That's a pretty big IF . . .

I have been told (by more than one person) that I was full of it. My dreams were too big, my expectations were set too high, and I was far too picky. There was practically no help for a girl like me who wanted so much and was refusing to give up so little to get it. Here was the rationale:

IF there really was one person out there that somehow met all my extremely high standards and expectations, what were the chances our paths would cross in this lifetime? And IF such a person really did exist, and we happened to meet, what are the chances that I would come to know him in a way that would allow me to identify him as The One and fall madly in love with him? And IF such a person really did exist, and we happened to meet, and I would come to know him in a way that would allow me to identify him as The One and fall madly in love with him, what are the chances that he would fall madly in love with me, and accordingly identify me as The One he has long been looking for?

Well, I've never been very good at gambling, yet I think it's clear the odds were greatly in my favor. He does exist. And we met. Twice. And I know. And I'm madly in love. And he loves me. And he knows. And so we both win. And our future awaits.

There are definitely no "IF's" about it.

Happy First Anniversary, Raleigh!

Womanly Woes

Sometimes, it's just rough being a girl. Case in point:

This morning I was paged to meet a family to discuss and notarize some of their adoption documents. As I was gathering my things and preparing to leave the room, my coworker Andrea said, "Um, Meems . . . turn around a sec." I rolled my eyes, obeyed her annoying request, and quickly spun in place. Within half a rotation I could feel cool air on the back of my upper thigh and realized why she was suddenly staring at me with such big, round eyes. The back half of my skirt was tucked up into the bottom side of my underwear, exposing my the whole upper half of my thigh. I quickly untucked my skirt, giggled in embarrassment, thanked her profusely for catching the fashion faux pas, took a deep breath, and then headed out to meet the family.

Although the crisis was diverted (I don't think anyone else in the office had noticed my exposed bum before Andrea did), I was paranoid for the rest of the day and double and triple-checked my skirt every time I sat, knelt, stood, or used the rest room. Talk about stress! And all because of a skirt!

In addition to reconsidering my wardrobe choice for tomorrow, the situation got me thinking . . . unless they wear a kilt, boys would never experience what I did today! And as I usually do, I kept thinking: what other traumas do only girls endure?

Here's my quick and partial list (compiled with help from my Clothing Crisis Averting Coordinator, Andrea):
Headlights.
*Some guys may have breasts, but I'm fairly certain they don't show their headlights when chilly or wet like we do. And as if having the beamers on wasn't enough, ever notice how the casually-rub-with-your-forearms move to lessen the intensity of the reveal never looks casual nor seems to help for long?! Argh!
Overflow.
*No matter how discrete we try to be when Aunt Flo comes to town, there's always the risk she'll make her appearance known to the world. Boys should feel lucky they never have to consider what color pants to wear depending soley on the time of the month.
Exposure.
*Males may often run around bare-chested in public without a second thought, however for girls, showing some boob can be a pretty traumatic event. Whether chilling at the swimming pool, meeting a client at work, hanging out with dear ol' grandma, or shaking hands at a job interview, the "girls" should--but don't always--stay in place. Playing peek-a-boo like this usually isn't fun.
Red Teeth.
*Like my skirt issue, lipstick on the teeth is something we usually don't know about until someone tells us. And unless they're a drag queen or it's Halloween, I've yet to catch a man with color on his pearly whites.
Bikini Bumps.
*Nearly impossible to avoid altogether, and very annoying on the pantyline. Plus, they look nasty too.
Raccoon Eyes.
*Sometimes we don't even have to cry to get the mascara around our eyes all gooey, goopy, or smudgy.
Peeking Panties.
*Although it can be cute and somewhat sexy for a guy to let his boxers peek out above his pants, why is it so gross for a woman to do the same? Add the problem of panty lines to the issue and we have ourselves a gender-biased skivvy dilemma.
Boob Sweat.
*Yes, we have it (even those with a smaller chest), and yes, it is gross. Deodorant can sweeten the smell (if there is any), however once it gets warm under there, persperation is usually inevitable. I suppose men who sweat on their bald heads can somewhat relate, however considering untreated sweaty boobs can lead to chafing, I hardly think it's the same.
Juggling Jugs.
*Any wild thoracic motion and the breasts are usually not happy. The larger the boobs, the larger the boob pain. And any girl would agree the sports bra is a pathetic answer.
Cramps.
*Some women are blessed with never experiencing these, however most of us have at least once felt the pain of Red's Revenge. Midol can help and heat can soothe, however cramps are sometimes bad enough I think even boys would be cranky.

