Oh dear, that is anemic-looking chili, I thought, and the rehearsal began again.

But you know what? That is an enormous waste of emotional energy. And it’s silly. And my chili is actually half decent.

A few weeks ago, a friend of ours had a medical emergency and I found myself babysitting a wee-one and holding down the fort. And sometime around mid-afternoon, meals started being delivered for this dear family. As I held a toddler hand and listened to directions about pre-heating ovens and D-e-s-s-e-r-t, I heard something louder than the instructions: no apologies.

Neither of these lovely ladies apologized for over-cooking the quinoa or not adding enough oregano. They didn’t explain why they “only” brought salad and an entree. And you know what? That made sense: because it wasn’t about them. It wasn’t about me babysitting either. It was about loving on a family and helping them get through a really tough day.

Back to my chili. As I thought about that afternoon spent babysitting, I felt challenged to not apologize but to simply hand over the chili and back away slowly. This would mean not subtly implying that I can bake up a storm (if I’d only had time!) and that no matter how yummy this may taste, I can cook way more delicious food. Essentially, I’d just hand a new Mama a meal.

So as I waited for the crosswalk sign to light up, I swore to say Nothing.

Well here’s the problem, people: old habits die hard. (It would be helpful to note here that my boss has forbidden me to apologize in meetings. This is an indication of my problem…)

Maybe it was the scent of newborn or her little nose or the genuine joy of Mama, but I forgot my resolve. I found myself saying, “So yeah, my brother said it was cruel to bring you chili after you just gave birth. Um…I had no idea. I’m sorry. Also, it pretty much doesn’t taste like anything because I didn’t know your spice tolerance and–”

And then the baby cooed (actually I think she pooped) and we got distracted and we hugged and smiled and dinner was all but forgotten.

In case you were confused, this is not a How To Be Awesome At Delivering Supper Post. Nor is it a Female Only Post. This is a post about being real. I want to stop using apologies like concealer. I want to be someone who can hand over dinner and be 1000% into hearing about your epidural (Let’s be honest: I may not ever reach 1000% on that one). In fact, I want to be able to ring the door bell and walk away, no note, no accolade, no attention on me. I want to do my best and not garnish it with an “I’m sorry!”.

Is anyone else struggling to be the real deal? Are you a compulsive apologizer? Do you think your chili recipe is better than mine? If so, please make it for me. I did not have a baby or a medical emergency but I am always open to delectable chili.

Today, my Aunt K passed along this beautiful letter entitled, “Dear Moms of Adopted Children“. Whether you are considering adoption, were adopted yourself or love someone who is pursuing adoption, this is worth a read!

Oops. I forgot to tell you to grab some tissues.

Happy Thursday, friends! I hope you can enjoy the sunshine I waited for patiently all winter!

In case you’re not aware, last week a clothes factory collapsed in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Today, the death toll is over 600.

600 people dead in one day because of unsafe working conditions.

The BBC shares the grim truth: “In order to capture the lower end of the global market, successive governments have promoted Bangladesh as the source of cheap clothing…But the lure of quick dollars has attracted a whole range of cowboy operators who cut corners to drive costs further down. The result is factories in unsafe buildings with poor safety measures.”

While I’m not an economist and realize the situation is quite complex, I know one thing: I have access to clothing that is unreasonably cheap. And halfway around the world, our brothers and sisters are dying in factories made unsafe by greed–and a desire to provide cheap clothing.

Like most commitments, this one emerged from a late night conversation about Life, The World and Clothes. My dear friend Beth and I were sipping chai and giggling when the topic turned to ethical buying practices. We lamented our lack of cash flow. We lamented slave labour and unsafe working conditions. We realized our ‘cash flow problems’ were nowhere near as lamentable as children working (or dying) in sweatshops.

For me, buying ethically is something of an ideal I aspire to someday reach. But for reasons of knowledge, time, money and resources, I can’t just switch over tomorrow. So, we started with chocolate. Tiny, but it is something. While Beth and I chatted, I realized how easy it would be to do clothes.

I don’t know about you, but I could pack up half my clothes right now and still be good for all four seasons. And look half-decent. That is startling to think about. And yet I wouldn’t hesitate to order something when Old Navy has a Free Shipping! sale or when I realize that peach and mint green are The Colours. But really, how are these clothes so cheap? And why do I keep filling my closet just to fill more boxes for Goodwill? And why do I spend money on things I don’t need?

