Yesterday I happened to look in my rear view mirror at the exact moment Little Bug burped.
He got this curious, delighted look on his face and continued to try to burp some more.
Once
Twice
Three time.
He actually got some good fake burps out. The he laughed and went back to sucking his thumb and looking out the window for choo choos.
Isn't it fascinating to watch someone learn something that will bring them such joy for years of elementary and junior high school?
Friday, February 26, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
I'm Alive and Going to Work
I'm strong enough to go back to work tomorrow. Honestly, it can't come at a better time. I've been out of work for a full week now, and it's be killing me. Sure, I've been doing some work from home, but it's hard to stay focused at home when the allure of a certain Korean drama is calling my name. I could have clocked 25 hours of work, or I could have watched the full 25 hour series.
I'm happy to report my priorities are in line, and I have a huge crush on Joon Pyo now, even if he is a bit of a wanny pants (but oh, he does look nice in those pants).
But tomorrow I go back to the working world. This week has made me think a lot about being a working mom versus a stay at home mom. I have a strong desire to be both, but that's not in the cards for me right now. So, I had to make the choice. (I want to acknowledge that I consider myself very luck to have the choice to work or stay home. I know not everyone has that choice.)
For me, I've never done well staying home. During my job hunting searches I ended up watching way too many TV series on DVD, spending too much time online, and generally not showering with any sense of urgency. I think part of the problem is that I didn't strive to make a schedule because I knew I would be going to work eventually.
The same thing happened to some extent when Little Bug came home. I only got 6 weeks with Little Bug (which I do not think was enough time; I've already told my work I am taking the full 8-12 weeks off for Little Bro). I didn't bother with a schedule for "me" because I knew that situation was temporary, too.
These experiences have left me scared out of my mind to stay at home for any extended period of time. I think if I was going to do the SAHM thing now, I would plan better to avoid some of the blah I traditionally fall into. I'd build in friends and sunshine and down time and cleaning time. I might even cook a proper dinner. Or maybe I can just say that because I don't have to put my money where my mouth is.
The honest truth is that I like my job. This year is a huge one for my career; my resume and portfolio are really going to expand. I've always thought that I would like to work from home or freelance while still taking care of my kids, but the reality is that sort of thing takes a lot of experience, experience I am still building. To leave now (or more accurate, to leave when Little Bro comes home) would be leaving just before achieving skills and titles I have been working hard to acquire. When I think about quitting, I get really panicky.
Unfortunately, our choice of schools for our sons is not cheap. I don't regret that for a second, but on an editor's salary, putting two kids in that kind of place basically eats up my entire salary (actually, when you figure in the higher tax bracket my income puts us into, we actually lose a substantial sum of money).
So I will soon find myself in the peculiar situation of working solely to fund my kids' school tuition. In fact, to cover to loss, we would have to tighten up a bit. On those days when all I want to do is cuddle with my kid in the morning and take him on a walk after breakfast or join my friends on a play date, that is a bitter pill to swallow.
But then there are those moments when I am sitting at my desk with my green pencil and a supreme sense of satisfaction at the marked up copy in front of me or when my input helps shape the essence of a publication that I truly think, "how can I give this up?"
I can't. Not until I have to. Make no mistake, if my kids needed me home, I would drop it all in an instant and walk home barefoot to be with them forever--happily and gratefully. But until then, for our family, the pros outweigh the cons.
In our home, a happy mama = a happy, better run family. I might not have time to cook a lot or clean much, but I come home from work with an inner balance that I can pass on to my son and husband. Everyone finds their balance in a different way and different place, but for me, it's at work....at least for now.
So, tomorrow, with my new illness-inspired sans 10lbs body and double washed hair, I'm going to kiss my sweet boy good bye and wish him a good day at school, and then I am going to head to work. It's what works for our family right now; it's our schedule.
And I heart productive schedules, and I heart not being sick anymore.
I'm happy to report my priorities are in line, and I have a huge crush on Joon Pyo now, even if he is a bit of a wanny pants (but oh, he does look nice in those pants).
But tomorrow I go back to the working world. This week has made me think a lot about being a working mom versus a stay at home mom. I have a strong desire to be both, but that's not in the cards for me right now. So, I had to make the choice. (I want to acknowledge that I consider myself very luck to have the choice to work or stay home. I know not everyone has that choice.)
For me, I've never done well staying home. During my job hunting searches I ended up watching way too many TV series on DVD, spending too much time online, and generally not showering with any sense of urgency. I think part of the problem is that I didn't strive to make a schedule because I knew I would be going to work eventually.
The same thing happened to some extent when Little Bug came home. I only got 6 weeks with Little Bug (which I do not think was enough time; I've already told my work I am taking the full 8-12 weeks off for Little Bro). I didn't bother with a schedule for "me" because I knew that situation was temporary, too.
These experiences have left me scared out of my mind to stay at home for any extended period of time. I think if I was going to do the SAHM thing now, I would plan better to avoid some of the blah I traditionally fall into. I'd build in friends and sunshine and down time and cleaning time. I might even cook a proper dinner. Or maybe I can just say that because I don't have to put my money where my mouth is.
The honest truth is that I like my job. This year is a huge one for my career; my resume and portfolio are really going to expand. I've always thought that I would like to work from home or freelance while still taking care of my kids, but the reality is that sort of thing takes a lot of experience, experience I am still building. To leave now (or more accurate, to leave when Little Bro comes home) would be leaving just before achieving skills and titles I have been working hard to acquire. When I think about quitting, I get really panicky.
Unfortunately, our choice of schools for our sons is not cheap. I don't regret that for a second, but on an editor's salary, putting two kids in that kind of place basically eats up my entire salary (actually, when you figure in the higher tax bracket my income puts us into, we actually lose a substantial sum of money).
So I will soon find myself in the peculiar situation of working solely to fund my kids' school tuition. In fact, to cover to loss, we would have to tighten up a bit. On those days when all I want to do is cuddle with my kid in the morning and take him on a walk after breakfast or join my friends on a play date, that is a bitter pill to swallow.
But then there are those moments when I am sitting at my desk with my green pencil and a supreme sense of satisfaction at the marked up copy in front of me or when my input helps shape the essence of a publication that I truly think, "how can I give this up?"
I can't. Not until I have to. Make no mistake, if my kids needed me home, I would drop it all in an instant and walk home barefoot to be with them forever--happily and gratefully. But until then, for our family, the pros outweigh the cons.
In our home, a happy mama = a happy, better run family. I might not have time to cook a lot or clean much, but I come home from work with an inner balance that I can pass on to my son and husband. Everyone finds their balance in a different way and different place, but for me, it's at work....at least for now.
So, tomorrow, with my new illness-inspired sans 10lbs body and double washed hair, I'm going to kiss my sweet boy good bye and wish him a good day at school, and then I am going to head to work. It's what works for our family right now; it's our schedule.
And I heart productive schedules, and I heart not being sick anymore.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
98% Whine, 2% Confession
I had high hopes of posting a special blournal entry about the fun mommy/son date Little Bug and I had on Wednesday (I took time off work and Little Bug out of daycare and canceled his therapy), but almost immediately after I got home, my week went in a couple directions I had not expected.
From Wednesday afternoon to Friday afternoon, Appa and I found ourselves faced with a pretty heavy and unexpected decision. Not a bad decision, by any means, but not one we had been prepared in advance to make. Ultimately, we made the choice that was best for everyone involved. It wasn't easy (especially in my condition, as you will see below), and it was a stressful couple of days.
