I Smell Perfection

Tonight, spur of the moment, I took Little Bug to the local botanical gardens (it's a nationally renown one, so it's spectacular). I stopped and got some chicken and peas for a picnic dinner and we were off. The weather was perfect, not too hot and no humidity.

Little Bug and I spent the evening wandering around some of the parts of the garden we hadn't been to before. Little Bug enjoyed looking at the trees and water and birds. I spent the time watching him enjoy the beauty and thinking about how lovely life is.

And it is. Truly, I have a lovely life.

Games We Play

Little Bug has a game he loves to play with Appa and I. We don't have a name for it, but maybe we should make one. We play this game at least two or three times each day.

Little Bug loves to be picked up and held. He's going through a phase where this is his preferred mode of stasis. Usually when one of us is holding him while standing up, the other one will come and start kissing on him. Our son is not lacking smooches, that is for sure.

Lately he has started reaching for one of us, letting us grab him and hold him, and then immediately reaching back for the other one, letting that parent grab him and hold him, repeat, repeat, repeat.................

The game gets going very quickly where he is barely in our arms before wanting to go back to the other. The three of us end up standing very close to each other, like a hug without the embrace. Unlike most games, he does not squeal with delight; rather, he just gets the cutest smile on his face and clearly enjoys himself.

It's okay though. Appa and I laugh plenty for all three of us.

Can My Son Join This Conference Call?

This morning I had a business meeting with arguably the most important person I have ever met. Not to me personally, but as far as people with high power jobs in the country, yes, this man is probably the most important. He is the [insert very, very high position here] of an organization that you hear about all the time on the news and other places. Intimidating, to say the least.

I will be working with him directly on a professional journal I edit (I'm an editor in my professional life). I've been nervous and intimidated for days leading up to this one-on-one meeting. I represent my journal and a lot of people a lot more important than me.

The great news...I knocked it out of the park. I was knowledgeable, prepared, confident, engaging, and comfortable. I felt GREAT about it.

About 20 minutes later I noticed that I had a white spot on my black pants. A BIGish white spot. This professional-with-it lady had forgotten to check her black professional dress pants after her stint as an Everyday Mama whose Little Bug likes to brush his teeth and then kiss her pants to get her to pick him up.

Oops.

No Wonder I Have A Huge Ego

Today two things happened that are completely unrelated to one another and simultaneously totally belong on the same day.

Event One: When I went to pick Little Bug from daycare today, one of the teachers who doesn't usually teach Little Bug was in the room. She proceeded to loudly proclaim to me that Little Bug was "the most loved and favorite child in the whole school." She said other teachers that had no business in the "Waddler Room" would regularly pop in to see Little Bug. This obviously made me feel great, but wasn't surprising. This might sound vain, and I know every mother thinks her baby is the best, but I actually think I have an unhealthy complex where I might sorta-kinda think that MY baby actually is the very best in the whole world. Comments like this do little to bring my baby mama ego in check.

Event Two: I decided to take our family blog private. I've been so attached to that blog for years, and it serves not only as our primary daily connection to our families (who lives across the country), but as a family journal (thank you blurb.com)! It grew from a tiny little "here's what boring old us did this week" to 100+ hits-a-day adoption/family blog/soap box. Appa hated the increase in nameless, faceless readers. It freaked him out. Normally it would freak me out, too. I am, after all, the one who insisted we remain unlisted in the phone directory....you know, just in case. Yet, for some reason I clung to that open blog.

The honest reason is that I loved to brag about my kid. He's so cute and funny. I liked to brag about our family' story and how we became a family. I liked sharing our diary posts from our time in Korea.

I liked people liking us.

But, in the back of my mind, a little voice has been growing louder and louder...telling me that what I was doing, the kind of information I was providing (and I'm not talking address and SSN here, but it wouldn't have taken a savvy hacker to find that stuff based on our blog information), was not in the best interest of my family.

Geez. When I put it that way.

So today when someone who I clearly didn't know from an area of the world that I really had a hard time believing anyone who would care about us was web surfing spent 1.5 hours reading every post I have written, every comment my family and friends have written in response, my gut reaction was "take the blog private."

