Ital, Fair Thee Well, Old Friend.

I doubt it has escaped anyone's notice that one of my indulgences in my non-editor downtime is the gratuitous overuse of italics (the other is, sadly, the refusal to reread and proof my own posts and e-mails). I just love a good italicized word or phrase.

Sadly, after spending a few hours turning my 2009 posts into my actual hardcopy journal (courtesy of Blurb.com), I realized that ital doesn't transfer over from the conversion. There is absolutely no way I can go back through 120+ pages and add the ital back in.

Devastation.

So, goodbye old friend. The new year brings with it a new formatting approach.

Vomiting with love

Yesterday I woke up feeling gross. This feeling intensified throughout the morning, continued through a very thoughtful surprise lunch date with the hubby to our favorite Mexican joint, and culminated when I rushed to the bathroom at work and threw up twice in front of coworkers.

No, I'm not pregnant. Thanks for asking, small coworker audience, and yes, I did have nachos for lunch.

I honestly don't get truly sick very often. Headaches and upset stomach, sure, but incapacitatingly sick, not often. In fact, the only time this has happened in the 15 months I've been rocking the motherhood gig was after a scheduled surgery where Appa was able to plan for the extra responsibilities.

So, me coming home and continuing to puke my guts out and literally crawling back and forth from our bathroom to our bedroom (Ohh, and that joke about setting a bad example for our son by crawling and not walking was hilarious, Appa, just a riot; you should take that act on the road.) while Appa was in the midst of tiling the back splash in our kitchen and our son was in the mood to walk everywhere was not what we had planned for this week.

Who knew I was so needed by my boys on an everyday basis?

Luckily, my husband is pretty much the greatest man on the face of the planet. He took over parenting duties last night and then stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to finish the "must-be-done" parts of the tile job while I tried to sleep away the illness. He has been working nonstop for two days on this labor intensive tile job, taking care of me, and taking care of our son. Not once has he complained.

I love my husband.

날 엄마라고 불러도

I think it would be awesome if Little Bug was able to learn Korean when he was young (I say learn because at 10 months old when he left Korea, he hardly knew it to begin with). Our area has a large population of Koreans and many send their children to Saturday Korean school. Although this sounds like a great way for us to give Little Bug a chance to learn Korean young, the idea of making my child sit through another day of school seems inherently cruel, so the jury is still out on that one. Luckily, we have some time.

However, we have a handful of words that we have incorporated into our daily lives at home that Little Bug uses. I LOVE the fact that my baby would rather say "hi" in Korean than in English (in fact, he never says "hi" in English, something that I am not concerned about). My favorite is when he calls me "Omma," which means mother in Korean. Usually he calls me "Mama" and lately he likes to remind me he is a big boy by calling me "Mom," but when he gets tired, he inevitably reverts back to calling me "Omma" and calling Appa, well, "Appa," which means father in Korean. Tonight, as I was refilling Little Bug's drink in the kitchen, Little Bug's head popped out from around the corner and in a very forceful voice he said "Omma." Definitely not an unusual occurrence, but tonight it hit me that in some little way, we have managed to truly keep a bit of our son's Korean language with him...and it isn't confusing. I'm proud of that, and love the little ways Little Bug's birth country has melded into our family fibers.

Now, school on Saturday....we shall see just how that would fit into our family fibers when the time comes.

A Christmas Carol

I've been meaning to write this for a few days, but didn't. Oh well.

This Christmas season I was visited by three holiday ghosts.

The Ghost of Christmas Past reminded me over and over about all those Christmases where I would take a moment and look around and promise myself that "next year I would have a baby to share this with," only to find myself doing the same thing the next year, acutely aware of my broken promises. It's been two Christmases now with my son, and that fact that I still think all those sad Christmases is a bittersweet reminder to always be grateful for the moments I do get to share with my family.

The Ghost of Christmas Present tagged in at this point and suggested that, maybe, just maybe, I should put down the camera and step away from the blournal and just enjoy the holiday I had waited so long to experience. I think, over all, I did a pretty okay job taking some pictures and video to capture the moments to share with our families far away, while still being able to just be there and enjoy them.

The Ghost of Christmas Future was sort of just floating overhead and occasionally would swoop down and slime me with the realization that this holiday was most likely my last with just Little Bug. Surprisingly, this made me a bit sad. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I am terrified to have two children to corral around the tree, to stop from ripping down stockings and decorations, and who will have an even more obscene amount of gifts (not to mention the whole two human beings still in diapers under my care forever and ever in less than 12 month's time). However, Appa and I did occasionally bring Little Bro up and dream about what fun it would be to have our two little guys home for the holidays next year. We even started seriously discussing names, which thrilled me until I realized that this is going to be a seriously hard battle between Appa and I. Really, what is so wrong with the name "Corbin"?

Then all the ghosts were gone, the fourth season of Dext*r was watched, the presents were put away strategically moved from one room to another, and Appa and I have our final bits of adoption paperwork almost finished.

Bring on 2010.

Let's Talk about Bodily Fluids, Part 3

There are two ways to handle diarrhea, like serious diarrhea.

1. Wait wait it out; let the blow out happen in the diaper and clothes, even down into the toes of the footie pajamas.
2. You grab the boy when you hear those first sounds coming from his tummy, you know, the ones that sound like a damn is breaking or a volcano is erupting, and run up to his nursery, strip his clothing off, and change the poop immediately.

Here is my expert advice, now having tested both methods.

It is much easier to throw a poop filled pair of fuzzy jammies in the washer than it is to clean a diaper pad, changing table, Appa's shirt, and the images seared into your brain that come with consequences of opening the diaper too soon. Poop will happen, my suggestion is not to let it happen without a diaper on.

Gross. I mean, seriously, seriously, gross.

Mood: Bittersweet

Rarely do I feel "sad" about Little Bug's early life. He was in a loving foster home and had a rocking time there. I think I have a fairly realistic view of the losses he has experienced and will be as prepared as I can be to help him understand those losses as he gets older. On the flip side, I surprisingly rarely feel "sad" about Appa and my losses. I don't usually dwell on the fact that we missed the first 10 months of our son's life. Sadness is just not a common emotion I feel when I think about our adoption journeys.

However, last night as I was rocking Little Bug, out of the blue this intense sadness hit me, for all of us.

I felt waves of sadness for Little Bug's loss of his birth mother and birth father, and the very real possibility he will never know them, never see who he looks like, never find out where he got his giggly personality, tenacious spirit, or hypotonia. I felt so intensely sad that my son was missing a part of his inherent identity, a hole that will never truly be filled. I felt sad that my son had lost his memories of his foster family. How even though he will grow up "knowing" them, he will never really know them like most people know the people who loved them and bathed them and cared for them and introduced them to the world. I felt sad for the language my son has lost, and won't regain easily, if ever.

I just felt sad for him. My baby who I want everything for.

I also felt really sad for Appa and I, for the loss of those first smiles and giggles and illnesses and hard nights and milestones. We are lucky to have over 400 picture starting from the time Little Bug is 3.5 weeks old, and yet, when I looked at those pictures last night after Little Bug went to bed, I was saddened by all those moments I missed. Sad because I can never have those moments and can never share them with Little Bug.

I just felt sad for us. For the moments we can never share with our dear son.

It also hit me that prior to 3.5 weeks old, there are no pictures of Little Bug. He was living in the babies home. The thought of this, even though it is a carefully run and safe facility, made a tear roll down my cheek. I was there, and I saw the rows upon rows of little babies who laid in their cubbies until it was their turn for some attention. Little souls who were being cared for as babies, not as individual spirits already starting to grow. The thought of my baby having no one to call his own for 26 days made me horribly, terribly, sad.

So last night I rocked my baby and felt this supreme sadness for all of us, for the injustice and loss that brought our beautiful family together. I think some of this stems from the fact that we have been thinking about Little Bro lately, and realizing more than ever before how much we are missing each moment.

Of course, not two hours later, Little Bug's foster family posted a beautiful Christmas post on their own blog, wishing all their "lovely angels" a Merry Christmas, and included recent pictures of all five children. The picture they chose of Little Bug was taken just two days ago.