The first night I had a horrible night filled with hot flashes and chills and hallucinations. I thought that it was stress from the situation. A pretty extreme reaction, to be sure, but as I do have some anxiety issues and this was a highly stressful situation, it made sense to me that I would react in such a way.
But once I was at work on Thursday, it became apparent it was not stress, but an actual illness causing my significant discomfort and making me plot out my escape route to the bathroom during a department breakfast filled with greasy eggs and meats.
I made it through about half the day before I went home and slept for the next 9 hours. I figured the stress was compounding whatever 24-hour bug my "carrier monkey" had shared with me. I didn't consider going to the doctor because I assumed it would all just go away.
We all know why you should never assume....
Blessed Friday morning came and my a$$y self found a lack of pretty much any sort of coherence. Appa had to stay home from work to take me to the doctor and make sure I could function.
ARE.YOU.KIDDING.ME. I've been sick more times that I can count recently. This is uncool.
Oh, but it can get more uncool, apparently.
I'm waiting to have it confirmed for sure on Monday morning (due to a miscommunication with my doctor, it was not confirmed on Friday like I thought it was), but it looks pretty much like I have a serious virus that takes 6-8 weeks to recover from. You know, because I totally have 6-8 weeks to lay around feeling like death.
What job? What 2 year old?
It's frustrating. My husband has basically taken on the role of single dad for the past few days. My interaction with my son has been limited to the times when he manages to race past Appa and burst into our bedroom chanting "Mama, Mama" as he pops up with his perfect grin to my side of the bed. Sometimes during my 5-10 hour "naps" I could hear him downstairs chanting my name and it broke.my.heart.
Which is why I am on the computer today.
Yes, I've been camped out in our recliner. Yes, I smell horrible (I try to shower and then lose my energy before I can shampoo and just sit down until the water turns cold). Yes, I'm trying to swallow down applesauce or pudding just to get some calories. Yes, I've been taking some cat naps.
But I am also trying really hard to work through this. It's not easy. I'm actually quite sick, and honestly, I am a big baby when it comes to being sick. I don't usually grin and bear it quietly. Appa gets up and does the dishes and martyrs around when he is sick. I moan and complain and pitifully sip my ice water while give Appa a play-by-play of my many ailments. He is a saint for putting up with me because I would drive myself nuts.
But I miss my boys. I miss talking to my husband, and I miss spending time with my son. The idea that this hellish feeling will go on for 6-8 more weeks is something I just cannot believe. There is this hope inside me that if I just take it easy for a few more days, things will go back to normal.
Maybe it will. I won't know for sure until Monday.
But today I have tried to be present for my family. I watched the Olympics with my husband and rocked my son to sleep for his nap. I'm feeling better today than I have the last two days, so that's a positive. As the day has gone on, I've gotten more and more lucid and functioning. I'm not myself, no, but I'm also not the moaning corpse I was for the last two days. Maybe tomorrow will be even a little bit better.
I'm not sure what I am going to do about work. Career-wise, this is pretty much the worst period of time for me to take an extended leave from work; I have a redesign for a newsletter I am just starting to manage that is going to need critical attention this week. I can't even think about the PTO that will be sucked dry; PTO that was being saved for my second honeymoon in April. A vacation already booked.
So, there are my whines and confessions. I am sick, smelly, tired, achy, feeling sorry for myself, and overall just a big baby about the whole business. I consider it a victory that I had enough energy to blog while the boys escaped the sick house this afternoon.
Is it bad that the only bright spot in all this is that I'll have a much better looking (if only temporary and unhealthily obtained) swim suit body in Jamaica?
Fingers crossed I can kick this soon.
Oh, and as for how I might have gotten this lovely little virus. Turns out that the mysterious illness that took Little Bug down hardcore a few weeks ago was most likely not a weird strain of the flu. It's was what I now have (that he so graciously shared with me via shared spoons and open cup practice). In babies, it's much different and remains for a much shorter period of time and is rarely diagnosed until it is passed on to a parent. Nice, sign us up for that case study. Sigh, I guess if I had to choose between him being sick for 6 weeks or me being sick for 6 weeks, I'd definitely choose myself.
Kids and their germs, man, kids and their germs....
From Wednesday afternoon to Friday afternoon, Appa and I found ourselves faced with a pretty heavy and unexpected decision. Not a bad decision, by any means, but not one we had been prepared in advance to make. Ultimately, we made the choice that was best for everyone involved. It wasn't easy (especially in my condition, as you will see below), and it was a stressful couple of days.
The first night I had a horrible night filled with hot flashes and chills and hallucinations. I thought that it was stress from the situation. A pretty extreme reaction, to be sure, but as I do have some anxiety issues and this was a highly stressful situation, it made sense to me that I would react in such a way.
But once I was at work on Thursday, it became apparent it was not stress, but an actual illness causing my significant discomfort and making me plot out my escape route to the bathroom during a department breakfast filled with greasy eggs and meats.
I made it through about half the day before I went home and slept for the next 9 hours. I figured the stress was compounding whatever 24-hour bug my "carrier monkey" had shared with me. I didn't consider going to the doctor because I assumed it would all just go away.
We all know why you should never assume....
Blessed Friday morning came and my a$$y self found a lack of pretty much any sort of coherence. Appa had to stay home from work to take me to the doctor and make sure I could function.
ARE.YOU.KIDDING.ME. I've been sick more times that I can count recently. This is uncool.
Oh, but it can get more uncool, apparently.
I'm waiting to have it confirmed for sure on Monday morning (due to a miscommunication with my doctor, it was not confirmed on Friday like I thought it was), but it looks pretty much like I have a serious virus that takes 6-8 weeks to recover from. You know, because I totally have 6-8 weeks to lay around feeling like death.
What job? What 2 year old?
It's frustrating. My husband has basically taken on the role of single dad for the past few days. My interaction with my son has been limited to the times when he manages to race past Appa and burst into our bedroom chanting "Mama, Mama" as he pops up with his perfect grin to my side of the bed. Sometimes during my 5-10 hour "naps" I could hear him downstairs chanting my name and it broke.my.heart.
Which is why I am on the computer today.
Yes, I've been camped out in our recliner. Yes, I smell horrible (I try to shower and then lose my energy before I can shampoo and just sit down until the water turns cold). Yes, I'm trying to swallow down applesauce or pudding just to get some calories. Yes, I've been taking some cat naps.
But I am also trying really hard to work through this. It's not easy. I'm actually quite sick, and honestly, I am a big baby when it comes to being sick. I don't usually grin and bear it quietly. Appa gets up and does the dishes and martyrs around when he is sick. I moan and complain and pitifully sip my ice water while give Appa a play-by-play of my many ailments. He is a saint for putting up with me because I would drive myself nuts.
But I miss my boys. I miss talking to my husband, and I miss spending time with my son. The idea that this hellish feeling will go on for 6-8 more weeks is something I just cannot believe. There is this hope inside me that if I just take it easy for a few more days, things will go back to normal.
Maybe it will. I won't know for sure until Monday.
But today I have tried to be present for my family. I watched the Olympics with my husband and rocked my son to sleep for his nap. I'm feeling better today than I have the last two days, so that's a positive. As the day has gone on, I've gotten more and more lucid and functioning. I'm not myself, no, but I'm also not the moaning corpse I was for the last two days. Maybe tomorrow will be even a little bit better.