Shaving legs and armpits, waxing lips and eyebrows, watching for runs in the nylons, slipping tight tummy tuckers over the belly, plucking grey hairs from one's head, and keeping finger and toenails neat, clean, and polished also seem to be annoying female-only duties. Oh, and if you're counting the pain factor, don't forget to throw in childbirth too. I hear that one's a doozy and last time I checked, not a single man has pulled it off.

Ahhh . . . sometimes it's just a pain being a girl.

¡Viva la México!

And the secret destination was . . .

PUERTO VALLARTA, MEXICO!

For all those curious folks out there, here's how my surprise played out:

Thursday-
We arrived at the airport, and I was just giddy with excitement. Seriously giddy. Like out-of-my-mind-I-can't-wait-to-figure-out-where-we're-going-and-jumpy-all-over giddy. We stroll up to the Frontier counter to check our bag and the nice lady (with all flight information in the nifty computer at her fingertips) asked for our destination. Raleigh smiles a sly smile and calmly answered, "Oh, she doesn't know yet. It's a surprise," and the used-to-be-nice lady makes a large, toothy smile and says, "Oh really?! Well, we'll just keep it a surprise then, won't we?" She was like putty in Raleigh's hands and seemed to enjoy keeping such valuable information from me. Oh how I wanted to know so bad! She even spoke with a tone indicative of I-know-what-you-don't-know teasing and ended our brief encounter with a not-so-innocent "Enjoy your weekend in . . . well . . . where ever you're going." I nodded politely and smiled, somewhat disappointed I wasn't walking away from the counter with more information than I'd had when I first walked up. What good was that woman there for, anyways?! Geesh!

I thought that my waiting days were over when Ral then suggested we exchange money before heading to the gate. But then he requested I stay back when he made the transaction and being a good girlfriend--not wanting to spoil the surprise yet find out what it was just the same--begrudgingly complied. Hmph; surely I wouldn't have to wait too much longer!

Finally Ral guided me by hand through the concourse and made our way to the gate. I had my eyes fixed on the last gate in the stretch (my experience from the morning had told me that with my luck, that'd be the only gate we'd be flying out of), only to be quickly spun towards the gate we'd just passed. And what I saw on the information board was to my eyes and heart like ice cream is to my mouth . . . PUERTO VALLARTA was clearly spelled out. We were heading to Mexico!

After a hug and a kiss (or two or three or a gazillion), and just as many "thank you"s, the attendants announced our flight was ready and we excitedly boarded the plane. We were going to Mexico!

(Don't worry . . . slideshow of pictures soon to come!)

No news, just clues.

Ok, so I was talking with Ral at lunch today and asked for some assistance on packing, since I still have no clue where we're going and want to make sure I've got all that I need. I reminded him that I'm an analyst after all, and lists are very important to me. I got a chuckle and then heard the following:

"Bring 4 days worth of clothing. Comfortable clothing for warm weather as we will be closer to the equator. Bring appropriate traveling clothes for a 4+ hour flight. I haven't checked the weather for the area this week yet, however there is probably a chance of a rainstorm or two, so be sure to have attire with you that will keep you comfortable if an afternoon gets blustery."

I asked about evening wear and was told to "have one good knock-out outfit on hand, because one night, we will treat ourselves to an evening that reflects what we're worth." (I should probably note that there were a few suggestions from my wardrobe thrown out here--black/white diagonal cut dress, brown ribbon strappy dress, and even the famous J-Lo dress, should I desire to pull it from the closet--just in an effort to help me narrow the selection, I'm sure.)

Besides the above, I confirmed that it'd be smart to bring along sunscreen, my swimsuit, my passport, and the camera. Oh, and I was told my bilingual skills "might" come in handy.