Logical leap? Perhaps not. However, almost 11 months ago Appa and I were faced with the biggest decision of our lives, and it wasn't an easy one. Literally days before we were to get on the plane to go get Little Bug we got some news that was, in both our American agency and the Korean agency's eyes, a deal-breaker for most soon-to-be parents. With our bags half packed and our hearts full of desperate love and numbing fear, we had to decide whether or not to follow through with our intention to adopt Little Bug. We had little information and a lot of unknowns.

My gut told me then to get on that plane and get my baby.

So maybe my gut telling me today to take my blog private was nothing more than one too many Diet Dr. Peppers before 11 am, or maybe it was something more divine. Either way, when my gut talks now, I listen.

So, back to Event One and Event Two. I think my vanity highlighted in event one is feeding into the sadness I feel over losing the public blogging of event two. Perhaps this private blog will be good for my family in more ways than one.

But seriously, Little Bug is so freaking awesome.

Omma

Little Bug has been calling me Omma for a long time now, but lately it's become much less of a babble and much more of a deliberate communication. He looks me in the eye when he says it, and I know that he mean me.

Just thinking about it makes my chest constrict a little. Mama, Mommy, Mother, Omma.....it all means the same thing to me.

He needs me. He wants me. I need him. I want him.

Motherhood is like growing up. You don't realize the changes within yourself until you stop and reflect on them. When Little Bug calls me Omma, it reminds me that yes, I am a mother. A pretty good one. Finally.

And that makes me happy.

Gold Star

My son has special needs, and sometimes I have a hard time dealing with that. We didn't request to adopt a child with special needs...in fact, we sort of requested the opposite, but God knew that our son and my husband and I needed to be together, so he pulled his own "paperwork strings," and I am now the mother of the most perfect child in the world, and he just happens to have some special needs.

However, the fallout from this "twist of fate" is that I was not able to prepare intellectually or emotionally to be the mother of a child with special needs. Sometimes I have to stop myself from justifying my son's limitations to strangers, or justify my own limitations as a mother. That's not fair to anyway. Little Bug is Little Bug and I am his mother. We are no one else.

I worry that I don't give Little Bug or Appa and I enough credit. Sure, I toot our horns when something big happens milestone wise, but I am always consciously doing it, like we have something to prove.

Tonight we had dinner with some friends who know our family's whole story, and I waxed poetic about Little Bug's latest accomplishments, namely holding a phone up to his ear to pretend to talk on it and picking a star out of a box on command. To most these would be unremarkable for a 20-month-old, but to me, they are huge accomplishments for my little guy. What struck me later was the fact that there was nothing running through my head at that moment other than excitement for my little boy and a huge amount of pride....no tempering with what he still working on or where is limitations are and how they can be overcome. I wasn't talking about these accomplishments as part of a bigger goal, rather I was just celebrating Little Bug for who he is, right now, in this moment.

It's not acceptance that I am still looking for regarding Little Bug's needs, but it is just a comfort level. I'm slowly getting to the point where his needs don't frame the way I think of him. That's a very good thing.

Gold Star for Everyday Mama!

All We Are, We Are

Tonight I went to a Matt Nathanson concert with two of my very good friends (I'm a HUGE fan of Matt Nathanson and of my friends, so I have been anticipating this for a while now). The three of us left our husbands and kids home and made a night of it....a front-and-center-in-front-of-the-stage night of it.

It's funny, in those moments I feel so much like "me." I'm the fan who loves the music, who will camp out in line and run to the venue to get the best seat (truly, I r-a-n), but I'm also the one who was watching out for these two young girls who were getting pushing out of their rightful view, I'm the one checking my phone every so often to see if my babysitter had called, and I'm the one who was missing her kid and husband during "All We Are, We Are."

It's nice to see my lives blending into each other more now. I feel so much less of two halves balancing against each other and more like two halves blending into one "able-to-navigate-the-mom-with-the-me whole."

And the concert--OH, it was A-MAZ-ING.

Cleaning House

I need to clean my house. I have guests coming this weekend, and I would like to have a clean house for them. I'm one of those people that likes to put on a good face and have people think my house looks good.