I'm not sure what I am going to do about work. Career-wise, this is pretty much the worst period of time for me to take an extended leave from work; I have a redesign for a newsletter I am just starting to manage that is going to need critical attention this week. I can't even think about the PTO that will be sucked dry; PTO that was being saved for my second honeymoon in April. A vacation already booked.
So, there are my whines and confessions. I am sick, smelly, tired, achy, feeling sorry for myself, and overall just a big baby about the whole business. I consider it a victory that I had enough energy to blog while the boys escaped the sick house this afternoon.
Is it bad that the only bright spot in all this is that I'll have a much better looking (if only temporary and unhealthily obtained) swim suit body in Jamaica?
Fingers crossed I can kick this soon.
Oh, and as for how I might have gotten this lovely little virus. Turns out that the mysterious illness that took Little Bug down hardcore a few weeks ago was most likely not a weird strain of the flu. It's was what I now have (that he so graciously shared with me via shared spoons and open cup practice). In babies, it's much different and remains for a much shorter period of time and is rarely diagnosed until it is passed on to a parent. Nice, sign us up for that case study. Sigh, I guess if I had to choose between him being sick for 6 weeks or me being sick for 6 weeks, I'd definitely choose myself.
Kids and their germs, man, kids and their germs....
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Beware the Snark
In the last few weeks, I've been moved a number of times to do something I never used to do.
Comment on an online news article.
The people who comment on online news articles are primarily idiots who are most likely unemployed, barely literate (but kudos for stopping by a news site on your way to your p*rn sites), and looking something to do other than scratch themselves. Okay, maybe not, but that sentence is the type of thing people who comment on news articles like to write to each other as they bicker and insult each other…oh wait, what were we actually talking about? An actual piece of news?
Nah, let's go back to over generalizing, stereotyping, preaching, and being rude--all about topics we know nothing about.
Unfortunately for me, it seems like these special people gravitate toward a topic that I also gravitate toward…adoption. Fantastic.
No matter what the article is about (pro or con adoption), there is a loud group who likes to turn up their country music, turn down the court TV, pop open a new one, hop on their favorite online news organization comment feature, and rail about how people who adopt internationally should
Or maybe, if they are feeling feisty, they might drop some sort of racial comment, because there is no better way to prove your intelligence than being a racist a-hole.
In the past I have never scrolled down far enough on the page to see or read the comments, but lately I have been. I shouldn't, but I can't not. Now that I know the ridiculousness that goes on there, I feel this intense need to respond with some sort of reality and protect the FACTS, both good and bad, that surround adoption.
You know, like ALL kids deserve love, no matter what country they were from; all international adoptions are not based on some crazy child trafficking scheme and a set of greedy white parents who slink into a back alley, grab a kid out of a box (not making this up, someone actually suggested children in China are sold out of boxes to American tourists); that domestic and foster adoption is not easy, quick, or inexpensive; that international adoption is not easy, quick, or inexpensive; and that kids can't waltz into this country with proper documents. Ask any family who knows what the I-600 form is and watch them laugh you all the way back to your scratching chair.
So, a couple times I have registered with these sites and responded with a logical, thought out, fact driven comment. Wouldn't you know it, no one ever responses to my comments (and I rarely even get "liked"). They just glide right over it as they continue to rant at each other over their views on God, equality, patriotism, and intelligence. I used to (like last week, this isn't a long-term hobby for me) be sad about this. I worried people would read these comments and be turned off from the joys of adoption.
But the more I read, the more I think that these are the people who should most definitely not be adopting a child. It's bad enough that the children they have most likely biologically created will grow up with the same penchant for idiocy. There is a reason I don't read and respond to these comments, and I need to remember that and walk away slowly. These are not my peeps, and I don't get anything good from them. I am beginning to see that I can't give them anything good, either.
So, to all my not-friends at those online news sites, I leave you with one last comment, because I will no longer be scrolling through your comments and leaving my own.
CJS writes:
My family is built through international adoption. Our choices for adopting are our own, and are none of your business, but rest assured, we feel that this was God's plan for us. I'm so sorry he forgot to give you an explanation on his plan for our family. Oversight, I am sure. Anyway, we did extensive research before deciding on an ethical agency that would help us adopt from a country with an ethical program. By "ethical" I mean more than just a flashy Web site and a tear-jerker YouTube video channel. My son, although not white or born in the United States, is going to be an excellent citizen of this country and this world. He will grow up to be respectful, tolerant, smart, and empathetic and will work in a respectable job that will help our economy and provide for his family (you know, when he gets older. He's only 2 right now, but still fair game to insult, obviously). He deserved love and a family just as much as any other child does. Although we might have indeed paid adoption fees equal to the amount of a nice new car, I would ask how much you spent on your hospital trip and the first 10 months of your biological baby's life. About the price of a new car? Oh, weird. I guess that is how much it costs to provide and take care of an infant. But, I get it, it's not the same because I wrote one big check and you wrote like 10 checks and put the rest on your credit card. (I wonder who made more profit on those checks though? My non-profit adoption agency or your hospital and diaper/formula/big box store providers? Curious.) Although we did not adopt through the domestic or foster program, we will be more than happy to support you in any way we can should you choose to adopt through these excellent programs. We know many people who have done just that and have wonderful families. God is happy for them, too. Did he tell you that about them? No? Huh, that's odd. I think you will find it to be an incredibly difficult process, but based on your passionate feelings on overpopulation and not bringing "foreigners" into our country, I am assuming you are planning to adopt instead of having biological children. I mean, wouldn't your kids technically be German/English/Irish anyway? What makes a kid an American? Having American parents? That's what the government says anyway, but OH RIGHT, our government is secretly trying to take down our country. I know that's not the topic we are on, but I think it is good to throw that in there every once and a while. Best to ask Big Al down at the Stop N Shop what he thinks about the issue (adoption, not government, his bumper stickers make it clear how he feels about that). Make sure to clarify with him what constitutes a "family." If it's blood, well, you and your wife have some BIG problems. Big Al never told you that you could only marry your sister in order to have a "real" family built with blood. Man, this whole adoption thing is getting confusing. Perhaps we should just make up some wild figures and facts to make us feel better about not knowing a thing about it. Right after Judge Judy is over, of course. Oh, and could you pass me the spicy cheese puffs?
Comment on an online news article.
The people who comment on online news articles are primarily idiots who are most likely unemployed, barely literate (but kudos for stopping by a news site on your way to your p*rn sites), and looking something to do other than scratch themselves. Okay, maybe not, but that sentence is the type of thing people who comment on news articles like to write to each other as they bicker and insult each other…oh wait, what were we actually talking about? An actual piece of news?
Nah, let's go back to over generalizing, stereotyping, preaching, and being rude--all about topics we know nothing about.
Unfortunately for me, it seems like these special people gravitate toward a topic that I also gravitate toward…adoption. Fantastic.
No matter what the article is about (pro or con adoption), there is a loud group who likes to turn up their country music, turn down the court TV, pop open a new one, hop on their favorite online news organization comment feature, and rail about how people who adopt internationally should
- listen to God when he is telling you that you just should not be parents
- adopt one of those trillions of American babies who need homes (usually backed up by completely made-up facts they heard down at the opening of Moe's Burger Shack)
- not overpopulate our great country by bringing "foreign" kids in to pollute our language and take our jobs.
Or maybe, if they are feeling feisty, they might drop some sort of racial comment, because there is no better way to prove your intelligence than being a racist a-hole.
