Dear Madonna

Dear Madonna,

It seems oddly appropriate that I start a letter to you on Easter Sunday. I have been thinking a lot about you lately, and I know first hand the pain you are going through. You want to hole up in a cave. You want to hold your children close. You are ready to strike at the first idiot who crosses your path. You feel as if your heart has been ripped out and served on an ornate platter. You want the world to shut up, because your torment is not for others' blithe entertainment. You feel no matter how long you lick, your wounds will never heal. You will bitch slap the next person who tries to create logic out of an illogical situation, and personally if anyone espouses, "it was meant to be" or "it's God's will" you have my permission to scratch their snatch out.

I know this because my husband, Michael, and I have suffered through eight failed adoptions. Three birth mothers who changed their minds, an incompetent social worker, a fucking Mountain Dew swilling scam artist and a little boy who didn't live a day are a few of our horrendous tales. And like your judge in Malawi, every single failure was at the hands of well meaning yet idiotic adults, who let a false sense of "what is right" get in their way, causing them to make horrifically bad choices.

Fact, there are one million orphans in Malawi. Fact, a good percentage of these children will have short life expectancies and many will end up with AIDS. Fact, the world is not rushing to help this poor country. What possible reason could anyone with synapses firing give to not help a child with these unfortunate circumstances?

I get that people see you as racy. They know about your colorful past. You're the Material Girl with questionable mothering skills. The pop star who changes hair color as often as you do accents. The fashionista who wears Jean Paul Guaultier pointy boob outfits to the mall. But I, personally, would have let you adopt this little girl. Hell, I would have let you adopt a baker's dozen if you would have taken them. For Pete's sake, your name is Madonna!

If not Malawi, then may I suggest another country. Both my sisters went to Korea for their babies. Actually, you may find their story interesting... My sister, Sara shares my birthday and that of your oldest daughter Lourdes (freaky, right?) She and her husband went the adoption route for their second child. About a year and a half after they adopted Quentin, Korea called saying birth mom had given birth again. Would they like this child as well? But Sara was pregnant and an adopted child is almost never placed in a home with a newborn.

So, Sara texted my other sister Julie, and asked if she wanted this little boy. (I know, she didn't phone or write or smoke signal. She texted.) A little bit about Julie... Julie bore three children and was stick-a-fork-in-her-she's-done with the baby thing. No more diapers. No more getting up at all hours. No more projectile vomit. Fahgeddaboutit! Kaput!! DONE!!! And yet, when she heard about this little Korean fellow who needed a home the hairs on her arm stood on end. Fait accompli. It took about ten months, but finally she and Rob went to Korea to bring Baby Julian home. Quentin and Julian are biological brothers who are being raised in my family as first cousins.

Thing about Korea, Mad Dog, they have serious restrictions for prospective adoptive parents.

For instance, you can't be fat. Now, even I can vouch that isn't an issue with you. Last Summer, a friend of a friend had spare tickets for Michael and I to see your Sweet and Sticky concert. You are quite possibly the most unfat individual I've ever seen. You are a machine for fuck sake! I watched you power jumprope while singing harmony! You didn't get winded, didn't break a sweat. Hell, I huff and puff when opening a bag of Lays.

Also, you can't be gay. Now, you're in the music industry, so this may or may not have anything to do with you. Hard to tell. My advice if you go the Korean route...cool it with girl on girl PDAs at award ceremonies.

Wait a minute. Hold the phone. I just thought of a reason why Korea is not going to let you adopt a kid. And it's nothing to do with your Judaic-Hindu-Christian beliefs. Sorry to have to say this, Madge. You're too old.

Now, if overseas adoptions continue to be a pain in the tuchis, there is your home country. Another story... When Maxie was a baby, I'd carry her around in the Guatemalan sling and strangers would be drawn to her as they are to babies. But they wouldn't tell me how beautiful she was, no. They'd ask, "Where is she from, Malawi or Ethiopia?" (Witness the influence of you and Angelina.) And I have to admit, I had a little bit of pride when I responded, "Neither. LA County."

There are an estimated 500,000 children in the foster care system in the US. Just sayin'. It's an alternative to the overseas thing. Just don't try to adopt from Arkansas. Another example of misguided, well meaning adults. Arkansans believe it's much better for an orphan of their state to circle the foster care system than be adopted by single folks like you. (Single folks often being code for gay people.) That one burned me up this last election more than the passing of Prop 8 in California.

Word of warning. This little girl will always be with you. You will see her smile, hear her laugh. You will create a special place for her in your heart. I don't know if you plan to be a part of her life, Michael and I chose to cut ties to the children who touched us. But I think about them. Wish them the best. The memories continue to be painful. The ones caused by well meaning people.

I hope you don't give up. If having a larger family is important to you, and it's not filling some emotional void left from your divorce, then as someone who went through eight failed adoptions, I say take some deep breaths, align your chakras and get right back up on that horse, little lady.

Hope this helps.

Mommy With a Penis