So now it looks like Madonna is going to adopt. And I have to ask, as I've asked about celebrity adoptions before: How do these people get home studies? I'm pretty sure that if I'd told our social worker that I hung out on stage tied to a cross, we would have had a hard time getting that paperwork done.
In other adoption entertainment news, I was a little disturbed watching the episode of Heroes in which the creepy adoptive dad of the indestructible cheerleader had the birthparents chat with her. Not because the content of the chat was wrong, just the opposite: It's pretty much word for word what I say to my own teen daughter, who is not indestructible. He seemed so reasonable and loving, and yet we kind of know, don't we, that he's evil incarnate? So even when adoption is presented in a reasonable light, it's messed up. Sigh.
It was a foster kid on Grey's Anatomy, not an adopted one, that caught my eye, but her bit about not feeling any pain sure sounded familiar. My son never stapled his arm, thank God, but he did often injure himself without seeming to care very much, and I really felt for the foster dad and his "We know what this looks like. We want you to know that we know what this looks like. But she just plays hard." Brought back memories of bringing my son to the ER, or even to school, after he'd, say, toddled too close to the swingset or walked right into the car's side-view mirror. Oh, that black eye? He slammed the door in his own face, really! At least he never begged people to punch him in the stomach.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
My daughter the newly minted high-school freshman tells me that boys are coming up to her in the cafeteria during lunchtime and telling her she's hot and sexy. And what am I supposed to do with this information, exactly? I mean, it's better than people coming up and telling her that she's cold and ugly. She's flattered, and doesn't wonder, like I do, whether they're making fun of her. (And worse -- what if they're not?) Already someone asked for her address and phone number, which she rather horrifyingly gave them, giving me nightmares of prank phone calls and kids driving by the house and stalkers and fake MySpace pages. And, you know, maybe it's all innocent, and they really can tell that under the baggy T-shirts she wears, she's hot and sexy, and the guys are just being appreciative. Maybe they're all just stupid overwhelmed freshmen together. But, yikes. This is what I do with this information. I worry.
Posted by Terri Mauro at 10:50 AM