When I say blithely that I can’t afford to buy ethical clothing only, I mean “I can’t afford it if I want to keep buying at the same rate”. That’s true. So, I considered my wardrobe needs for the year and agreed to Beth’s proposition: no clothing items (shoes, clothes, jackets, etc) that aren’t ethically made, Fair Trade or second hand.

And you know what? It’s been awesome.

I have bought exactly two clothing items since January. Today as Varun and I walked through the mall to buy batteries, I didn’t feel the pull of neon tank tops for $10. I didn’t have to talk myself down from “Well I don’t need it. But it is cute and you can always use another…”

I just kept walking.

But let’s be honest, sometimes you absolutely do need new ______. And it came to pass that I needed some new underwear (Yup, we’re going there. Don’t worry, this is PG). Let’s just say elastic does have a limited life expectancy and it’s approximately 5 years. Apparently, I bought several pairs of underwear on the same day in 2006 and they all died this spring. On the same day.

This is how I found myself googling Fair Trade underwear. The prospects were grim: I found websites featuring middle-aged models fording streams in hiking-trip-coloured underwear that  was ‘comfortable’ and ‘quick dry’. Meh, not so much. I also found websites based in the UK offering £30 ‘pants’ with cherries on them. Le sigh.

Finally, I came across PACT. Here is ethically made (Not Fair Trade because it’s made in the USA), stylish and comfortable underwear. For a reasonable price. And some of the proceeds go toward planting urban gardens. And they are fully returnable, come in normal sizes and who doesn’t want their underwear to help plant lima beans in downtown Detroit?

To be fair, this underwear is not dirt cheap. They cost $10-22 (cheaper on clearance and depending on style). If I wanted to buy 6 pairs in one go or keep up my normal rate of spending on clothing, this cost would be prohibitive. But because I haven’t spent a dime on clothes since January, and because I was looking for only how many I needed, I picked two pairs. My total was $24.

Not only was it mailed promptly and sent in recycled packaging, it comes with an awesome tag. Seriously, how can you not love this?

So far, we haven’t really been feeling the pinch of not buying things. Like most North Americans, we have far more clothes than we need, and besides being slightly behind the season’s fashions (which we would be anyway), it’s only saved us time, money and headache. I imagine though, that within the next few months, we will have to adjust our expectations. We may have to go without something new and trendy that we’re really wanting. Or, we may need to shell out a bit more cash for new shoes or a new belt (someone help me find Varun an ethically made belt!).

But when we take a step back, and look at the cost of cheap clothing, I think I can easily say it’s worth it.

How do you balance legitimate needs with ethical concerns? Do you have a favourite company, brand or website that sells ethically made clothes or shoes? What are your thoughts on fair trade or ethically made? What is the life expectancy of underwear elastic!?

(These thoughts are entirely my own. Pact did not sponsor or endorse this post in anyway.)

Waiting for our child is a bit like this. Instead of a paper chain, we have paper signs on our fridge saying ‘Approval!’ and ‘Assigned a RIPA’. Instead of the Wedding Singer, I’m making an adoption playlist (‘A Growing Heart’). Instead of flares and headbands….nope, thanks to Pinterest I’m still wearing headbands.

…Can you tell I’m procrastinating the actual April Adoption Update?

There’s a reason.

Our adoption is…in a holding pattern. Way back in December we gleefully announced that our wee one would be from a RIPA in Andhra Pradesh. Well, in March we got a phone call saying that that RIPA (Orphanage) wouldn’t be able to match us with a child. So, our agency put our file back into the main system (CARA) and we are currently waiting for CARA to reassign us to a new RIPA (orphanage/region).

We’ve been waiting since mid-March for the news from our agency that we’ve been assigned a RIPA. From there, we’ll wait to be assigned a child. At this point, our timeline is quite fuzzy. (Hence the lack of paper chains). On the one hand, anything could happen: we could get assigned a RIPA and a child all in the next month. On the other (more likely) hand, it could be months and months of waiting.

Applications: this is how babies are made in this family.

And so we wait.