Honestly, I would love to have a clean house all the time, but the reality is that I just don't know how to clean. I wasn't raised in a chore-driven home and I just haven't developed the work ethic. I worries me sometimes because I want my kids to grow up in a clean environment with good habits.

I could go on about how stressed thinking about this makes me, but the bottom line is I should probably get off the computer and go clean....that would actually be productive.

Bite my Tongue (and they should too)

I'm not perfect. I often get riled up quickly and with little provocation. I too often rush to present my view on things...because, let's face it, everyone naturally thinks that our view is worth listening to.

Lately I have been having to remind myself to take a breath and try to empathize or sympathize with someone before flying off the handle with my thoughts. People deal with stress in different ways, and oftentimes get caught up in details without stopping to reason through; I know I do. People sometimes need someone to blame when things feel out of their control.

So in the spirit of this being my blog (that I know most people don't read), I'm going to get a couple things off my chest and avoid bothering people who are dealing with a very real stress (I know, because I was there).

Let's talk adoption. Specifically Korean adoption. Specifically the mother-f-ing mystical P3 and Visa Interview (VI) that happen in the final stages before the children are cleared to travel to the US. Our agency claims these do not "exist" but other agencies and other message boards claim they do. US Immigration claims they do.

Adoption agencies have a lot of different philosophies. Our agency's philosophy for families to wait the reasonable amount of time before checking on paperwork....because frankly, they and the families have no control over it when it gets to Korea, so why freak out over it right away?

You want to know what I have been told? The P3 is a package of paperwork that goes to the Korean agency and must be returned to the embassy in Seoul before anything final can happen. However, it is all part of the final Visa step, so I don't think our agency breaks it out. The visa interview debate takes winners on both sides. It does exist, but not in the sense of an actual interview. Our children never show up at the embassy and babble for the officials. It's just a time set aside for our child's paperwork to be approved. Then all that paperwork goes back to the Korean agency and the travel call is issued after that. That is my opinion.

Or maybe I am the naive idiot. Maybe the adoption agency with 30+ years experience that we used is filled with idiots who intentionally want to upset families and hinder children's travel to their families, so they intentionally lie to stressed out families.

Or maybe, just maybe, different people call things different things. One man's P3 is another man's undefinable step in a larger process. Maybe our agency (and others like them) tries to minimize the freak-out that happens weeks before the travel call is expected to be issued. Families get upset when they call the state department every day for an update and nothing is there? Well, maybe that wouldn't happen if the families trusted their agency when they tell them to wait two weeks before calling instead of blaming the agency.

Don't even get me started on people getting angry that things are not happening faster than they were quoted. I can't go there today.

As I write this, I know that my perspective is jaded. I personally know and care for the person who is often accused of being the devious mastermind of withholding information. I went through the wait, and despite being prone to anxiety, I did not get publicly angry when my wait dragged on, I did not get publicly angry when I didn't get information that I was never promised in the first place, and I although the wait was awful, I didn't decide to start blaming people who have no control over the process and refused to buck the process for my impatience.

Adoption is a painful process, but it is nothing if not unpredictable. It sucks, but that.is.the.way.it.is.

This is harsh, I know, but I have to get it off my chest. If people want to bitch about a "worst-case scenario" or such an excruciating adoption experience, step right up and take me on. BRING IT ON. What my husband and I went through in the three weeks prior to meeting our son was a special brand of hell that few, if any that I know of, can match. We have not shared our story publicly because we worry that others, who are less inclined to accept the unpredictability and risk of adoption will use it against our agency, and I will be damned if that happens. The last thing I want to do is scare others off from the joys of adoption.

Look, every person has a valid right to feel pain and anguish as they wait for their child to come home...but why chose negativity? Does that make it feel better?

I have so much respect for the people who deal with this frustrating process in a classy way. They get frustrated, angry, and depressed, of course, but they chose faith and reason to cope in very public forums. Everyone has bad days, I certainly did and I am sure I will again when we get close to Little Bro's homecoming, but it's those people who can see the bad day for what it is--a bad day in an emotionally draining process--who daily remind me of what class and strength look like.

Oh, and those are the ladies who bite their tongue when the chatter gets a little poisonous as others' frustration turns mean spirited. I am learning from them that sometimes keeping silent is the best form of strength.