That made me happy.

It made me happy that across the world, Little Bug still has people who love him and think about him every day. Some can show their love through a blog post or comment or e-mail, and some can only show their love through an enduring act of selflessness and bravery, but Little Bug is loved, and I am happy that Appa and I get the chance to be his parents and love him with abandon while still raising him to embrace this love from others.

So, if I was to have to pick a mood last night, it probably would have been "bittersweet."

You know it's love when....

...you take the long, traffic-clogged way home every day just so your child has more opportunities to see "choo choos."

...you buy your wife a bottle of champagne, just because you know she likes it.

...you take off work early to go home and snow blow the massive amount of snow and ice your very busy and stressed husband has not been able to get to, just so he can come home to a proper, stress free start to his much deserved and too short vacation.

...you buy your wife what she really needs for Christmas, not just random, meaningless stuff she might want.

...you buy your husband all the random, but not-quite-meaningless, stuff he wants for Christmas, but never ever treats himself to.

...you let your little boy sleep for the last hour of the morning in bed with you, against your better judgment (because you know it will come back to bite you in the butt) because you know how happy it makes him and because you love waking up to his warm little body cuddled next to you.

Not a shining moment

Yesterday I had one of the worst motherhood moments I have ever experienced (relatively speaking).

Saturday night I got a massive migraine. Truly horrible. I was asleep by 8:45 pm and when I was woken up by Little Bug at 7 am the next morning (a small miracle in itself), the headache had only gotten worse. Not good.

After some rolling around and playing in bed, Appa got up to make Little Bug breakfast while Little Bug "laid" in bed with me. The laying in bed actually consisted of him standing up over and over on the bed, attempting to throwing himself off the side, and trying to climb up into window. So, I sat up begrudgingly and pulled him into a cuddle.

Little Bug didn't like this. So he leaned forward and then threw himself back into my face in an epic head butt that knocked the wind out of me and left me wondering if all my teeth were still in place.

It also threw my headache into overdrive, and honestly, I started seeing red. (It's an interesting thing that I only thought was an expression, but it honestly looked a bit red to me in those moments.)

I remember just feeling a fury unlike anything I have experienced in a long time. My head was killing me and this head butting and hitting is something we have been battling for the last few weeks (another post). There was this split moment where I just wanted to punish Little Bug for hurting me, for doing something "intentionally" to hurt me....

This is the moment I am not proud of. I think, looking back, that I can see how people abuse their kids. Not actually see, but I think I hit that moment where your true colors come out. That moment where you are nearly unhinged (mine was due to blinding pain and frustration), perhaps if I was a little less of a good person, I would have slapped Little Bug, or even something worse.

Thank God, I am not.

So, this was all the span of a second or two. What I actually did was say "No" in a very loud voice, haul Little Bug up out of bed, and sit him in time out for 30 seconds. He was fighting it and flailing and trying to head butt some more, and in those 30 seconds I really did lose it. I was crying so hard I couldn't even count.

After 30 seconds, I was so upset with myself over how I was feeling that I picked Little Bug up and held him away from my body so he wouldn't see me crying and practically stumbled to find Appa to make him take the baby from me. Appa was, understandably, very concerned to see his hysterically sobbing wife holding a furiously sobbing toddler. He grabbed him from me, and I immediately went into the bathroom and threw up a couple times.

Lovely way to start a Sunday morning.

Here is the thing I was thinking about as I spent the following 15 minutes sitting on the floor of my bathroom. My mom once told me a story about how she got so angry at my sister and me she called my grandma to come get us, and she locked herself in her room and cried. I've never understood that story...until now. Mamas are only human, and it really sucks when the people you love most in your life test you, hurt you, push you to your breaking point, but those little people are actually just little kids who don't know any better.

So, is locking myself in the bathroom and crying my eyes out the proper response to a head butt? No. But in a perfect storm of a situation, it was the best I could do.

Little Bug was safe and loved and got a proper consequence. The lessons he learned (as much as a 2-year-old can learn) are constructive ones. I was able to give myself the time and space needed to compose back into the mama Little Bug needs and deserves. When I came out of that bathroom, I was back to my normal self (only with a horrible, horrible migraine).

Not a shining moment in my motherhood career, but a good learning experience.

And my headache is finally gone.

Flowing through me

I have started no less than four posts on this blog in the last few days and never pushed publish. It's interesting how I am sometimes moved to write about something, but once I write about it, I don't feel moved to actually preserve it.

Today is another one of those days. After abandoning a post just now, I instead just want to remember a memory from this morning.

Little Bug has been having trouble regulating his rise-and-shine time in the mornings. This morning I vaguely remember him waking up far earlier than Appa and I intended to wake up, and Appa suggesting we bring him into our bed to sleep for another hour. This rarely works because Little Bug loves our bed and only wants to play in it, not sleep.

However, the next thing I remember is waking up to the smell of my baby. Little Bug was nestled in between Appa and I, his thumb in his mouth, and looking supremely comfortable in Appa's embrace. Appa and I were touching toes since there was no other way for us to cuddle around our littlest human. I reached out and touched Little Bug's hand.

In one of my meditation courses for my anxiety, I was taught when I am severely anxious to pinch my fingers together and plant my feet on the ground envision my positive energy flowing through my body in one continuous circle with no room for it to escape.

This morning, as I touched Little Bug's hand and Appa's toes, I imagined all the love our little family has flowing through the three of us in one continuous circle, filling all three of us up.

It was a nice way to start the day.

How do we make our son like T*ger W*oods?

This is the question I have been mulling over lately; well, by lately, I mean until the last couple weeks, at which point the question shifted to "How do we make our son NOT like T*ger W*oods?" I don't care how old my son is, I will beat his behind if he treats a woman like that.

Anyway.

The whole point of the question was focused on talents. I firmly believe that we all have certain talents that we are just genius at. I think the difference is some children have those talents identified early and honed. Those become the amazing talented adults.

So the question becomes, how do we discover our kids' talents and give them the tools and motivation to cultivate them? The follow up question is "How hard do we push?"

I don't have an answer for that.

I guess for me, I feel strongly that Little Bug has a natural talent for music. So, do I just pick an instrument for him? Do we expose him to a bunch and see which he likes? How soon?

Last night I went to a concert and one of the string masters was Asian (not Korean). I try not to, but when I see Asian men, I often find myself envisioning Little Bug as a grown man. Watching that man on stage having the time of his life and performing in a way I have never seen before, I found myself flashing forward 20 years and thinking about how cool it would be if that was my son. How did that man get to where he was last night? How can I help Little Bug get there if he wants to?

Maybe I can't. Maybe it's complete sheer luck, but I think not. I am convinced my son has some genius in him...how and to what extent do I tease that out of him?

I think we might steer him away from golf though....

I am the worst mama in the world

Confession: About an hour ago I refused to allow my 2-year-old son to open his nursery door and walk on his merry way instead of putting on his jammies and going "night night."

His reaction (convulsions, screams of horror and excruciating pain, fury, despair, uncontrollable rage, etc.) made it clear to me that I was torturing him in the worst possible way. How could I?

Dear 3 years old, please come soon.

Tap, tap, tap

This is going to sound insane, especially in light of my post a few days ago, but it's funny how life changes.

And my sneaky gut, well, she and I need to have a little talk about consistency and timing. A few days ago we made the decision to go on hold for our second adoption. It wasn't like we were backing out, but the decision affected me very much, so much more than I had expected it to. I was so sure that we were doing the right thing, and yet, I was still very uneasy about the situation. Sneaky, sneaky gut.

My friend JoJo talks a lot about shoulder taps; those little moments that whisper "this was meant to be" or "you are on the right track." Our family's first adoption journey was more like a series of shoulder pounds or face slaps or body slams, but most were only evident after the fact and delightfully ironic.

The last two days, however, I've been getting those little taps. Who knew my gut had hands?

We went on hold primarily because we were concerned about Little Bug's development, specifically walking. So we went on hold.

A few days later, he starts walking. Tap, tap, tap.