We hang out with adoptive families, learning from the parental wisdom and loving on the kiddies; we babysit friend’s kids and play hide & seek and imagine our life, our little kiddo. We fill out grant applications and save money and keep up with paperwork. We are inundated with love, prayers, support and even financial help from friends, family and strangers. We pray for our child every night and try not to weep over every gotcha day video or random children’s books.

I read this while babysitting. There was weeping.

And some day, maybe next week or maybe next month, we’ll be matched with a RIPA. And then we’ll be back on an official waiting list waiting to be matched.

Thank you for loving on us, praying for our little one and journeying through this with us!

Timeline in Review

July 2012: Begin homestudy and provincial training

September 2012: Complete homestudy

October 2012: Provincial approval to adopt!

November 2012: Registered with India (CARA)

December 2012: Assigned a RIPA in Andhra Pradesh

March 2012: Withdrawn from RIPA, re-entered into CARA’s system

April 2012: Waiting to be assigned a RIPA so we can be matched with a child….

Me: Oh, that reminds me of this movie I used to watch as a kid, Bambi.

Varun: Barbie?

Me: No, Bambi. It’s about this little deer, and his mom gets shot–

Varun: What?!

Me: Um. Wait. No, the forest burns down..and then his mom gets shot?–

Varun: ????

Me: No, there’s more. There’s something happy….

Varun: You have very strange children’s movies.

See, doesn’t this look like a happy kid’s movie?!

____________

In other news, when we got married I found a shirt in Varun’s clothing collection that raised several questions. I tried to explain why it’s an exercise/sleeping-only-shirt. The other day, I noticed Varun was wearing it before our prayer meeting. I mentioned that *maybe* he would want to throw on something else. He laughed and said, “Let’s see if they notice!”

Would you believe that they did, in fact, notice?

Mid-way through a prayer request, our friend A asked, “WHAT is going on with your shirt?” (Or something to that effect. We were laughing too hard to remember his words).

Varun looked at his shirt nonchalantly and said, “Oh. I got it at my bachelor party. I wore it a bunch to church and stuff before Amelia explained it to me”.

Oh. Dear.

(In case, like Varun, you’re unfamiliar with this phrase….A  cougar is an older woman who pursues younger men)

You can take a moment to laugh, cry or rage.

…

……

……….

Okay. My favourite part is “They still say ‘hello’ over there. And they’re going to say ‘hello’ for a long time”. To be honest, I’m not even sure what it means–is not saying ‘hello’ a thing? I do know a lot of Canadians who don’t say ‘hello’. They say ‘bonjour’ because Canadians speak French and drink maple syrup and live in igloos.

As an American and a faux Canadian, let me be the first to say, this is goofy. Mr. Smith does not speak for America. In the same way, let’s be careful when discussing or thinking about last week’s bombing not to lump people into categories: “All” Russians, Muslims, Chechens…As Mr. Smith so aptly demonstrated, doing so makes you look pretty daft.

What can we do to counteract prejudice and hate? Well, my awesome brother Mark had a great idea. He created a blog of (North) Americans showing their love and support to Muslims brothers and sisters. Stop by and check out the pictures or join us by posting your own!

My computer refuses to insert this picture rotated the right way. So, sorry. It’s flipped inversely. C’est la vie.

It’s been a rough week. Let’s all take a moment to appreciate the hilariousness of Justin Bieber + Screaming goats.

Also, way to go RCMP for keeping Canadians safe!

Last week, I went home to celebrate his life and mourn the loss of my Grandfather. This week, my heart aches for those injured, killed or traumatized by the bombing in Boston. I feel sadness and desperation for the victims of the Iranian and Chinese earthquakes and the bombing in Bangalore, India.

As I think about the loss of life, I can’t help but realize how precious and fleeting life on earth is. I want to capture each moment and embrace the beauty of each giggle, each shared conversation and each hug. Today, I’d like to celebrate the life of my Grandfather.

Born in Pennsylvania, Grandfather worked hard to be the first in his family to go to college. He earned an engineering degree from Cornell and married Nan. Within a few years, they had 6 children!

To get to the part I know, we’ll have to fast forward a generation, to when his kids had kids.

Grandfather and Nan made it a point to be present in our lives. They would visit us on birthdays, even bringing the non-birthday boy/girl presents. Of course, by the time my parents had their 5th kid, this tradition stopped.

In case you’re wondering, that’s me, screaming my head off in Grandfather’s capable arms.