In the past I have never scrolled down far enough on the page to see or read the comments, but lately I have been. I shouldn't, but I can't not. Now that I know the ridiculousness that goes on there, I feel this intense need to respond with some sort of reality and protect the FACTS, both good and bad, that surround adoption.
You know, like ALL kids deserve love, no matter what country they were from; all international adoptions are not based on some crazy child trafficking scheme and a set of greedy white parents who slink into a back alley, grab a kid out of a box (not making this up, someone actually suggested children in China are sold out of boxes to American tourists); that domestic and foster adoption is not easy, quick, or inexpensive; that international adoption is not easy, quick, or inexpensive; and that kids can't waltz into this country with proper documents. Ask any family who knows what the I-600 form is and watch them laugh you all the way back to your scratching chair.
So, a couple times I have registered with these sites and responded with a logical, thought out, fact driven comment. Wouldn't you know it, no one ever responses to my comments (and I rarely even get "liked"). They just glide right over it as they continue to rant at each other over their views on God, equality, patriotism, and intelligence. I used to (like last week, this isn't a long-term hobby for me) be sad about this. I worried people would read these comments and be turned off from the joys of adoption.
But the more I read, the more I think that these are the people who should most definitely not be adopting a child. It's bad enough that the children they have most likely biologically created will grow up with the same penchant for idiocy. There is a reason I don't read and respond to these comments, and I need to remember that and walk away slowly. These are not my peeps, and I don't get anything good from them. I am beginning to see that I can't give them anything good, either.
So, to all my not-friends at those online news sites, I leave you with one last comment, because I will no longer be scrolling through your comments and leaving my own.
CJS writes:
My family is built through international adoption. Our choices for adopting are our own, and are none of your business, but rest assured, we feel that this was God's plan for us. I'm so sorry he forgot to give you an explanation on his plan for our family. Oversight, I am sure. Anyway, we did extensive research before deciding on an ethical agency that would help us adopt from a country with an ethical program. By "ethical" I mean more than just a flashy Web site and a tear-jerker YouTube video channel. My son, although not white or born in the United States, is going to be an excellent citizen of this country and this world. He will grow up to be respectful, tolerant, smart, and empathetic and will work in a respectable job that will help our economy and provide for his family (you know, when he gets older. He's only 2 right now, but still fair game to insult, obviously). He deserved love and a family just as much as any other child does. Although we might have indeed paid adoption fees equal to the amount of a nice new car, I would ask how much you spent on your hospital trip and the first 10 months of your biological baby's life. About the price of a new car? Oh, weird. I guess that is how much it costs to provide and take care of an infant. But, I get it, it's not the same because I wrote one big check and you wrote like 10 checks and put the rest on your credit card. (I wonder who made more profit on those checks though? My non-profit adoption agency or your hospital and diaper/formula/big box store providers? Curious.) Although we did not adopt through the domestic or foster program, we will be more than happy to support you in any way we can should you choose to adopt through these excellent programs. We know many people who have done just that and have wonderful families. God is happy for them, too. Did he tell you that about them? No? Huh, that's odd. I think you will find it to be an incredibly difficult process, but based on your passionate feelings on overpopulation and not bringing "foreigners" into our country, I am assuming you are planning to adopt instead of having biological children. I mean, wouldn't your kids technically be German/English/Irish anyway? What makes a kid an American? Having American parents? That's what the government says anyway, but OH RIGHT, our government is secretly trying to take down our country. I know that's not the topic we are on, but I think it is good to throw that in there every once and a while. Best to ask Big Al down at the Stop N Shop what he thinks about the issue (adoption, not government, his bumper stickers make it clear how he feels about that). Make sure to clarify with him what constitutes a "family." If it's blood, well, you and your wife have some BIG problems. Big Al never told you that you could only marry your sister in order to have a "real" family built with blood. Man, this whole adoption thing is getting confusing. Perhaps we should just make up some wild figures and facts to make us feel better about not knowing a thing about it. Right after Judge Judy is over, of course. Oh, and could you pass me the spicy cheese puffs?
Monday, February 15, 2010
I Need to Stop Watching the Commercials
How completely bittersweet it is to watch your child age.
On one hand, I am anxious and excited for Little Bug to grow up, learn more, and advance. Just last night I wondered out loud to Appa what Little Bug would be like at age 5. I'm honestly really excited to see years stretched out before me with Little Bug and Little Bro as the stars. How lucky am I to be a part of that awesomeness for so many years to come?!?
On the other hand, with each new skill comes the loss of something less tangible, the "babyness," if you will. As our children grow, their personalities change. Everything about them becomes different. It's a natural progression of life and a really cool one to witness, but it's also very bittersweet to realize that life is changing for your child (and you) in ways that can never be undone.
Ultimately, it's a good thing Little Bug is growing up. Every parent wants their kids to grow up to be the best they can be, and for us, every stride Little Bug can make before Little Bro comes home is going to make it easier on him as he transitions into the role of big brother, which I know he will excel at. But, it's still a bit sad to see my baby bug morph into a big boy bug.
So, to Pr*ctor and G*mble: thanks for the commercial you keep running during the Olympics...the one that makes me cry every. single. time. and has brought up way too many bittersweet emotions for me lately. You know the one, the commercial showing all the little kids getting ready to complete in events, then it pans to the older, nervous mother in the crowd who looks like she is going to cry, throw up, and cheer all at once before cutting to the tag line, "To their moms, they will always be kids."
If I promise to buy Cr*st toothpaste, will you stop making me cry every time I think of my child growing up?
On one hand, I am anxious and excited for Little Bug to grow up, learn more, and advance. Just last night I wondered out loud to Appa what Little Bug would be like at age 5. I'm honestly really excited to see years stretched out before me with Little Bug and Little Bro as the stars. How lucky am I to be a part of that awesomeness for so many years to come?!?
On the other hand, with each new skill comes the loss of something less tangible, the "babyness," if you will. As our children grow, their personalities change. Everything about them becomes different. It's a natural progression of life and a really cool one to witness, but it's also very bittersweet to realize that life is changing for your child (and you) in ways that can never be undone.
- This morning my son pulled my hair brush out of my bathroom drawer, brought it into the bedroom, and started brushing MY hair. He did a surprisingly good job.
- Yesterday my son officially got his first chore, taking his place mat to and from the table. He's very disciplined at it and needs little prompting.
- Three days ago my son figured out how to completely unzip his winter coat...this is an inconvenient skill considering the current Midwest climate.
- In the last week, Little Bug has developed a bit of a swagger. He's so comfortable lording over ever room in our house and his attitude is much less "I'm a baby, hear me cry" and much more "I'm 2, hear me roar." The baby gates are really starting to piss him off; he now sees them as a direct affront to his ability to do what he wants, when he wants. (Tough nuts, kiddo.)
Ultimately, it's a good thing Little Bug is growing up. Every parent wants their kids to grow up to be the best they can be, and for us, every stride Little Bug can make before Little Bro comes home is going to make it easier on him as he transitions into the role of big brother, which I know he will excel at. But, it's still a bit sad to see my baby bug morph into a big boy bug.
So, to Pr*ctor and G*mble: thanks for the commercial you keep running during the Olympics...the one that makes me cry every. single. time. and has brought up way too many bittersweet emotions for me lately. You know the one, the commercial showing all the little kids getting ready to complete in events, then it pans to the older, nervous mother in the crowd who looks like she is going to cry, throw up, and cheer all at once before cutting to the tag line, "To their moms, they will always be kids."
If I promise to buy Cr*st toothpaste, will you stop making me cry every time I think of my child growing up?