We went on hold because I worried about having two little babies on my own while Appa traveled weekly.

This week he heard that his travel might be limited for the foreseeable future, allowing him to be home for some of the crucial evening hours. Tap, tap, tap.

Today we heard about even more referrals coming in from our agency, so many in fact that our social worker contacted us to let us know we were getting up on the list. And Appa, who has been always very vocal about waiting, suddenly went "well, maybe……" Tap, tap, tap.

So I mulled it over. Was I ready? Was my family ready? Is the anxiety I am feeling because I am thinking about getting a referral, or is it due to thinking about NOT getting a referral? Is Little Bro already out there?

The answer that we came to after prayer and some deep conversations about our gut feelings is, yes, we believe he is. So, as of today, we are off hold.

I know. I KNOW. Crazy. I'm getting whiplash just thinking about it.

Suddenly I started thinking about where I would put Little Bro, how we would have to rearrange our home, our lives. REALLY thinking about it as a possibility instead of some abstract thing like vacation or new piece of furniture.

And it feels right. Really right, actually.

This isn’t to say that we are ready for a referral right now. I don't believe we are. But, I do believe we will be ready when the time is right, and it feels right to trust that process. It might be January when we get Little Bro's referral, and it might be April or May. Either way, it will be right.

Today I am at peace more than I have been in a long while. Glad to have you back, gut. I've missed you.

PS--I want to thank those of you who are reading this and apologize for the swing in emotions lately. It's been an emotional period of time for me, and I think I am just now figuring out why. So, thanks for understanding that my blournal entries come from emotions that I am working out or documenting. I think someday it will be interesting for me to look back and see how my family was changed in just one week's worth of decisions and events. Just probably not on a day when I am changing two-humans' worth of diapers.

This won't hurt your ears

There are a few moments in Little Bug's journey that really stick with me.

I remember everything about the moment I first saw him scoot forward on the floor. You can barely watch the video because I am screaming praise so loud. He had been home for 2.5 months.

I remember the first moment I saw him crawl. Just two little "crawls," and he was panting like crazy at the end of it. You can barely watch the video because I am shaking so badly with excited laughter. He had been home 7 months.

I remember the moment he took his first steps, gangly and awkward, in the basement with his PT. There is no video, and even if there was, you wouldn't have heard a peep from me. I was speechless. He had been home 12.5 months.

I remember the day that he started taking 2-3 sorta-controlled steps. You can see the pride on both Little Bug and my faces as you watch the video, which you can actually watch because I was trying to decrease the level of my vocal vim. He had been home 13.5 months.

I remember yesterday when he suddenly decided to walk more than crawl. How his teachers met me at the door of his school nearly bursting to tell me how he barely crawled all day. How he smiled at me from a different room and then let go of his teacher's hand and walked to me.

10 steps. 20 steps. 30 steps. 40 steps. 50 steps.

How I wanted to cry and scream and cheer and find my camera and call Appa in that moment. How all I actually did was bend down and give him a big hug and whisper into his ear the things I wanted to tell him. How this was the moment that we went from taking a few steps to actually walking a percentage of the time...a percentage that will continue to grow, just as they always have. He has been home for 14.5 months.

I've felt very introspective this last week or so. Little Bug's strides have been hitting me hard. Not just because I am his mama and I love to see him progress, but I think because my heart and head knew that things were changing in our lives. Changes that in my darkest moments I wondered would ever come. Changes that would make that short list of "most memorable" moments for our whole family. Changes that will open up a whole new world to my son; a world of independence and pride and inclusion and normalcy. Changes that will prepare Little Bug to be a big brother.

I think I might have a few more good screams of joy left in me....

Bubbles and Choo Choos

Yesterday it snowed.

Although Little Bug has two December snows under his belt, this is the first year that he is physically or mentally really able to experience it.

Last night, despite the accumulating snow and worsening roads, I took Little Bug to our second round of the local botanical garden's train exhibit. I really didn't want to, but I did it solely because I knew Little Bug would enjoy it. However, the weather threw a wrench in our plans, so I had to find food for him on the way there. Believe it or not, there were few choices.

So we ended up at B*rger K*ng. Gross.

I could talk about how Little Bug got all sassy pants when he realized his "fries" were really apple slices cut to look like fries and how he refused to each anything because he was convinced I was hiding the fries in the empty bag. (I was). I could talk about how I put chocolate milk in his sippy cup and how wide his eyes went when he first took a long swig.

But, what sticks with me is how he stood at the window as I ordered food and cooed "buah buah" (bubbles) over and over again. How his back arched and he screamed with delight when we went into the blustering snow, only to swallow his scream as he opened his mouth as wide as it would go to catch the snow flakes in his mouth.

How I decided on a whim to forgo the Ergo and stroller and make him walk the whole exhibit, leading me where he wanted to go, not where I wanted him to go for a full 45 minutes. How we stood in the center of the aisle for a while watching the train above him, just because that is what he wanted to do. How his endurance was insanely controlled, and I could easily see a moment in the foreseeable future where he would pull away from my finger, and I would let him. How he kept saying "buah buah" and "choo choo" and smiling so wide his face must have hurt.

I know mine did.

It's official; I am sad

We are going on hold for Little Bro, at least until March. I always knew this was a possibility, but I was sort of hoping that things would just naturally slow down so that we wouldn't have to make the call...to say no to receiving a referral that was, for lack of a better phrase, within our reach. In so many ways, I hate being sad about this because it's a result of a number of families being matched with their sons, and that is an awesome thing.

I know we are not saying no to Little Bro. I firmly believe that our family will be ready for him when he is ready for us. He isn't ready, and neither are we.

My head gets that.

My impatient heart, however, is frowning a little tonight.

If you love something, set it free

It was bound to happen sooner or later.

With Little Bug spreading his wings and getting more daring as he tries to walk by himself, it was inevitable that there would be a moment when I wasn't there to cushion his fall. I have to let him try on his own; I know that. He will only be able to truly succeed on his own if I give him the chance to do so. But, letting your child fail is very hard to do.

It could have been worse. One of those teeth could have actually been missing after I was able to clean up enough of the gushing blood to check.

With just a little bit of blood and tears still flowing, Little Bug continued to try to stand up and walk. Continued to dare to succeed. It took everything I had not to scoop my little crying, hurt baby up in my arms and carry him under my wing until he was all better. If he had wanted it, I would have. I wanted to.

But he didn't. He wanted to be brave and keep going.

So I had to let him try.

Our kids teach us so much about life. Sometimes I wonder how I lived the last 28 years without the lessons Little Bug has taught me in that last 14 months. Patience. Unconditional Love. Gratitude. Courage. Gritty Determination. How nearly all cliches are actually true.

If you love something, set it free.

At least a little bit.

Routine Magic

As a working mama, I have found that I have to go out of my way to plan things for my family. Not so much on the weekend, although I am getting much better about filling out schedule, but rather with providing Little Bug, Appa, and I with those fun little memories, things that might be too small to block a weekend off for, but are definitely not your normal night at home.

My days are spent at work and my evenings between the hours of 4:00-8:oo pm are spent with Little Bug feeding him, playing with him, working on his therapy, bathing him, and putting him down to sleep. Honestly, although 4 hours seems like a lot of time, it goes by really quickly. One or two errands will throw our whole routine off, and my family thrives on routine.

However, routine is also rarely magical or memorable.

So I am trying hard to find little things I can do in the evening that are magical and memorable and still within that 4 hours time block. Sometimes I take Little Bug out to eat by myself (Appa usually works late). Sometimes we finger paint in the back yard or have a picnic or play in a fountain or take swimming lessons.

With the weather in the Midwest, my plans have had to become even more creative (which is a stretch for me because I am really not creative at all). So, when I saw our local botanical garden had a "choo choo" exhibit, I made an effort to get tickets (for three separate dates). We went for the first time last night.

And it was magical.

It only took an couple hours in that sweet spot between dinner and bed time, but it was definitely a memory for me, and a real treat for Little Bug. It was something out of the ordinary and exciting and simple. I'm hoping to make this a tradition in my family in the coming years.

