling of the name in question. She writes, and I directly quote:

ew? are they black? (i’m not trying to be rude, just black people tend to spell normal names crazy.)

Then later, in brief conversation, informs me that she can’t be racist because, oh, more quotes:

My step father who raised me is black, i grew up in the ghetto of baltimore with all black friends and 2nd families… i’m far from racist.

Is anyone else just basically boggling? I ceased conversation after informing said racist that my daughter is “black.” I just couldn’t fathom anything else to say. My heart was suddenly weighed down with fear and sadness.

Is it possible to raise my son to love and respect not just his sister but our increasingly diverse family when people from MY GENERATION not only say these kind of things but refuse to see how they are slathered in ancestral racism? Is it possible for my kids, barring those who can’t look past the legalities of adoption, to be seen as siblings? Another friend recently posted about a childhood memory when she liked to pretend that she and her best friend were twins… but a nasty kid told her, in no uncertain terms, that no one would ever consider them to be siblings because their skin was different.

Can my kids overcome this? Are doing things like seeking out diverse books and settings enough? What more can I do? There was no point in arguing with that woman; her mind was set. It was over. But my son’s mind is still forming. How do I get him to celebrate the uniquness that makes up our family? How do I get him to accept others, those who don’t fit into our family but are beautiful in their own way? How do I teach love, without boundary of race or gender or hair color or music preference or … whatever the most recent hate-reason is.

Of course, after the encounter and before I wrote this post, BigBrother brought me Munchkin’s pictures, said “Nonna” and kissed it. I might be doing something right.

ETA: D ended up getting involved with the non-racist woman who was quoted above. Do you know what this uber-intelligent woman called D? A, and I quote again, “racist whore.” Yeah. DENISE. *dies laughing*

I forgot until just now. Dawn was writing about dolls and had links to eBay, which made me search for a black CPK on eBay. There are a few older ones… some as old as 1981 (you know, that glorious year, 26 years ago, when someone very cool was born)! So, I pulled up the Cabbage Patch Kid website… and proceeded to vomit. I had forgotten about N’s post until I looked at the website with the word adoption eveeeeeeeerywhere. Oh, really, it was too much. But I kept looking.

In fact, I went through THIRTY pages under the Play Along Kids heading. I found four AA boys. And two girls that could possibly be considered AA … but I can’t really tell for certain, their skin is so very light. Three of the four boys are on the last (as in THIRTIETH) page of the group. LAST! Only two of them are remotely dark, nothing like the dolls from 1981. (I didn’t bother to look through the 33 pages of Play Along Babies.)
I did find out that if I spend basically $300.00, I can design my own CPK with whatever skin tone, eye color, hair color and outfit I darn well please. They do include the darker skin tone of “espresso” on the design-your-own-kid version, where the ones in PAL are mostly mocha colored. There are also some pre-designed “Original Kids” (meaning, handmade) that are AA, but they’re also $285.00. THREE-HUNDRED DOLLARS? Seriously?

Under the “TRU” kids, which are sold at Toys R Us (which we don’t have here), there are some African American girls… dressed in fairy costumes at that which would go over big with the Munchkin. They also have the espresso skin tone, which is cool. But note the lack of selection in outfit/etc from the two categories. Interesting. Apparently AA dolls only need one style of hair whereas caucasian girl dolls need 30 pages of hair color and style possibility? WHAT?

I guess I’m just frustrated and flabbergasted. I enjoyed CPK’s when I was young. N reminded me of the adoption connection which doesn’t sit very well looking at it from my birth mother point of view… but, I was going to look past that in order to get something cool for the Munchkin. Now I’m just completely racially offended for our families. I’m sure there are other AA dolls that I could buy for the Munchkin but… I just wanted that connection with her… for her to have something that I had…

I think I might go for a super old one on eBay. Whaddya think? 1981? …did I just inadvertently call myself “super old?” Crikey.

I forgot until just now. Dawn was writing about dolls and had links to eBay, which made me search for a black CPK on eBay. There are a few older ones… some as old as 1981 (you know, that glorious year, 26 years ago, when someone very cool was born)! So, I pulled up the Cabbage Patch Kid website… and proceeded to vomit. I had forgotten about N’s post until I looked at the website with the word adoption eveeeeeeeerywhere. Oh, really, it was too much. But I kept looking.

In fact, I went through THIRTY pages under the Play Along Kids heading. I found four AA boys. And two girls that could possibly be considered AA … but I can’t really tell for certain, their skin is so very light. Three of the four boys are on the last (as in THIRTIETH) page of the group. LAST! Only two of them are remotely dark, nothing like the dolls from 1981. (I didn’t bother to look through the 33 pages of Play Along Babies.)
I did find out that if I spend basically $300.00, I can design my own CPK with whatever skin tone, eye color, hair color and outfit I darn well please. They do include the darker skin tone of “espresso” on the design-your-own-kid version, where the ones in PAL are mostly mocha colored. There are also some pre-designed “Original Kids” (meaning, handmade) that are AA, but they’re also $285.00. THREE-HUNDRED DOLLARS? Seriously?

Under the “TRU” kids, which are sold at Toys R Us (which we don’t have here), there are some African American girls… dressed in fairy costumes at that which would go over big with the Munchkin. They also have the espresso skin tone, which is cool. But note the lack of selection in outfit/etc from the two categories. Interesting. Apparently AA dolls only need one style of hair whereas caucasian girl dolls need 30 pages of hair color and style possibility? WHAT?

I guess I’m just frustrated and flabbergasted. I enjoyed CPK’s when I was young. N reminded me of the adoption connection which doesn’t sit very well looking at it from my birth mother point of view… but, I was going to look past that in order to get something cool for the Munchkin. Now I’m just completely racially offended for our families. I’m sure there are other AA dolls that I could buy for the Munchkin but… I just wanted that connection with her… for her to have something that I had…

I think I might go for a super old one on eBay. Whaddya think? 1981? …did I just inadvertently call myself “super old?” Crikey.