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Too Much
My kid has too many toys. It's actually embarrassing how much of an understatement that is. There are toys in every single room of our house....baskets and boxes filled with toys. I've already gone through and purged our toys twice, resulting in two larges boxes and one large bag full of toys he has outgrown. Still, the toys seem to consume us.
This worries me for a variety of reasons (the least of which being my toy-strewn home). I'm frustrated that Little Bug can't really focus on one toy because he has so many. Yet, each time I purge I leave some toys out that he never plays with, the blocks and puzzles and plush animals. Things that he should be playing with, but doesn't because the pieces fall to the bottom of the basket and, let's face it, because puzzles are lame.
In fact, with a few notable exceptions, Little Bug would be happiest with kitchen utensils and our cell phones as his play things.
So, what do I do? Do I keep just a small amount of toys out....like a VERY small amount? What do I do with the boxes filled with all the other toys? Do I donate boxes of toys knowing full well a second child is coming? We're talking about a serious amount of toys here. Do I try to figure out some fancy organization system? I feel like Little Bug's generous amount of toys is actually limiting his ability to enjoy any toys at all.
It's just too much, and I am not sure how to dig out.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Trying to Keep My Kid Alive, Part I
As the oldest of 5 kids and a master babysitter, I used to think I was pretty prepared for the dramas of keeping a child alive.
Then I got a kid.
I remember the first time Little Bug got a high fever. Appa was out of town and I looked at that 103.5 on the thermometer and just froze. I second guessed all the actions I should take that ran through my head, which sadly, were very few. It took a late night house call by Jeff's aunt and a call to the pediatrician to convince me that Little Bug was probably going to be okay.
Things like that happen all the time now. I think I've got a handle of the parenthood thing and then something happens that leaves Appa and I momentarily staring at each other with that wide-eyed looked, like "Holy crap, what the hell are we supposed to do about THAT?"
You know, like this morning when Little Bug decided to have glass for breakfast.
Now, we don't have glass lying around as a pre-breakfast snack option, but apparently there was a bit of glass from an accident a few weeks back that had somehow managed to hide. Until my 2 year old found it with his "naughty radar." (PLEASE don't think we intentionally leave glass shards laying around.)
So, that is how we started our morning. I was making lunch while Little Bug munched happily on some cheerios and played with his toys when he started crunching on something a little more violently. It took another crunch or two before Appa and I had that moment of eye contact where we both looked at each other and realized something was not right.
Yeah, try the blood coming out of my kid's mouth. That constitutes "not right."
So we sprang into action, sweeping his mouth and trying to rinse it out. He had a cut on the side of his lip and we managed to get a small chunk of the glass out, but we honestly don't know how much, if any, he ingested.
Then our novice parenting kicked in. What does one do when your kid might have ingested glass? I'm envisioning his innards slowly ripping apart, and Appa is envisioning violent puking episodes. We stood there in our kitchen staring at each other, late for work and trying to figure out what to do for our son, who was pissed that he was out of cheerios.
Ultimately, after consulting our books and some online medical items (our pediatrician was not open yet), we decided to let his school know to watch for certain symptoms and call me immediately should anything seem amiss.
So there it is. Another humbling edition of "Trying to keep my kid alive." Needless to say, I'll be doing a hands and knees mop of our floor tonight and hugging Little Bug a little closer. Next time one of my kids eats glass, which I'd like to hope will be never, at least we'll already be a well-oiled machine.
Keeping a child alive is hard work.
Then I got a kid.
I remember the first time Little Bug got a high fever. Appa was out of town and I looked at that 103.5 on the thermometer and just froze. I second guessed all the actions I should take that ran through my head, which sadly, were very few. It took a late night house call by Jeff's aunt and a call to the pediatrician to convince me that Little Bug was probably going to be okay.
Things like that happen all the time now. I think I've got a handle of the parenthood thing and then something happens that leaves Appa and I momentarily staring at each other with that wide-eyed looked, like "Holy crap, what the hell are we supposed to do about THAT?"
You know, like this morning when Little Bug decided to have glass for breakfast.
Now, we don't have glass lying around as a pre-breakfast snack option, but apparently there was a bit of glass from an accident a few weeks back that had somehow managed to hide. Until my 2 year old found it with his "naughty radar." (PLEASE don't think we intentionally leave glass shards laying around.)
So, that is how we started our morning. I was making lunch while Little Bug munched happily on some cheerios and played with his toys when he started crunching on something a little more violently. It took another crunch or two before Appa and I had that moment of eye contact where we both looked at each other and realized something was not right.
Yeah, try the blood coming out of my kid's mouth. That constitutes "not right."
So we sprang into action, sweeping his mouth and trying to rinse it out. He had a cut on the side of his lip and we managed to get a small chunk of the glass out, but we honestly don't know how much, if any, he ingested.
Then our novice parenting kicked in. What does one do when your kid might have ingested glass? I'm envisioning his innards slowly ripping apart, and Appa is envisioning violent puking episodes. We stood there in our kitchen staring at each other, late for work and trying to figure out what to do for our son, who was pissed that he was out of cheerios.
Ultimately, after consulting our books and some online medical items (our pediatrician was not open yet), we decided to let his school know to watch for certain symptoms and call me immediately should anything seem amiss.
So there it is. Another humbling edition of "Trying to keep my kid alive." Needless to say, I'll be doing a hands and knees mop of our floor tonight and hugging Little Bug a little closer. Next time one of my kids eats glass, which I'd like to hope will be never, at least we'll already be a well-oiled machine.
Keeping a child alive is hard work.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Because We Can
There is a point to this very long post that is going to see very disjointed.
Two days ago I got back from a Battle Silverware lunch and wrote the following post. I wanted to publish it for myself, but at the time the feelings were too raw to share even on this blog, where I usually feel comfortable. So, I saved it for a time when it would feel right to post, if ever. It's not even finished exactly.
Wouldn't you know, it feels totally right to share now.
------
WHY
Today after a series of small, annoying and not-worth-blogging events, I found myself driving back from Little Bug's school in a blizzard, frustrated, upset, and sobbing.
Then I got stuck behind a train.
As I sat there, with the snow falling all around and the train crawling painfully slow and the tears flowing and the time-off clock from work ticking, I said a word out loud I don't think I have ever consciously voiced before.
Why?
Appa and I have never gone there before. We have the best son in the world, so our only "why" has ever been "why did we get so lucky."
Today, my "why" was not that kind of why.
However, the minute it came out of my mouth, a voice clear as day and firm as can be filled my head with this thought.
Because you could handle it.
Okay, yes. I can handle that answer. Little Bug needed a family who could handle it. And we can. Maybe not always gracefully or totally controlled, but he is getting everything he could possibly need. And I needed every single lesson, ever single character stretch Little Bug gives me. The idea of Little Bug not being my son make me sick to even think about.
------
That post reflects a very low moment, but it also reflects a powerful moment that I won't soon forget. I can tell myself until I am blue in the face that "Little Bug was meant to be with us," but sometimes something just hits your heart as truth, and that is what happened to me that day.
Today Appa and I woke up early and nervously took our perfect little bug down to a nationally respected children's hospital to meet with a nationally respected pediatric neurologist who is a specialist in hypotonia. (Little Bug was a perfect angel who charmed the nurse, fellow, the Korean-born intern, and the actual neurologist with signs, silly smiles, and a riveting discussion about choo choos.) Today Little Bug got some of the best care in the country.
Because we could give it to him.