Can you tell that I am having a bad day myself? This post is my silent scream.

A Bittersweet Lap

I've had my eye trained toward Saturday, July 18 for a while now. That is the day when Little Bug would have lived with us for as long as he lived with his foster family in Korea. For some reason that milestone meant a lot to me. It somehow validated his position in our family and this culture.

I had grand plans to post on our family blog about it (I love to post about anniversaries of any kind), but as it got closer, I started to feel unsure about how much I should herald this milestone. It's great, don't get me wrong, but my obsession with this milestone wasn't really for him. Little Bug remembers nothing of his time with his family in Korea, nor does he probably remember his time with us last month. To celebrate "lapping" his time in Korea would be purely for my selfish benefit....somehow validating not his place in our family but my place in his life. And yikes, that seems a bit desperate to me.

The honest truth is that those first 10 months of his life will always have a huge impact on who he is. As much as I love him and am proud of the way he joined our family, I don't want to celebrate anything that highlights his loss of a birth family, birth culture, and loving foster family. Bittersweet is a word I often used when we were in Korea to bring him home, and I think it applies here, too.

So I let it go. I didn't think about it, I didn't blog about it, I didn't even mention it to Appa. In the end, it was just a meaningless date in July. What was important about that date was the fun we had as a family, the love we felt, and the memories we made...and there is nothing but sweetness about that.

10 Perfect Toes

Today I spent some time (a fair bit of time actually) examining Little Bug's toes while he was napping on me. I found that his pudgy feet are shaped in a perfect little incline with little slits cut out for toes. Each of his toes are slightly smaller than the previous--very proportional. In short, my son has perfectly adorable feet.

Just shy of 10 months home, I am just now noticing.

When Little Bug first came home, I feel into a deep depression--post adoption depression--which is similar to PPD after a woman gives birth. I don't feel like explaining it today (but the research is there and it does exist), but the point of bringing it up is that for a very long time...months and months and months, I never really looked at my son. I saw him, sure, I examined him with a clinical and motherly eye, yes, but I never just took the time to revel in the little physical traits that make Little Bug up. It wasn't intentional, but it was the truth. I remember when my mother came to visit after Little Bug had been home for 5 weeks and she went on and on and on about his cute feet. I clearly remember thinking at the time that I really hadn't noticed what she was talking about, nor could I clearly recall anything specific about his feet.

It's taken me a very long time to pull my head out of the haze of depression such an irrevocable (although wonderful) change in my life had produced. Little things about motherhood that I always expected are starting to come to me. Moments of clarity.

Moments like today where I finally looked and my son and saw him...and how amazing his feet are. My son.

My son, my son, my son.

A Moment

Tonight we went to a very old and famous city zoo for Appa's company family party. It was lame, in case you were wondering. Its lameness could warrant its own post, but nah. Just know that is was epically lame and destined to be memorable only for how lame it was.

Do you get my feelings on this event?

Anyway, Appa was sitting and holding Little Bug at a table full of people while I went to the restroom. As I walked out, I noticed Little Bug from across the picnic area, standing against Appa's chest and looking past his back. We made eye contact immediately.

His 1000-watt-smile as he held my eyes and watched me return to the table made the whole night worth it for me. Truly, it was a one-of-a-kind-smile.

That moment was even worth the $17 parking and 1.5 hour commute.

Memories of a blue swimming suit

Memories are funny things. Some of my strongest memories from childhood are moments that I cannot remember the context of, but can vividly recall the smell, sound, feeling in my chest, etc. It's the same way as an adult. Some of my very strong memories are just snippets of seeminly normal moments.

Example: I will always, always, always remember a moment during my maternity leave where I was sitting and watching Little Bug play in his exersaucer. It was around 2:30 in the afternoon, he was wearing a white onsie, Jon and Kate+8 (minus the divorce drama) was on the the background, and the lights were off because there was a lot of natural sunlight streaming through. That's my memory. There is nothing special about it other than the fact that I feel happy when I think about it and that it is seared into my mind.

