Toilet Tag and Raising Cain

to be accomplished. By the end of the day, the file had been hand-walked to the appropriate offices, the update for domestic adoption begun, the agency director in the loop, and I have a reply. Yes, I qualify for the African-American Infant Program. Yes, I get the privilege of having FBI fingerprints and background check done again and there is another section of the Parenting Plan that I will need to amend regarding the care and feeding and raising of African American children( I know where I can go for help on that one---"Hello, Jonestown Family Center, please. Is Miss Maxine there? And Miss Lady? And Miss Tina? And Miss Joyner? And....)...and I have to be open to gender. Okay, then. There is also a 20-30% chance that the birth mother will change her mind. Okay, then. We have movement. And not the recess-bowel kind.

I will tell you. I stayed at peace in my core when this was all going down yesterday although my body had some fairly visceral reactions. No panic. No malaise. Some shock and sadness. I am familiar with these already. And Little Feather and Fletcher danced with me on the newly fixed floor and blessed the lavendar room with Abbot's Table wine, the variety called Owenroe. That room has already been blessed by Con-Con working and Mommy drawing his height on the doorway (which I treasure) and Daddy doing what he does so well with love here in this home even when he was soo tired and sore.
Dinner's in the oven and I have some valentines to make. Tomorrow is Friendship Day. Then I have put Cain back in the sock drawer until the next time.