Spending time with my son is always special, but sometimes you need to break the routine for something even more special.

I could have written about that.

Over the long holiday weekend I had at least one moment a day where I thought "I need to blournal this...."

Of course, I didn't end up doing any of those posts.

I could have written about how I wept when I talked to my family who was gathered at home in Idaho on Thanksgiving. How I missed them so much my heart hurt.

I could have written about how much I enjoyed spending time with my husband's extended family on Thanksgiving, and how thankful I was to be surrounded by such wonderful people to call my extended family.

I could have written about the secret someone very dear shared with me, and how that secret made me feel. (Okay, I actually could not have written about that secret...yet.)

I could have written about how helpless I felt when Little Bug had a sore throat and was miserable.

I could have written about how this holiday season feels so much different and more magical than last year. I could have written about how excited I am to share the holidays with my son and husband and feel the magic that comes during this time of year.

I could have written about putting the poinsettias out as my first Christmas decoration in honor of my Grandma. I could have written about how much I miss her and how much she meant to me.

I could have written about my computerless-Saturday night spent watching Underworld: Something About the Lycans or whatever while snuggling with my husband. How something about the light in our front room and the smell of our pine candle made the whole evening feel like something more than just an old movie at home.

I could have written about watching The Blind Side and all the thankful emotions it brought out.

I could have written about how proud I was that Little Bug started standing up on his own and how fun it was to cheer him on, Appa and my feet touching to create a protective diamond around our hard-working son.

I could have written about how proud I am that I have done the dishes and picked up the house every night for a week.

I could have written about how I tried to be a domestic goddess and make some yummy apple cider out of things I already had in my kitchen, and how it turned out moderately successful.

I could have written about how frustrated I was when I realized all the prepackaged Korean food I have been serving to my family has MSG, and how I will now have to start making my own...and how scary and daunting that is to me.

I could have written about how it feels to have a moment of kindness where you allow yourself to admit that you are a pretty good wife and mom.

I could have written about a lot of things in the last week....
but instead I just lived them and let them hide away to be blournaled another day.

You know you're a mama when....

Your workspace art is proudly "kid deco."

I've waited a long time to find ugly blobs of paint on paper beautiful and marks of creative genius.

Easy

Yesterday was one of those perfect days.

Sure, I had to leave my girl's weekend getaway early. Sure, Little Bug skipped his nap and freaked out about it. Sure, I was trying to clean my house and keep said freaking-out napless child sort of happy. Sure, I fought with Appa over prioritizing cleaning rooms in our house. Sure, my favorite NFL football team looked like a bunch of high school walk-ons.

Yet, late last night, as I was uploading 70 pictures for my mother and trying not to fall asleep in my chair, I couldn't help but think that it was one of those days where being a mother was easy and fun. Little Bug's enjoyment of our simple birthday gestures and our enjoyment at his enjoyment made for a really magic day for me.

Sometimes I get so caught up in the challenges of motherhood that I let the simple pleasures pass me by. Those genuine moments shared between the three of us, organic and perfect in their sincerity:

Appa pulling a laughing Little Bug around in his new wagon while I chased after them with the camera, the morning sunlight streaming through all our windows.
Little Bug reaching on his tippy toes for the tangle of balloons. His thrill when he finally was able to reach some.
Putting the two little flowers in the special celadon vase we brought back from Korea and whispering to Little Bug who those flowers were in honor of.
Appa and I watching Little Bug's eyes widen the first time the model train brought food to our table.
Little Bug lying in the floor with this serious and contemplative look on his face as I snapped a picture, even though I know his frown was a momentary bit of rest from all the fun he was having with his gorilla, and not from sadness.
Little Bug standing in the center of a circle of 6 adoring female family members who were fawning over his every smile. Like my kid needs more of an ego boost.
Little Bug sweetly sharing his drink with his new Elmo doll.
Appa, Little Bug, and I having some rare jammie time cuddling downstairs right before bed.
All the times I looked at Little Bug and convinced myself that he indeed did look older and different now that he was 2.

Easy moments that made my little boy's special day a special day for me, too.

Today

Today a mother is celebrating her son's 2nd birthday.

She might be celebrating it by having a special meal, or writing a special letter, or singing a special song. She might be commemorating his 2nd birthday with whispered well wishes or shedding private bittersweet tears. I don't know how she is celebrating it, but I know without a doubt that she is in whatever way she can.

Today I am celebrating my son's 2nd birthday.

I'm celebrating his birthday by having a special meal, writing a special letter, and singing a special song. I'm commemorating his 2nd birthday by whispering heartfelt hopes and well wishes into his ear as he naps, and I woke up this morning and cried bittersweet tears into my pillow.

Today we are celebrating our son's 2nd birthday. The day that he came into the world and changed both our lives forever. We might never meet, but on this day, more than any other day, we are so much more than a "birth mother" and an "adoptive mother."

Today we are both just his mother. Two women who would sacrifice everything for his happiness and who are both sending the same thought to each other..."thank you for loving him."

Her and I.

Heart-exploding love

This morning my heart is filled with love for my husband and my son. Even more than usual.

Yes, my husband broke out into possibly some of the dorkiest dance moves I have ever seen this morning while I was trying to get ready for work, and yes, my son has spent the last 2 days doing some unspeakable things in his diaper that got him sent home from school and keep him up at night.

Yet, I love them both all the more for it.

Just like that

Today my best, best, bestest friend Ali(ce) is going in to have her second daughter. I'm thrilled for her because 1. She'll have another sweet baby girl, and 2. She won't be pregnant anymore. I'm thrilled for the world because she and her husband make super cute kids, smart, well-adjusted, polite kids.

Isn't it funny to think about how people come into our lives. This morning the world woke up with out Baby yet-to-have-the-name-firmly-nailed-down, and (please don't let this jinx her) by the time the world goes to bed she will be here...a person who will be exceptionally important and loved to many people throughout her life will suddenly exist. Just like that. Who knows what she will do with her life, how she will impact the lives of those around her.

I don't have a reference for childbirth, but I know what it felt like when I first met Little Bug. One moment he was a combination of three pictures, some information on paper, and a lot of conjecture, and in the span of a split-second glance through window he was suddenly a living, breathing major part of my every waking thought and action for the rest of my life. That moment changed every fiber of my being. Just like that.

So, to my real-life Alice, happy baby-day. I wish for your a safe, comfortable, "beautiful," first glance at your newest reason for joy. I look forward to loving on her like I love on Fancy M.

I shook Mickey for good luck......

~E

Tis the Season Already?

Confession time: I saw Christmas trees in front of my local grocery store last night and got secretly giddy. This is an egregious sin in my family.

Appa is very vocal about his distaste for skipping holidays. He feels very protective of Thanksgiving and gets annoyed when the Christmas decorations come up before Thanksgiving. This year a small aisle at Target was up before Halloween, which sent him into a mini-tirade on the way home about how dumb that was. I nod my head and agree with him because I do think that Christmas is becoming more and more of a multi-month affair, which to me cheapens the thrill of the season.

However. secretly, I LOVE feeling that thrill as soon as possible. I count down the days until we can "officially" start listening to holiday music (Black Friday at our house) and get out of decorations. I've always been a purest though, and held off until Appa and I could enjoy the start of the holiday season together.

However, this year, I've been cheating. There is holiday music on the radio now, and I listen to it on the way to work. There is nothing like Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" to brighten a rainy November morning. I am already decorating my house in my head and my holiday cards are printed and ready to be stuffed. I'm itching to start celebrating what in many ways is my first "emotionally real" Christmas with my son....and I love it, all of it.

So, I don't tell Appa, but when I go to Target, I spend extra time wandering the Christmas aisles, admiring the decorations and soaking up the anticipation of my favorite time of year. I literally cannot.wait. for it to begin.

Love is Blind ...

A friend of mine recently ended a very nice Little Bug-praise-filled note to me with this line, "he is such an endearing little boy - and one of the most handsome Korean babies I know - but you know, not as handsome as mine ;)."