The BIG "why" question for each of us is one that can only be answered by someone's personal beliefs. It's not a question that really has an answer. But for my family, I truly believe that Appa and I are Little Bug's parents because we could give him what he needed. We live in a big city with excellent medical care and access to world-renown specialists and a plethora of qualified medical people. We have great insurance that allows us to easily access anything we could possibly want or need for him. We have jobs that give us the flexibility to take him to these appointments and to participate in his therapy. We have the means to buy him the therapy tools and toys he needs. We have the mental and physical capabilities to help him with all this therapy in the evening. I'm not bragging; I'm just being realistic and know that geographically or socially, not everyone would be able to provide these things for Little Bug with the same ease we are able. And, although I would have doubted it 2 years ago, Appa and I have the metal needed to parent a child with significant special needs. We advocate when we need to, we push when we need to, we relax when we need to, we hope when we need to (which is always), we accept when we need to, we argue or ignore when we need to, and most of all, we don't let it define our family. (It might seem like I very much have it define our family, but this blog is sort of lopsided as I use it to get out all those thought that don't actually permeate our daily lives.)
Dr. K told us today, in the most respectful, compassionate, and friendly tone that we were doing all we could. Little Bug is most likely never going to have an official diagnosis, and that is not a bad thing. That's actually a best case scenario in many ways.
However, something else she said resonated deep with me today. "I've been humbled enough to realize children are unknowns. All we can do is give them everything they need and wait and see."
Yes. This is true for every child, no matter what their personal struggle might be (and every kid has one, no matter how small). So, while we don't have a "why" for Little Bug's hypotonia, maybe we can help him someday understand that his "why" might be the same as his parents.
Because he can handle it…with perseverance that would shame most adults (including his mama), with a smile that melts even the hardest of doctors or therapists, and with a joy for life that makes the hard moments worth it and the good moments that much better. The real hero in Little Bug's life story is Little Bug. I hope that as Little Bug gets older, he is proud of what he has overcome and proud of what he might still endure. Appa and I certainly are.
Oh and the obvious other answer to my "why" question……it's because we are just so incredibly lucky and blessed. To have Little Bug as a son is the best thing that has ever, ever, ever happened to Appa and I.
Little Bug, when you one day read this, we love you, our undiagnosed, hyptonic, banana and balloon loving, silly smile throwing, raggie toting, carrot hating, crazy climbing, monkey hooting, cuddly little bug. Good job today, just like every day.
Two days ago I got back from a Battle Silverware lunch and wrote the following post. I wanted to publish it for myself, but at the time the feelings were too raw to share even on this blog, where I usually feel comfortable. So, I saved it for a time when it would feel right to post, if ever. It's not even finished exactly.
Wouldn't you know, it feels totally right to share now.
------
WHY
Today after a series of small, annoying and not-worth-blogging events, I found myself driving back from Little Bug's school in a blizzard, frustrated, upset, and sobbing.
Then I got stuck behind a train.
As I sat there, with the snow falling all around and the train crawling painfully slow and the tears flowing and the time-off clock from work ticking, I said a word out loud I don't think I have ever consciously voiced before.
Why?
Appa and I have never gone there before. We have the best son in the world, so our only "why" has ever been "why did we get so lucky."
Today, my "why" was not that kind of why.
However, the minute it came out of my mouth, a voice clear as day and firm as can be filled my head with this thought.
Because you could handle it.
Okay, yes. I can handle that answer. Little Bug needed a family who could handle it. And we can. Maybe not always gracefully or totally controlled, but he is getting everything he could possibly need. And I needed every single lesson, ever single character stretch Little Bug gives me. The idea of Little Bug not being my son make me sick to even think about.
------
That post reflects a very low moment, but it also reflects a powerful moment that I won't soon forget. I can tell myself until I am blue in the face that "Little Bug was meant to be with us," but sometimes something just hits your heart as truth, and that is what happened to me that day.
Today Appa and I woke up early and nervously took our perfect little bug down to a nationally respected children's hospital to meet with a nationally respected pediatric neurologist who is a specialist in hypotonia. (Little Bug was a perfect angel who charmed the nurse, fellow, the Korean-born intern, and the actual neurologist with signs, silly smiles, and a riveting discussion about choo choos.) Today Little Bug got some of the best care in the country.
Because we could give it to him.
The BIG "why" question for each of us is one that can only be answered by someone's personal beliefs. It's not a question that really has an answer. But for my family, I truly believe that Appa and I are Little Bug's parents because we could give him what he needed. We live in a big city with excellent medical care and access to world-renown specialists and a plethora of qualified medical people. We have great insurance that allows us to easily access anything we could possibly want or need for him. We have jobs that give us the flexibility to take him to these appointments and to participate in his therapy. We have the means to buy him the therapy tools and toys he needs. We have the mental and physical capabilities to help him with all this therapy in the evening. I'm not bragging; I'm just being realistic and know that geographically or socially, not everyone would be able to provide these things for Little Bug with the same ease we are able. And, although I would have doubted it 2 years ago, Appa and I have the metal needed to parent a child with significant special needs. We advocate when we need to, we push when we need to, we relax when we need to, we hope when we need to (which is always), we accept when we need to, we argue or ignore when we need to, and most of all, we don't let it define our family. (It might seem like I very much have it define our family, but this blog is sort of lopsided as I use it to get out all those thought that don't actually permeate our daily lives.)
Dr. K told us today, in the most respectful, compassionate, and friendly tone that we were doing all we could. Little Bug is most likely never going to have an official diagnosis, and that is not a bad thing. That's actually a best case scenario in many ways.
However, something else she said resonated deep with me today. "I've been humbled enough to realize children are unknowns. All we can do is give them everything they need and wait and see."
Yes. This is true for every child, no matter what their personal struggle might be (and every kid has one, no matter how small). So, while we don't have a "why" for Little Bug's hypotonia, maybe we can help him someday understand that his "why" might be the same as his parents.
Because he can handle it…with perseverance that would shame most adults (including his mama), with a smile that melts even the hardest of doctors or therapists, and with a joy for life that makes the hard moments worth it and the good moments that much better. The real hero in Little Bug's life story is Little Bug. I hope that as Little Bug gets older, he is proud of what he has overcome and proud of what he might still endure. Appa and I certainly are.
Oh and the obvious other answer to my "why" question……it's because we are just so incredibly lucky and blessed. To have Little Bug as a son is the best thing that has ever, ever, ever happened to Appa and I.
Little Bug, when you one day read this, we love you, our undiagnosed, hyptonic, banana and balloon loving, silly smile throwing, raggie toting, carrot hating, crazy climbing, monkey hooting, cuddly little bug. Good job today, just like every day.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
My Family Is Going to Kick Your Butt
Tomorrow is a really important and pointless day. After dragging my feet for....oh, 18 months or so, we are finally taking Little Bug in to see a pediatric neurologist. A really, really, REALLY good one.
Little Bug's hypotonia is most likely caused by an undiagnosable genetic brain disorder. It could be caused by something more definable, but he's never really shown any other symptoms to clue our doctors in. So, for a long time, we just didn't bother to take him to a neurologist since everything she could tell us we were already doing. All the things he could be diagnosed with are things that can't be "fixed" with medicine. Therapy is the only way to rise above these diseases and syndromes, and heaven knows my family already kills it when it comes to therapy.
But, over the last 6 months, two things have become apparent to us.