As young kids, we would often visit Nan and Grandfather’s house, digging through their basement to find suitable outfits for putting on plays. Grandfather always made sure we had an audience.

Family and history were both important to Grandfather. He gathered his kids and their families regularly for holidays, reunions and vacations in the mountains. And of course, there would always be a family picture taken for posterity!

About two years ago, Varun and I were visiting Grandfather and we shared with him how we moved into our neighbourhood intentionally to love and serve our neighbours. He gave us this admonition, “Never forget the elderly. Sometimes they’re lonely and don’t have family nearby. Offer to help them get groceries or go and visit them”. As we’ve gotten to know our elderly neighbours, Grandfather’s words echo in my head, urging me to love them as if they were my own Grandparents.

During the viewing, funeral and conversations with family, I had a glimpse into Grandfather’s life and character. He was a hard-working man who loved fun, loved friends, loved his family and loved God. It was a joy to know him and be loved by him; he will be greatly missed.

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields and,
Until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

While this is a sad and busy week, I think a post like this is a good reminder of life, joy, laughter and love.

______________________________

Wearing a sari is basically one of my favourite perks of being married to Varun. Well, that and the whole spending my life with my best friend thing. So this weekend, when our awesome Indian-white couple friends got hitched, I filled our Corolla with saris and bangles and headed to Toronto to join Beth for The White Girl Sari-Wearing of 2013.

Apparently, driving into Toronto at noon on a Friday is miserable. So I was late. I arrived at the home of My Dear Friend Beth ready to get us both bedazzled and be-sari-ed in 60 minutes. Thankfully, her charming and amazing-dancer roommate helped us out. Apart from me nearly stabbing Beth with safety pins, there were no major disasters. And somehow, we daintily hobbled our way to the car and to the wedding venue without completely unwrapping our saris.

Beth, Aban and me rocking saris and curly hair

Varun met me in the parking lot after leaving work early and taking the train into the city. He climbed into the backseat and changed into his sherwani, or Indian Male Costume of Amazingness. The entertaining bit about this is that Varun is quite modest. Changing clothes in the backseat parked in downtown Toronto in broad daylight is basically his worst nightmare. I was a very supportive wife. (ish).

Um, that sari needs rewrapping. I apologize to all of my Indian people.

The highlight of the day was definitely the dancing wedding ceremony. Our friends were lovely. And in love.

{Sigh}

Weddings always remind me of the seriousness of the vows we’ve made. And the joy of love.

{The talented and beautiful Shelly Spithoff did the pictures. And they are fabulous.}

At the close of the ceremony, the Pastor gave details about the reception. Only he had an English accent and my beloved has trouble with British accents.

Pastor: After the ceremony there will be a soft bar…

(Only “soft bar” sounded a bit more like “suft baaah”)

Varun: (Whispering LOUDLY) A soft bath? Um. Will you be my partner for that? (Worried glance)

Me: (Snorting laughter into my program throughout the entire recessional)

While there was not a soft bath, the reception was phenomenal. Did I mention that we got bhangra lessons?

Photo Credit: Orvin Lao

Please notice that both Varun and I are actually following the teacher (red). I danced bhangra in a sari and was moderately in time with the music. Bliss.

{Congrats D and N!}

I’d like to write a proper Goodbye post. Perhaps when I’m in the States this weekend I’ll find some photographs and piece my thoughts together. For now, I’ll simply say farewell to a kind, generous and adventurous man I was lucky enough to call Pop.

Varun: What does this mean?

Me: What?

Varun: A rain check? “Can we have a rain check”?

Me: Oh, um..it means that they’re busy, but they’d like to come. It’s like. They’d like an I Owe You or a coupon to take us up on the offer another time.

Varun: OH! I thought it meant if it rained, then they could come. But if it didn’t, they couldn’t come.

Clearly, my husband is a creative and intricate thinker. In fact, I think it’s time to introduce Varun to the glorious humour of the Marx Brothers (which is startlingly similar to his ESL reasoning).

Chicolini: I wouldn’t go out there unless I had one of those big iron things that go up and down. What do you call those things?

Firefly: Tanks.

Chicolini: You’re welcome.

            Vera: Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t make a sound. If you found, you lost.

            Chicolini: Oh, you crazy. How can I be lost if I’m found?