Last night I made another one of those memories. Little Bug loves to splash in the water and yesterday he had gotten something particularly sticky in his hair. Instead of putting him outside in his beloved splash pad (with all the mosquitoes), I removed his baby tub and let him explore the full bathtub upstairs. This alone would have interested him, but I also used our Boon Flo to keep a safe stream of water flowing for his enjoyment. Every once and a while I would unplug the drain to let some water out, creating a safe amount of water without sacrificing his favorite part of the experience.

Why is this a memory for me?

Since I knew he was going to be in there for a while in lieu of splash pad and bath time (I washed his hair at the beginning to get that out of the way), I put on my new blue swimming suit and got in there with him. He was less interested in me than I vainly though he would be, but it was fascinating to watch him "up close" as he explored the different things he could do with his hands and water...and the whole evening was different than our norm, which was nice.

Why the swimming suit?

Just in case Little Bug is starting to capture some of his own precious memory snippets. No need for mama's boobies to be rattling around in his adorable head.

Oh, and perhaps I'm able to enjoy the sweet glow of motherhood today because J.Mohr and I both got 9 hours of sleep last night!

Sleep = happiness

Spontaneously Drenched

I'm that mama who lets her son get whatever he is wearing wet if the fancy strikes. There is an odd sense of freedom to be able to see a fountain or grab the splash pad on a whim and let Little Bug have at it. Sometimes I wonder if it makes me a lazy mama or a progressive, free-spirit mama...and then I try to remind myself that the label of "mama" is the only important part.

I want my son to grow up brave enough to embrace spontaneity in life. As someone who struggles with anxiety, I truly appreciate those who are brave enough to live in the moment.

I want Little Bug to never be afraid to get his hands dirty--or his clothes wet.

Avada Kedavra Midnight Fun

Appa and I are only slightly ashamed to admit that we love the Harry Potter movies enough to go see the midnight showings when they first come out. We've gone to the last 3 midnight showings.

Tonight would make numero 4! Can't wait; it will be just like "old times".......ohhhhh wait.

Unlike old times, we now have a small human (who we love above all else) charged in our care. Somehow, even if the sleep issues were perfect (which they certainly are not), I don't think we could swing a Everyday Mama/Appa date from the hours of 10:30 pm to 3 am.

Sigh. See you during normal business (and babysitting) hours, Harry and company.

Time for Bed

Right now it is late and it's Appa's turn to take painful-teething Little Bug duty. Little Bug woke up about an hour ago in a lot of pain. I tried to rock him for a while, but he wasn't having any of me tonight.

Usually this makes me feel slightly bad and like a bit of a failure as a mother (cue all the repressed feelings of motherhood perfection drilled into me since childhood and reinforced by infertility and the invasive adoption homestudy). I always talk myself off that little ledge and think about all the times that Little Bug does prefer me.

But tonight Little Bug is still crying and in pain and it is late and Appa's turn and, quite frankly, I am a bit too tired to care.

One member of my family is sleeping tonight....and the schedule says it's me. Time for bed.

Absofreakinlutly

Today is our 6-year wedding anniversary (11.5 years together, but who is counting). We had a really lovely day as a little family and managed to sucker a friend into watching Little Bug for a few hours while we ate at a Jamaican restaurant we love.

People always say that you should make an effort to have couple time and individual time after you have kids.

Those people are absofreakinlutly right.

I think I am getting to a good place with the independent time, but Appa and I still struggle with the couples time. Our weekly date nights are now family-go-out-to-eat nights. The truth is finding a babysitter is a pain in the butt, especially when the babysitter needs to be skilled and poised enough to deal with the little things that come with Little Bug's special needs. A 12-year-old neighbor girl is not going to cut it for us.

I digress. My anniversary...it was great to spend a couple hours enjoying food, drink, and laughter with my husband. He truly is my best friend and the one person in this world I have chosen to spend everyday forever with....and that is a cool thing.

Hella Good

Tonight was a "me" night. I went out with some girlfriend to an amazing concert (Paramore/No Doubt, in case you were wondering).

Going out with friends without Appa and Little Bug is good for me. I rarely feel guilty about it...probably because I don't do it much anymore. For a while after Little Bug came home I think I did it as an escape from the post adoption blues I was feeling, and that didn't serve any of us well.