This had me laughing out loud because it is exactly the sort of thing I would have written to her (her little guy is exceptionally handsome, so she wasn't overly boasting there). I am often telling people (and honestly thinking it) that my kid is the cutest kid in the world. That same day a blog friend wrote a post with some very beautiful shots of her little girl and the comment that seeing those pictures made her "heart sing." I so identify with that feeling, too. Pictures of Little Bug are an obsession of mine, and sometimes I will randomly stop and browse through my web albums of him just to feel that "heart singing" feeling.

I guess it just got me thinking about the saying "love is blind." I think with parenthood, it is the opposite. Why do I truly think Little Bug is the cutest, most perfect baby in the world? Why do my friends feel the same way about their kids? Let's be honest, only one baby can truly hold the official "Most Beautiful Baby in the World" title and that baby is probably eating breakfast with Brangelina right now.

I think it is because love is not blind. Not even close.

When I look at my friend's kids, I see adorable, sweet, fun, engaging children with sweet smiles and cute haircuts and facial expressions, many of whom I care about. But, when I look at Little Bug, I see the way his left cheek just has the slightest hint of a dimple when he gives his genuine "surprised pleased" smile and the way his nose has two little rolls of skin that crinkle when he does his silly smile. I see the way his eyebrows slightly and quickly quirk up when he is anticipating something fun and the way his back arches and tightens when he is about to get really excited. I see the way his face goes slack when he gets tired and hear the change in the tone of his baby babble when he is winding down for the night. When I him sitting, I see months of tummy time and bumbo chairs and pillows and exhaustion and when I see him clap after he takes a few steps, I see pride and exhilaration and excitement in his eyes, not to mention the straightness in his little hands that has taken 2 years to develop. When he sucks his thumb, I see nights upon nights of his warm little body cuddled into my mine in his dimly lit nursery as he strokes his raggie with one finger while sucking his thumb as I rock him.

That's not being blind, that is being all-seeing. Love sees everything, and those little things that only we see are the reasons we love so "blindly." We are not blind to those we love most, but rather, we are blind to all those who we don't.

That's a good thing. This way everyone has a chance to be the most perfect person in the world…if only to just a few other people.

Like my Little Bug, who is, trust me, the most perfect baby on the planet.

Sh*t

Scene: Little Bug's nursery; Little Bug is playing while Mama cleans. He is every bit the almost-2-year-old his proud mama says he is...including his penchant for mimicking....

Me: (cleaning frantically, see post below, and suddenly spilling the humidifier all over the bookcase) SH*T!

Little Bug: "shhiiiiiidddddttttaaa, shhiiiiiidddddttttaaa, shhiiiiiidddddttttaaa......"

Me: (realizing I just became that mom) Oh, Sh*t! No baby!"

Little Bug: (smiling and coming at me for praise; he was mimicking very well, after all) "shhiiiiiidddddttttaaa, shhiiiiiidddddttttaaa, shhiiiiiidddddttttaaa......"

Me: (trying to think of anything he would like to say instead of what he was saying) "Umm, ballooon, drink, food, choo choo"

Little Bug: (looks for said balloon, food, drink, or choo choo and finds none) "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

~End Scene~

Cleaning up my life

I have always struggled with keeping my spaces clean. I think it is a combination of bad habits and less structured cleaning and chores when I was younger (not to blame my mom in any way--this is my demon).

Anyway, I clean like I diet. Binging and purge, binge and purge. I let my spaces go until it's "go" time for something and then I really power clean the whole house spotless. I'm good at cleaning...when I do it.

So, tomorrow is our home inspection for our adoption. Just like last time, I have avoided cleaning until the last minute (tonight). I'll be up late, stressed out, and grumpy tomorrow. Great way to treat myself, yay me!

I notice a marked difference when I am in a clean space. I am happier, less anxious and stressed, and less "blue." I'm more creative and have more energy. I LOVE when my spaces are clean; it's just rare when that is the case.

Today I happened upon something called the Happiness Project. I can already tell this is a site that I would like to explore more fully, but the article about "de-cluttering" really caught my eye, in particular this quote:

Outer order contributes to inner calm.

So, so true, and something I have personally experienced on my own. I love to spout off to people about "being kind to yourself," but not allowing myself to live in a space that makes me comfortable is most decidedly not being kind to me.

So, with this as my new "homemaker" mantra, I'm going to see how long I can keep my spaces at a level of cleanliness that channels that inner calm (but doesn't totally stress out the working mom in me). This is a great time to start.

Because tonight I will be up until the wee hours of the morning cleaning like a crazy mad woman for that blank slate.

Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids, Part 2

I don't know whether to feel relieved or cheated that the random vomit floating in the bathwater is not accompanied by an illness.

Gross.

Just Like Mom

There are moments when I see little bits of my Mom in my version of Mama. That makes me giggle because everyone always say "I won't be like my mother," and then turns around and realizes they are very much just like their mother...in my case, that isn't a bad thing. Recently I started making Little Bug cinnamon toast using my mom's "recipe." Honestly, I doubt it is anything special (really, how complicated is cinnamon toast?), but there is something about her technique that really makes these special. As a child, I certainly thought they were something amazing.

However, my boys also love them, rave about them, and will ask me for them. I see a future filled with weekends of cinnamon toast broiling in the oven, which is just like my past.

Beautiful Life (Who would have thought!?!)

I have one more session to summarize, and I promise I will get to it this weekend.

However, I just wanted to throw out to the world how beautiful my life is because that is what is filling my heart today. I blog, a lot, and have for many years, but only with this blog have I ever let my guard down with my more personal feelings. Our pain of infertility and our pain of the waiting with our adoption and our pain with dealing with Little Bug's special needs, those are all things that have been real trials for us, for me, and as we walked those roads, the pain was intense, the light seemed dim, and the toll was taxing.

Yet, we shared that with very few people. Sure, our close family and best friends knew that we were dealing with these things, but they didn’t know how it was feeling to deal with them. These were roads they had not and were not traveling. They could not walk these roads with us in the most literal sense of the word, just as I cannot walk the road of Ali(ce)'s last trimester with her. Support yes, fully understand, no. In the last year I have seen how powerful and therapeutic it is to let these feelings out and share them with others who have or are walking these same long and lonely roads and let them take your hand and walk with you when it gets too hard.

I didn't have the network of support then that I do now. The moments I consider darkest are still locked away without having been verbally expressed to many people. I knew only a couple people who had ever adopted from anywhere before we went to Korea to get Little Bug, and only one person who at the time I even had any level of personal comfort with. I wrote her an e-mail during one of the lowest points in my life, just days before we traveled to get Little Bug. A portion of the text reminds me of the trials and blessings that were warring within me even then.

I was kind of in a dark place this weekend, very bitter and worried and just generally helpless. I've been sort of sick to my stomach for the last few days waiting to hear, and he is all I can think about. I'm not really sure where I am going with this, other than that I just really wanted to tell you because I know that you understand that helpless feeling of having your child be so far away from you. The idea of backing out of the adoption makes me heartsick. The one positive is that it has (in a really weird way) helped me start the bonding process with LITTLE BUG, not just the idea of him, but him as a person. I don't want another baby, I want him. That took me a couple of days and a lot of tears and prayers realize that, but I am finally at that point. Even if they come back and tell us that he has some big challenges, I can't imagine turning away from him now. And it might be that there is nothing going on after all and that he just needs a little more tummy time and a little more motivation to bridge that gap. Either way, I feel like he was meant to be with us, and I just want him home.

To have been wrapped up and lifted up by people who understood perhaps not my specific situations and emotions and fears and heartaches, but at least the nature of them in general, would have been so helpful. Someone who could have stood directly next to me on that road and pointed out the light that I might not have been able to see. As so many of my friends now face challenges on their own roads, I take comfort in the fact that most of them seem to have people they can turn to who will take their hand and squeeze it tight; people who can see the light because they have already been to the end of those roads or who might be just a step or two ahead. It won't make the road any straighter or easier or more clear, but I know how it feels to have walked my roads alone, and it didn't feel good.