So, tomorrow we will take our beloved son to a really good, but very blunt pediatric neurologist. I have no idea what to expect, but I have been prepared by numerous people for an experience less touchy feely than the average doctor's visit. I've been prepared to advocate for my son, to get a second opinion, and to ultimately not really give a crap about what the neurologist labels my kid.
Cerebral palsy, undiagnosed genetic disease, mitochondrial disease, central core disease, FG syndrome, the list goes on and on and on. I haven't decided yet whether I want to get a concrete diagnosis or not. I worry about my son having a label placed on his head, to carry around like a burden during his school year as teachers look at his file and say "Ohh, poor Little Bug has ABCD. Let's treat him differently." Once you get a diagnosis, there is no going back...ever.
Then I think, maybe the label won't be a burden. Maybe it would be freeing to be able to say "CP, my family is going to kick your butt." Little Bug already has so many unknowns in his life; I think if we can clear up one of them for him, it would be doing him a service. Little Bug will continue to thrive, of that I have no doubt. I just always get nervous when people who might not believe that as readily as I do come into our lives.
I think I can handle anything she tells us, just so long as she tells it to us in the context of hope and support. There is nothing I hate more than someone who tries to put limits on my kid or feel bad for us. Here's hoping the well respected Dr. K is a little bit impressed by polite baby signs, silly smiles, and unnatural and criminal cuteness.
Little Bug's hypotonia is most likely caused by an undiagnosable genetic brain disorder. It could be caused by something more definable, but he's never really shown any other symptoms to clue our doctors in. So, for a long time, we just didn't bother to take him to a neurologist since everything she could tell us we were already doing. All the things he could be diagnosed with are things that can't be "fixed" with medicine. Therapy is the only way to rise above these diseases and syndromes, and heaven knows my family already kills it when it comes to therapy.
But, over the last 6 months, two things have become apparent to us.
- Little Bug is going to need therapy for a while, both physical and developmental. (This is okay.)
- Even if it doesn't change anything we do, Little Bug has a right to know as much about himself as possible.
So, tomorrow we will take our beloved son to a really good, but very blunt pediatric neurologist. I have no idea what to expect, but I have been prepared by numerous people for an experience less touchy feely than the average doctor's visit. I've been prepared to advocate for my son, to get a second opinion, and to ultimately not really give a crap about what the neurologist labels my kid.
Cerebral palsy, undiagnosed genetic disease, mitochondrial disease, central core disease, FG syndrome, the list goes on and on and on. I haven't decided yet whether I want to get a concrete diagnosis or not. I worry about my son having a label placed on his head, to carry around like a burden during his school year as teachers look at his file and say "Ohh, poor Little Bug has ABCD. Let's treat him differently." Once you get a diagnosis, there is no going back...ever.
Then I think, maybe the label won't be a burden. Maybe it would be freeing to be able to say "CP, my family is going to kick your butt." Little Bug already has so many unknowns in his life; I think if we can clear up one of them for him, it would be doing him a service. Little Bug will continue to thrive, of that I have no doubt. I just always get nervous when people who might not believe that as readily as I do come into our lives.
I think I can handle anything she tells us, just so long as she tells it to us in the context of hope and support. There is nothing I hate more than someone who tries to put limits on my kid or feel bad for us. Here's hoping the well respected Dr. K is a little bit impressed by polite baby signs, silly smiles, and unnatural and criminal cuteness.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Patience
Patience.
This word has been my mantra for years. I have it in a beautiful gold necklace in hangul; I breath it to myself as I am counting to 10; I roll it around in my head when my heart gets overly jumpy.
At work when I am evaluated, the same comment comes up over and over. You're so patient. Unfortunately, I sometimes seem to use up all my patience at work, leaving less for my husband and son, the two people who deserve it the most.
Lately I've been losing my patience more and more with Little Bug. I can make excuses for myself and say it's due to lack of sleep (I don't function well when I am sleep deprived), or due to the stress of our crazy silverware training that doesn't seem like a big deal but it actually emotionally killing me a little each day (watching the 16 month olds scoop circles around my 2 year old every afternoon on my lunch break is hard to swallow, especially as I walk away from said hysterical, head banging child), or due to the lingering effects of all of our illnesses (I didn't blog much last week because I was sick AGAIN), or due to the bad weather that is keeping us cooped up in the evenings, or due to the crazy work stress I have right now.
Those are all factors in my life right now, but they are also just excuses. I'm Little Bug's mom, and he deserves to be above all that other stuff.
It's hard. So hard. He's so challenging right now as he fights back more and understands more and more about what he wants and does not want and can (like physically) and cannot have. He's two and he's going through a development phase and he has needs. It's expected that he is going to hit and yell and cry and throw a fit. In the midst of this, we need to be setting boundaries, and that job usually falls to me, as Appa likes to fall into the roll of "good cop," leaving me inevitably to play the roll of "bad cop."
It's not like I scream at him or hit him or throw him around. But do I count to 10 before I say "NO" in my "loud, stern voice?" Not always. This morning Appa brought Little Bug into our bed a half hour early because he was crying and woke up early. Appa had a very late night and needed the sleep, but Little Bug was ready to play and cuddle with his Appa (he doesn't cuddle with me in the mornings very often…something that hurts my feelings tremendously). Appa needed the sleep, so he asked me to hold Little Bug. Of course, Little Bug only wanted Appa.
So I put him back in his crib and let him cry for 20 minutes. In Appa's sleepy haze, he said "I just don't get why is he being punished?"
Sigh. Why? Because his Mama had no patience at 5:30 this morning (and was maybe a little put out by the not wanting to cuddle thing). And that's not cool. So, I got up and we played and had fun, but I've felt guilty all morning.
So, for the next few days, I am going to wear my necklace each day and focus all of my "famous patience" everyone else thinks I have on my son, the one who deserves it the most.
5:30 tomorrow morning, here I come.
This word has been my mantra for years. I have it in a beautiful gold necklace in hangul; I breath it to myself as I am counting to 10; I roll it around in my head when my heart gets overly jumpy.
At work when I am evaluated, the same comment comes up over and over. You're so patient. Unfortunately, I sometimes seem to use up all my patience at work, leaving less for my husband and son, the two people who deserve it the most.
Lately I've been losing my patience more and more with Little Bug. I can make excuses for myself and say it's due to lack of sleep (I don't function well when I am sleep deprived), or due to the stress of our crazy silverware training that doesn't seem like a big deal but it actually emotionally killing me a little each day (watching the 16 month olds scoop circles around my 2 year old every afternoon on my lunch break is hard to swallow, especially as I walk away from said hysterical, head banging child), or due to the lingering effects of all of our illnesses (I didn't blog much last week because I was sick AGAIN), or due to the bad weather that is keeping us cooped up in the evenings, or due to the crazy work stress I have right now.
Those are all factors in my life right now, but they are also just excuses. I'm Little Bug's mom, and he deserves to be above all that other stuff.
It's hard. So hard. He's so challenging right now as he fights back more and understands more and more about what he wants and does not want and can (like physically) and cannot have. He's two and he's going through a development phase and he has needs. It's expected that he is going to hit and yell and cry and throw a fit. In the midst of this, we need to be setting boundaries, and that job usually falls to me, as Appa likes to fall into the roll of "good cop," leaving me inevitably to play the roll of "bad cop."