So, any guesses yet? I've got several possible destinations in mind . . .

Mamma Mia!

I love my mother to pieces, yet sometimes she drives me crazy. And sometimes she drives me crazy without really doing much of anything.

My mom . . .
knows how to push my buttons
would do anything for me
often acts goofy in public
will drive across town to meet me for lunch
calls me at work just to chat--when she KNOWS I'm busy
giggles at the most inopportune times
can annoy the heck out of me
loves me with her whole heart
enjoys embarrassing her children for embarrassment sake alone
is high energy ALL of the time
encourages me to do and be my absolute best
can still silence her kids with "the look"
doesn't mind laughing at herself every once in a while
is generally messy and not very well organized
can improvise like no other
doesn't care what other people think
hates it when people chew on cotton (it's like nails on a chalkboard to her)
is an Arbonne fanatic
is the most PHENOMENAL woman I know

Oh, that mother of mine . . . how I love her so!

Calling Nancy Drew or Sherlock Holmes . . .

It was 'strongly suggested' that I take Thursday, May 3rd and Friday, May 4th off from work. Being a smart girl, I read between the lines and did so immediately. (Who could question that deep, strong yet gentle voice?)

I was then told I'd better be prepared to get up early to catch the plane on that Thursday, with bags packed and ready to go. Not much would be needed, I was informed, as I'd do just fine with a light bag packed with nothing but my swimsuit, sunscreen, and a hat. Aloe might be a good idea, and my passport is a definite requirement.

So . . . where are we going? It's still a mystery to me . . .

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I need swimming lessons.

I need help. I simply don't know how to stay afloat anymore...

Of course, I'm not talking about water. I'm talking about life, and specifically, work. Yesterday I finally hit my breaking point, and I fully admit I cried much of the day. Today I managed to limit my tears to my lunch break.

I don't want to go into too many details, however I'm at the point where I'm finding it harder and harder to keep it together. I'm tired of getting yelled at by those I'm trying to help. I'm tired of being blamed for things I didn't do or say. I'm tired of being reprimanded for not giving answers I'm not authorized (nor able) to give. I'm tired of bending over backwards to make a complicated process go smoothly for someone, only to be told I'm not bending far enough. I'm tired of being asked to take responsibility for a slow government approval process stateside and at the same time, for the decisions being made by a Communist country half a world away. I'm just really tired.

While those close to me know what's been going on and have been able to see the change in my world, I've been putting on a good face for most everybody else, being rather unspecific about the stresses related to my job and how I've been feeling lately. I guess I just don't want to seem overly pessimistic about things.

Although I'm usually a fairly positive person, I think I've begun to see and (sadly) expect less-than-positive things in my work life. Frequent great days have slowly become frequent good days and have since slipped to occasional okay days. And some weeks it seems that I have more not-so-okay days than the okay ones.

And all this stress is starting to take a toll on my health. I'm physically exhausted, I've come to expect semi-intense headaches at least twice a week, and I haven't had a solid night of sleep for close to a month. My evenings and weekends spent with those I love are so precious to me, yet I'm finding myself not at the top of my game during those moments either. I'm emotionally sinking.

The strange part is, underneath it all, I still like what I do. At the foundation of it all, adoption is good. And I think for the most part, the families are good. The social workers are good, and the orphanage workers in China are good. There are usually good intentions by all involved. Perhaps that's why I struggle so much. I fight the current that keeps pushing against me, all the while understanding and believing that the water I'm standing in is bringing about a positive change to all hearts involved and in the bigger picture, to the world.

Still, feeling undervalued, unsupported, overwhelmed and unappreciated does not feel good. I know that for the most part, I just happen to be the only one folks have to direct their energy to during this stressful time. Intellectually, I know I'm doing a great job and am serving families to the best of my ability and that what is coming at me doesn't really have anything to do with me. Still, it hurts the heart.

I'm tired of working so hard to keep myself from sinking beneath the surface. I can only tread water so long. If I don't figure out how to swim soon (and swim in a way so that I again enjoy all that I love about this work), I may have to exit from this water and find some other pool to play in.