For me, my roads continue to wind. Don’t all of ours? Somehow, once you get to the end of the road, another one appears. One with new turns and twists and potholes. Yet, we can face these new roads with new eyes and a stronger heart because of the roads we have already traveled. Robert Frost should have wrote about that road, the ones we DID take. How amazing is it to look back on those trials in our lives and see the blessings they have given us, the lessons we have learned? I only wish we could have a glimpse of that forthcoming joy as we were going through those dark times. It would make it so much easier, but alas, that isn't really the way it works. The heartache is part of the process.

So, why is my life so beautiful, and why have I just word vomited a small novel with literary references, e-mail quotes, and questionable analogies? Because I put this picture on my work desktop.
This picture tells the story of my life. Everything I have ever wanted, hoped for, begged for, despaired for, endured for, prayed for, cried for, cared for, and wished for is wrapped up in this little snapshot of my life. It speaks more to me than I think anyone could ever know, every little detail. It's the glimpse I wish I would have had to spur me through those trials.

That's a truly beautiful thing.

"Adoptees Grow Up"

I'll admit, this one was the hardest session for me. The presenter was adopted into a transracial home and now has a clinical physc background, so she definitely knew her stuff. She was also upfront about the fact that she knew adoptive parents would be offended and hurt and uncomfortable by some of the things she had to say. Keep that in mind as I give a summary of her points. This is one of the less pretty and shiny and happy parts of adoption, and it might not be the experience of all or even most adoptees, but it is a valid experience none the less.

Her session focused on "adoption throughout the lifespan." Parents often neglect to think about the lasting emotional and social implications of adoption on their children as adults. "Adoption is permanent. Adoptive parents, professionals, and all of society should recognize that one child being adopted effects many, many people for many, many years. Once we understand that, we can make better decisions that will have a positive impact, or lessen the negative impact."

She cited the seven core issues in adoption, which were developed in 1999. They are

• loss
• rejection
• guilt/shame
• grief
• identity
• intimacy and relationships
• control/gains.

Interesting stuff. The really interesting thing about these seven issues is that the adoptee, the birth parent, and the adoptive parent each experience them. For a very good graph that breaks each one down by member of the adoption triad, click here.

She gave a brief overview of some issues that befall young children, such as family history projects in school, embarrassment over not having a family that looks alike, lessons on Mendel's Theory of Genetics, fantasies over their birth origin, etc.

She cited two studies that show that adoptees have a higher percentage of ADHD and residential treatment. She hypothesized that this was due to adoptees' lack of "concrete self" and their preoccupation with all the unknowns in their history. She coined it "genetic bewilderment and hereditary ghosts." Part of me had a hard time accepting that the adoption itself was the sole common denominator in these statistics, but I guess it is good to keep in the back of my mind.

Once she got started talking about adulthood, I really started to get uncomfortable. I felt like she was ascribing some pretty serious issues to ALL adoptees. Now, that might just be my lack of understanding because I was not adopted or my bias because I am the adoptive parent, so this is one I will continue to ruminate on this stuff to see how I feel about her comments.

Basically, she claimed that adoptees tend to have relationship issues because they cannot get over the fear of being "abandoned again." She claimed adoptees tend to either over attach to everyone or attach to no one. Pregnancies can trigger deeply buried feelings that could dredge up painful thoughts. Like I said, these seem like extremes to me. I am sure that many people who were adopted have these issues, but I don't ascribe to the idea that ALL do.

She also claimed that people who were adopted don't like the celebrate their birthdays because to them it is actually "Loss Day." I understand the theory behind that, and I am sure birthdays will be hard for Little Bug...just as his birth family is especially on my mind on his birthday, but I'm not going to not celebrate my child's birthday just on the off chance he might consider it in poor taste someday.

The presenter talked a lot of searching for information. I agree that a search for birth information should always be supported. In fact, Appa and I are going to try to open Little Bug's file when we are next in Korea just to get any "leads" we can while the "trail is still warm" that we will tuck away for Little Bug should he ever chose to search.

She put the search in the perspective of a generational link. Their history affects the history of their children. To have that break in that history, that genetic and hereditary gap, can be very scary to an adult.

She told us to not feel threatened should our adult children mourn the absence of their birth families on special days. Just like we would mourn the absence of someone special, so will they. That made a lot of sense to me.

Finally, the presenter talked a little bit about advocating for adoptees. Right now in our country, records are sealed in closed adoptions, even after the child turns 18. These laws are to protect the birth parents, but when you think about it, every person has a right to their personal information. Once a person is 18, it seems ridiculous that they would not have access to their unblinded birth certificate. I guess I had never really thought about that before, but I can very much see her point and will strive to advocate for adoptee rights to their records when the opportunities present themselves.

Overall, this session was not my favorite. I think it would have been better served with a panel instead of just one woman. I left with a lot of food for thought, but I also left confused as to whether this was just one woman's life perspective, or whether it was an accurate reflection on the perspectives of many adult adoptees.

Just one session left to write about!

"He Never Asks: Creating Opportunities to Talk About Adoption"

This session focused on when, how, and how often you should talk to your child about their adoption story. I was interested in this topic because although we have never considered hiding Little Bug's story from him, I've been wondering how to continue the conversations once he gets old enough to ask, or rather, to NOT ask.

The presenter was an adoptee and post adoption specialist. She made it very clear that your children's adoption story should be told early and often. She suggests starting to tell it immediately, even as a bedtime story to an infant. So much of it, she suggested, was practicing the right wording. By talking about it from your child's earliest memories, it becomes normal to them. In addition, it gives you the power to ease your children into the deeper implications and details (obviously your discussions with a two-year-old will be very upper level, e.g., "You grew in your birth mother's tummy, and then went to live with Mrs. XXXX until Mommy and Daddy could come get you and bring you home" and will change as your child gets older). As your child gets older, you can add more details, such as why their birth mother might have had to place them for adoption. The key is to balance age-appropriate concepts with the truth. Not always easy to do, so practice and some brainstorming ahead of time is helpful.

One of the other key benefits to telling your children about their history early on is the fact that YOU will be the one to give the information to your child. I know many people, Appa and I included, have chosen not to share birth history details with people, including close family, for this very reason. Does Grandma need to know the social history of the birth mother? Nope. Could she accidentally let something slip to your child, or even worse, to someone else, before you felt it was time for that information to be shared? Possibly. It's just easier to say to people "That is his information and it is his choice to share it when and with whom he wants."

Although the conversations should start from the moment your child is placed in your arms, the presenter says that children are able to connect their inclusion into your family with a sense of loss of another family as young as age 5. It's critical to have an environment that is safe to ask questions in place by then. This means that we as parents need to come to terms with any lingering issues we might have. Kids pick up on tension. If you are tense or emotional when talking about it, they will pick up on that and most likely avoid asking more questions.

So what happens when the questions stop or never start? It doesn't mean, as was thought in the past, that children are not interested or are "well adjusted." In fact, it is now considered somewhat abnormal and unhealthy if your child doesn't seem interested at all in their adoption. Not necessarily in information about their birth family, but at the very least adoption in general (although by the tween stage they should be interested in information on their birth family, but possibly not before).

The presenter suggested a number of reasons why your child might be avoiding the questions:

1. Your child might not be a verbal child. They might learn and communicate better through other sensory activities, like drawing, reading, music, etc.
2. They might be afraid of hurting you.
3. They might be hiding or avoiding their own hurt.
4. They don't have the words to ask the questions. Just as a chemistry professor might ask "Does anyone have any questions" after a long lesson, only to be met with silence because the students were overloaded with information and had too many questions to articulate what they even wanted to ask, so might our children be so overwhelmed with questions they might not even know what to ask.
5. It might be the wrong time for them.

It's important to note that these conversations will happen over and over with the same information as your child gets older and processes it differently. The one-and-done conversation won't suffice. The presenter said that constant conversation about adoption is probably overkill, but when the weeks stretch into months and months without any sort of off handed comment, it's probably time to put out some feelers.