But now--well, I'm feeling "hella good" lately. Despite the teething misery and Appa's long work hours, I'm getting into a good place as a mother and find myself missing my husband and son when I am away from them, instead of feeling "free."

Things can be broken down
In this world of ours
You don't have to be a famous person
Just to make your mark
A mother can be an inspiration
To her little son
Change his thoughts, his mind, his life,
Just with her gentle hum
"Different People"--No Doubt

A kid is a kid is a kid

Every kid is different. My kid happens to be Korean, American, jovial, an adoptee, a banana lover, dark haired, medium skinned, dark eyed, tall, hypotonic, hard working, stubborn, loving, and loved beyond measure.

Despite all this...he is just a kid. Just like I was; just like every other kid is.

I think sometimes we (especially parents who have transracially adopted) tend to focus on our children's unique aspects to the point of obsession. Although that is important (VERY important in some cases), at some point you just have to say...my kid is just a kid.

Going out of your way to find ways that your child is different from you or others around you will eventually ingrain in your child that he or she is different from others in fundamental ways...and that is not the case.

Celebrate what is unique about your child and his or her life. Don't dwell on what is different.

Little Bug has 10 fingers, 10 toes, 2 ears, 2 eyes, 1 mouth, and one heart....just like everyone else. That should be celebrated too, right?

Ignore the Wails

The last week and a half of evenings have SUCKED at my house. Little Bug has always been a pretty laid back sleeper. Oh, we had our moments, especially when he first came home from Korea, but things have been pretty easy-peasy for the majority of our first 10 months together....

Apparently I must have uttered that delightful rhyme at some point in the past month and offended the Parenthood Gods because what is happening at my house each night is a straight-up TRAGEDY.

Scene: Little Bug's cozy and comforting nursery. 7:30 pm.
Off-stage: Little Bug and parents go through normal, well-planned and executed, soothing evening bedtime routine.

Everyday Mama: Good night, Little Bug.
Little Bug: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Scene: Hell Little Bug's cozy and comforting nursery. 1:30 am.
Everyday Mama: Please go to sleep, Little Bug. Please!
Little Bug: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Scene: Hell, true "If I was a slightly less balanced person I might beat my child, hell Little Bug's cozy and comforting nursery. 4:30 am.
Everyday Mama (crying): Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Little Bug: WAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (snooze)

Scene: Appa and Everyday Mama's bedroom. 6:30 am.
Alarm Clock: RIIIINNNNGGG, time to get ready for work.

Repeat every night for two weeks straight alternating between an unlucky Everyday Mama and an unlucky Appa.

The End.

No really, PLEASE let it end.....

Whose Bright Idea Was This?

What is the point of a see-through toddler plate? Apparently not consuming food from.

My everyday mama advice: Steer clear of eating utensils that look cool and fun...chances are they are much cooler than the food you are attempting to get your child to consume.

I'm long-winded...

...but not today.

This blog has been sitting, empty and burning a hole in my blogging pants, for a while now. As I continue to navigate motherhood I feel this intense need to pour my thoughts out…big and small…but that is starting to C-L-U-T-T-E-R up our family blog. I started another blog a few months back for a diet that I am "trying" to stick to, but I found that writing about food wasn't helpful for the actual diet…but I digress.

My goal for this blog is primarily selfish. Create a space where I can pour out my thoughts about motherhood, a la a journal, and eventually compile them in a private book form, a la an ACTUALLY journal. Maybe my kids will one day find my thoughts interesting, or maybe someone reading this blog (and I have zero expectations for anyone actually reading this blog) will get something out of it, or maybe it will be another way for me to waste time when I should be working or focusing intently on the little Apple of My Eye, but I'm going to enjoy having a place to "word vomit," because I find word vomit so much more enjoyable than Little Bug vomit.

I've taken great pains to keep this blog completely anonymous to protect my family and myself because I assume there will be days when I might share parts of my life or story that I'm not keen on broadcasting around with my (or my husband or son's) name attached. Or maybe not…I think we might be a pretty boring bunch with a slightly more interesting story.

Okay, so I lied...I'm long-winded every day.