She suggested using non-personal conversation starters to put out those feelers. Use stories in the news or story lines from TV or movies. Example: "Did you read that article about Brad and Angelina taking their son on a homeland tour? That must have been so interesting for their son to return to ......" If all else fails, she suggested slipping in a comment about the birth family in here or there. Example: "Your have such a musical ear; I wonder if you got that from your birth mother or birth father." The presenter stressed that even if your child ignores these opportunities, they ARE HEARING you talk about these things and will know that they can talk about them when they are so inclined.

The presenter also made no bones about the fact that this will sometimes be unpleasant. It will hurt your child many times over as they come to terms with the loss they have suffered. Just as we fight the good fight with veggies and medicine and wearing a helmet, so must we deal with any unpleasantness here in order to help our children become healthy and happy emotionally.

She stressed that it is very important that we as adoptive parents embrace the fact that our children's curiosity and pain and love for their birth family and birth culture have NOTHING to do with us as their parents. Our relationship with them is completely separated from their inherent connection with their birth family. We cannot be threatened by that, nor do we have a right to be. This is not about us. This is about our children. Bluntly, we need to get over ourselves and our issues.

Positive adoption language was also mentioned. It's a no brainer, but if you haven't checked out the lists of correct adoption language, you should. You should also pass it along to all those who will be in constant contact with your child. These words will help you when you frame your conversations and help your children develop healthy views of their adoptions.

Overall, I found this session enlightening. It's not rocket science, but I did and still do have some trepidation with when to push it and when to let it rest. It was nice to get some ideas and direction for those periods of time when Little Bug might not be talking about such a huge part of who he is. Like she said, it won't always be easy, but it will be important for Little Bug as he discovers who he is, and Appa and I are committed to helping him the best we can.

"WISE Up: Empowering Adoptees to Manage Adoption Discussions"

The first session I attended during the adoption conference was a workshop on the W.I.S.E. Up! Powerbook developed by the Center for Adoption Services and Education.

Sadly, the actual facilitator of this workshop was not very good with managing time or managing people who tried to veer from the topic. Because this was the first session, I think some prospective adoptive parents saw this as their first chance to ask an expert their adoption questions, so people let loose with all sorts of questions, few of them that actually had anything to do with the WISE Up method. We basically lost the workshop portion of the session, but still were able to get all the information.

The W.I.S.E Up! Powerbook and method was developed to help children deal with conversations and questions that might make them uncomfortable. The actual workbook is specific to adoption, but can applied to more general situations and is recommended for both adoptees and siblings (bio or adopted). Additionally, the method works equally well for parents. The workbook is best used for children ages 8-12, but the method can be introduced in a more basic form to children younger and definitely used for children older.

Basically the method asks the child to memorize the following acronym.

W: Walk away or ignore what was said or heard (you have no obligation to respond and have total control over your information)
I: It's private and therefore I don't have to answer it.
S: Share some information about my adoption story (this might be the hardest one for kids to learn what to share, when to share, and with who to share)
E: Educate others about adoption in general (general facts will deflect from personal realm)

The idea is that when a child is presented with a situation where they are being asked personal or offensive information, they might get overly emotional or confused. The hope is that this method will give them some automatic and safe ways to handle a variety of situations by allowing them to choose one of the four types of responses. Families should practice this method together to have some general responses. (e.g., "I don't want to talk about that, but you can ask my mom." "Did you know there are 5 million adopted people in the United States? I'm surprised you have never met anyone adopted before." "I'm from [insert hometown USA], but I was born in Korea.")

A great idea to help younger kids learn the system is for parents to model it. As an example, after responding to a woman in the grocery lane who asked "how much did it cost to adopt him?" right in front of the child, a parent could later say to their child "What did you think about that question. I didn't think it was phrased very well, but I didn't think she was meaning anything mean with it, so I used the "E" and educated her by saying that "we paid an agency for the care and legal paperwork that was needed to bring our son home, just like you might have paid the hospital and doctors to deliver your child. I think the costs are probably similar."

One of the hardest things to teach kids is how to discern the intentions of others. Modeling and talking through your reasoning will be key to helping your child make those decisions.

The other issue that was brought up was the issue of secrecy versus privacy. Secrecy is often associated with "bad," especially to children. It is important to explain to your children that the personal details of their adoption story are not a "secret," but rather are special and should be guarded and shared with those who are special enough to know. The analogy was made that those details should be "guarded like treasure" to be shared with only a select few. I don't love that, but it works until I can think of something I like better for us.

Anyway, overall the method seems solid for both adults and kids. The powerbook is $15 and from all accounts, well worth it when your child gets to the appropriate age. I'm glad I attended this session and plan to implement this method in our family immediately.

"Identity and Heritage as Roots of Blossom in Adoptive Children"

The keynote speaker at the conference I recently attended was Dr. Jaiya John. He is a poet, speaker, youth advocate, and transracial adoptee. He was a wonderful speaker because his words and story were moving, impassioned, and genuine. He spoke to the audience as parents, and he spoke on behalf of the thousands of children he has been able to work with over the years.

Dr. John had a number of key ideas he advanced. I only wish I could present them as eloquently as he does, but I can't even attempt it, so mine will be more of a basic topics overview.

A word of caution with this and all my conference summaries. I'm my own person with my own set of interests, experiences, and biases. What I got out of a session could vary widely from others, and I only wrote down the parts of the sessions that spoke to me personally. Don't consider my summaries to be in any way a total representation of any one session or the presenter. Obviously.

Dr. John started by giving thanks for the blessings in his life, both big and small. He says that we should always strive to find something to be thankful about in each moment. Especially in the moments when you are low, finding a reason to be thankful will help with the "unclenching of the heart." Not only is this a good reminder for adults, he says that teaching our children this art of thankfulness for life's little beauties will help them in their lives.

Second, and this one is close to my heart, Dr. John talked about how parenting children, especially children who were adopted, is not a one way street. We need to attach and bond just as much as they need to attach and bond to us. Adoption (and parenting in general) is a reciprocal action. The child is not the only one that needs to change as the relationships form, and we certainly should not hold fast to preconceived notions of how long it should take a child (or adult) to attach and bond. We are all unique human beings that are not a slave to an egg timer.

Dr. John's third theme was really powerful for me. He advances that "our adult unfolding becomes a template and source for their young unfolding. The way we see ourselves feeds the way they learn to see themselves....the truth of our life becomes the truth of their life."

Man alive, that is a lot of pressure and makes so much sense.

Everything about me impacts Little Bug. My collective memories and life experiences and emotional reactions and feelings and beliefs will shape Little Bug in some way because they have shaped me and how I am raising him. Dr. John suggests that we embrace this as something that is not only positive, but is an inherent right of our children. What is ours is inherently theirs, too, and they have a right to those experiences and feelings that have shaped us and thereby shaped them.

With that said, he suggests sharing our trials with our children. No, I might never be able to fully understand some of the things Little Bug will have to deal with, but sharing my own trials and fears and discomfort and triumphs, even when they might see hurtful (his example was that his mother was disowned by her father after she adopted him and she chose to never tell him that) will give help remove the mask of "conviction" that adoptive parents often chose to wear for their children. By showing our kids our vulnerabilities, we show them valuable life examples AND fill in some hows and whys that lead to the shaping of their lives. He told us to "become storytellers, because your stories become your children's stories."

In that same vein, Dr. John insists that everyone has a right to all the information about themselves. "Access to themselves" is the way he put it. Physical separation, he said, is merely an illusion of total separation. The spiritual connection our children have to their birth family or other special people will always be a part of them. That makes sense to me. I think about the way I feel connected to ancestors who I know only through stories. It stands to reason our children would feel the same way.

"What exists across the ocean is still inherently there, whether you can see it or not."

Dr. John mentioned how he would pour over the papers that told of his birth history and try desperately to make something that was just one dimensional ink and paper become something three dimensional, like his life. Because it is. It happened. It shaped who he is. That is part of his story. He challenged us to try to help our children do that, too.

The other interesting thing he mentioned is that we need to teach our children to become advocates for their "culture." However, he defined this particular "culture" as the culture of one. The sum of our children's experiences and stories and beliefs and feelings and ethnic and social cultures blends to create a culture unique to only the individual. "Culture is not a race; it is a way of being." Obviously the traditional meaning of culture is still important, but this idea of an individual culture is additional. Dr. John says we must teach our children to be proud of their personal "culture" and to be an advocate for their own lives. I loved that sense of pride and empowerment.

Overall, I liked the beauty of Dr. John's words and the way he was able to blend the joining of the parents and children as "one," while still allowing for our children to be individuals separate of their adoptive or birth families or birth or adoptive cultures.

Only time will tell whether Little Bug finds this helpful, but for me, the idea that Little Bug won't need to fit into just his Korean culture or just his American culture, but can hopefully grow up comfortable in his individual culture that accepts and celebrates ALL parts of him, the one that takes into accounts all parts of him, will help him navigate those who will seek to pigeon hole or repress him.

Dr. John has written a number of books of poetry and a memoir. His books can be found here. On a personal note, Dr. John sat at a table by the bookstore for the entire conference talking to people. Granted, he was signing books, but every time I walked by, it was clear that he was engaged in genuine and meaningful conversations with people. I was very impressed by his spirit.

Sorry this was so long. I have a feeling the rest will be equally as long.

Bring Back That Gutty Feeling...

I wanted to preserve this post that I wrote Saturday morning, less than a day after Little Bug's formal assessment, but I also wanted to get it out there in a timely fashion. It was hard for me to write and just felt off, which is why I ultimately left it as a draft. After the distance of a few days, I think it is important that I do publish it for myself (I am, after all, using this as a journal for myself among other things).

I'm exceptionally thankful for the providence that scheduled this meeting and the adoption conference I attended on the same weekend. As you will see, my heart was heavy for both my sons, and the conference helped lift me up for both of them. I had a false sense of control over Little Bro's adoption, one that made me think that controlling the timing was best for us. Ultimately, I still do have control over the timing; that control just isn't the same type I thought is was.

That is okay. It's all okay. It will all work out exactly the way it should. My family comes first, and as long as I continue to hold true to that, everything will be okay.

I have that gut feeling that it will be.

-------------------------------------------------
Saturday, October 31, 2009

ohhh, that gutty feeling
Bring back that gutty feeling, now it's gone, gone, gone

Like I mentioned in the last post, yesterday was our big assessment. The overriding mood of the meeting was positive and optimistic for Little Bug's long term life, and Appa and I got lots of great information. I went into the meeting with a little more realistic outlook than Appa did, so I think some of it was a bit more of a shock to him than it was to me. Although, honestly, very little of it felt good to hear.

Bottom line, "the overall number" was lower than we both thought it would be. Significantly lower, quite frankly. Although it doesn't change a darn thing physically or emotionally for any of us, last night was a solemn evening for Appa and I. One thing I have learned throughout all our many "life trials" is that you have to let yourself grieve in order to be true to yourself and move on. Last night we privately and quietly grieved for...I don't even know what I would call it...disappointment in the situation? (Because we are certainly not disappointed in Little Bug at all!)

Anyway, today is a new day, and we have moved on. We've started with some new suggestions and are continuing to plug away at our daily lives. Little Bug is stronger than he was yesterday. We love him more than we did yesterday. But, overall, life is no different today than it was yesterday.

However, that was a long, roundabout way to get to the point of this post. Gut feelings.

I'm a huge believer in them, and will nearly always "go with my gut" on things. Today though, I am confused because I don't have a gut feeling that I desperately wish I did. I guess I've never looked for one before without just automatically having it.

One about Little Bro.

It makes my heart and head hurt to even write this, but with this confirmation of Little Bug's delays and the realistic time frames we are looking at with his continued progress, our thoughts turn to our next adoption, which is scheduled to go "paper ready" in two weeks. We have both felt strongly that we would not be ready to receive a referral for Little Bro until after Little Bug starts walking, and recently told our social worker that we didn't want a referral before March 2010 and would go on hold if necessary to ensure that Little Bug (and us) had enough time to prepare.

Now I wonder if that is even too soon.

My heart aches with the idea of waiting longer. My heart wants two little boys close in age, and my heart wants Little Bro to come home next year. I want.

But my head is whispering that I don't need or want Little Bro to eclipse his big brother in motor skills and other development. I don't need or want to have to try to deal with all the issues of attachment and bonding and babyness with Little Bro while still actively trying to get Little Bug to some semblance of age-appropriate independence.

Never mind what Little Bug actually needs and wants...things that are infinitely more important than my own needs and wants.

Part of me isn't sure I actually could do it (it being effective parenting for both boys) right now. I worry about spiraling even deeper into post adoption blues the second time around. I worry about Appa's job that requires so much travel. I worry about giving Little Bug the extra attention he needs along with the extra attention Little Bro would deserve. I worry about pretty much everything. It's suffocating.

Crap. Writing it down makes it more clear. My gut is probably telling me to wait and watch and listen, and if it doesn't feel right in March, then it is probably wrong and I need to prepare myself to be strong enough to let Little Bro go for a little longer. The fact that I am even thinking about it is my sneaky gut giving me a heads up.

I hate letting go.

"How Are Things Now"

Today I had the chance to go to a day long adoption conference. I attended four sessions and a keynote. It was fantastic and my head and soul are overflowing tonight. In the next week, I will take a couple posts and summarize the sessions I went to for those who might be interested (and as a way for me to solidify my own comprehension).

However, the most significant thing that happened there today had nothing to do with any of the sessions I attended. I was shocked to find when I got to the conference this morning that Karen J. Foli would be speaking on her book, The Post Adoption Blues.

That book and her website were the two things that showed me 7 months after Little Bug came home what I was feeling and helped me make peace with myself and move past it. I seriously credit her brave work (because she herself wrote the book and did her research born from her own experiences) with giving me the tools and emotional frame of mind to move past my sometimes-debilitating post adoption blues.

I didn't know how or when, but I knew I needed to tell her that.

Turns out my chance came as she was on her way to the bathroom. In the hallway I stopped her and told her through my instant tears and lumped throat that her book changed.my.life. Her response was a gracious and sincere "thank you" and then she asked something that took me aback.

"How are things now?"

That might seem like a normal question, or perhaps it might seem overly personal. But in that moment we were two mothers who totally GOT each other, and I knew what she meant. She was not asking if everything was "cured" or "fixed," and she wasn't asking about Little Bug. She was asking about me, and how my attitude was.

My response was whispered but automatic.

"Wonderful."

And they are...the things in my life...they are wonderful. I had a very personal post I wrote yesterday in response to the outcomes of our big meeting, but I think I am going to hold off on pushing the publish button for a little while longer and chew it over more. Today put so much in perspective for me and gave me a refreshed look on life.

So yes, there are things in my life that are hard and a constant struggles and frustrating and will continue to be an uphill battle, but overall, where it matters, thing are wonderful.

Thank you for asking, Karen. Thank you.

Serious (monkey) Business

Today all four of Little Bug's therapists (and possible his new one(s) as well) and his caseworker are meeting with us for his annual official review and reassessment. For many people this is a critical assessment because it is legally used to apply for disability if your child is more than 50% behind.

Even if they assessed him there (which would have to be at 11 months overall, and that just isn't the case), we wouldn't apply for disability, so this is much more about advocacy and collaboration for Appa and I...

...with a little bit of throw-down in there.

Little Bug's old OT will be there, as will his caseworker, who is so inept at her position that she has spent the last 3 weeks avoiding my twice-a-day phone messages instead of trying to find a new OT. Little Bug's speech therapist will also be there....and even though it is not her job, she has been trying to find a good OT. Little Bug's physical and developmental therapists will also be there, and I am sure they will continue to "give it to us straight" while still championing all the progress Little Bug has made.

I'm learning each and every day how to be a better advocate for my child. These lessons will serve us all well in the years to come. Today will be, without a doubt, another learning experience for me.

This is actually a very serious event for us, but part of me is looking forward to it simply because not matter what they say, I know how far he has come. No number on an assessment form will change that. I'm so proud of my son.

Oh, and Little Bug is attending the meeting in a monkey costume. I DARE them to try to resist that charm!