It's not like I scream at him or hit him or throw him around. But do I count to 10 before I say "NO" in my "loud, stern voice?" Not always. This morning Appa brought Little Bug into our bed a half hour early because he was crying and woke up early. Appa had a very late night and needed the sleep, but Little Bug was ready to play and cuddle with his Appa (he doesn't cuddle with me in the mornings very often…something that hurts my feelings tremendously). Appa needed the sleep, so he asked me to hold Little Bug. Of course, Little Bug only wanted Appa.
So I put him back in his crib and let him cry for 20 minutes. In Appa's sleepy haze, he said "I just don't get why is he being punished?"
Sigh. Why? Because his Mama had no patience at 5:30 this morning (and was maybe a little put out by the not wanting to cuddle thing). And that's not cool. So, I got up and we played and had fun, but I've felt guilty all morning.
So, for the next few days, I am going to wear my necklace each day and focus all of my "famous patience" everyone else thinks I have on my son, the one who deserves it the most.
5:30 tomorrow morning, here I come.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Some Days
There are some days when I can't wrap my mind around how much I love my family. As I stood in the shower this morning, feeling ill and not looking forward to starting the day, I heard this loud stomping outside the bathroom door--almost like running.
Then I heard Little Bug laughing, following by Appa laughing.
I have no idea what they were actually doing because I don't think Little Bug had his braces on at that point and could not have been "running" without them, but whatever they were doing at 6:30 am this morning, they were having a ball.
I just really, really, really love those two.
Then I heard Little Bug laughing, following by Appa laughing.
I have no idea what they were actually doing because I don't think Little Bug had his braces on at that point and could not have been "running" without them, but whatever they were doing at 6:30 am this morning, they were having a ball.
I just really, really, really love those two.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
E
Dear Little Bro,
Let me start out by apologizing for your horrible nickname. It is a true testament to your mother's uncreativeness, and I've not liked it since the minute it was first typed. All I can say is that at least I didn't make it Lil Bro...that would have been unforgivable. Unfortunately, it stuck and by the time you read this in some far off Blurb book, you'll have encountered this nickname more times than any of us could count. The good news is your Appa and I have been busy trying to come up with your real name, something we hope is less lame.
Unlike your brother's name, which Appa picked from a list of three names I presented (actually, really only two names and a dummy third to increase my odds) after he refused to talk names with me for months and months and months unless it was my birthday or some other special holiday, your Appa has been more involved in the research of your name.
By research, I mean I give him lists of names and he tells me he hates them all. But hey, at least he is reading the lists, right?
Sure, your Appa has given his suggestions. Unfortunately, we just recently stumbled upon this novel idea of actually naming your kids after family members, but we thought that would be weird to give you a special family name while your big brother got the random (but much loved) name. So, you get a random name, too. Sorry 'bout it. I'm sure we will find another way to give your brother a complex.
In my head, for about 6 months, you were a certain name. Then suddenly one day, that name didn't feel right anymore. Who knows, maybe that was the day you were born and I somehow just knew that you were not going to be a "J." Or, perhaps I just met one too many "J"s. Since then, I've had a shortlist of three names for you. This weekend Appa nixed two of them. I'd been keeping them close, protecting them round after bloody round of name cuts, but I could only hold on so long.
The third name, "W," is a name I'd love to give you, BUT there is another name that Appa has seemed to latch onto (way more that "W"). I'll admit, there is a part of me that loves the fact that your Appa actually has an opinion on a name, and while I don't dislike it, it's not my dream name.
I've been test driving the name for the last few days. I whisper it to your brother and sometimes say it out loud to see how it feels on my tongue. I pair it with different types of Korean names. I write it out on paper. I even changed the filter on my e-mail from "Little Bro's Adoption" to this name. Your Appa thinks I am nuts and your brother is probably a little confused, but I really wanted to give it a fair shake. I'll be honest, I don't think it will ever be my favorite name.
But it is starting to feel like your name.
Only a few more months before we know for sure.
Let me start out by apologizing for your horrible nickname. It is a true testament to your mother's uncreativeness, and I've not liked it since the minute it was first typed. All I can say is that at least I didn't make it Lil Bro...that would have been unforgivable. Unfortunately, it stuck and by the time you read this in some far off Blurb book, you'll have encountered this nickname more times than any of us could count. The good news is your Appa and I have been busy trying to come up with your real name, something we hope is less lame.
Unlike your brother's name, which Appa picked from a list of three names I presented (actually, really only two names and a dummy third to increase my odds) after he refused to talk names with me for months and months and months unless it was my birthday or some other special holiday, your Appa has been more involved in the research of your name.
By research, I mean I give him lists of names and he tells me he hates them all. But hey, at least he is reading the lists, right?
Sure, your Appa has given his suggestions. Unfortunately, we just recently stumbled upon this novel idea of actually naming your kids after family members, but we thought that would be weird to give you a special family name while your big brother got the random (but much loved) name. So, you get a random name, too. Sorry 'bout it. I'm sure we will find another way to give your brother a complex.
In my head, for about 6 months, you were a certain name. Then suddenly one day, that name didn't feel right anymore. Who knows, maybe that was the day you were born and I somehow just knew that you were not going to be a "J." Or, perhaps I just met one too many "J"s. Since then, I've had a shortlist of three names for you. This weekend Appa nixed two of them. I'd been keeping them close, protecting them round after bloody round of name cuts, but I could only hold on so long.
The third name, "W," is a name I'd love to give you, BUT there is another name that Appa has seemed to latch onto (way more that "W"). I'll admit, there is a part of me that loves the fact that your Appa actually has an opinion on a name, and while I don't dislike it, it's not my dream name.
I've been test driving the name for the last few days. I whisper it to your brother and sometimes say it out loud to see how it feels on my tongue. I pair it with different types of Korean names. I write it out on paper. I even changed the filter on my e-mail from "Little Bro's Adoption" to this name. Your Appa thinks I am nuts and your brother is probably a little confused, but I really wanted to give it a fair shake. I'll be honest, I don't think it will ever be my favorite name.
But it is starting to feel like your name.
Only a few more months before we know for sure.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Whisper
I have a family blog I update regularly. It's primarily for our family who live out of state and to journal our lives. Because of that, I sometimes censor what I write there just a touch to keep expectations of those who read it manageable. Sometimes it's hard to explain to people not going through an adoption just how fluid and not concrete legitimate, concrete information is--especially in a blog post. So, we keep things like our number on the wait list vague and covered with caveats.
But I have to get it out.......
"Worst case scenario is 6."
That's the official word I got from my social worker today. If all the families ahead of us are paper ready, then we are number 6 on the waiting list. If they are not...........
Our agency was blown away by 4 referrals this month. They are telling us they anticipate our number coming up in March or April...conservatively. I've been so incredibly good this time around with managing my expectations for referral and travel, and I anticipate some things will not be as smooth as they were with Little Bug's paperwork. I've been telling myself it could be months and months and months away, but today it became more real.
Little Bro is most likely not months and months and months away.
And I just had to write it down somewhere to prove it to myself.
But I have to get it out.......
"Worst case scenario is 6."
That's the official word I got from my social worker today. If all the families ahead of us are paper ready, then we are number 6 on the waiting list. If they are not...........
Our agency was blown away by 4 referrals this month. They are telling us they anticipate our number coming up in March or April...conservatively. I've been so incredibly good this time around with managing my expectations for referral and travel, and I anticipate some things will not be as smooth as they were with Little Bug's paperwork. I've been telling myself it could be months and months and months away, but today it became more real.
Little Bro is most likely not months and months and months away.
And I just had to write it down somewhere to prove it to myself.
Thoughts from the Other Side
My life has felt completely unhinged for the past 5 days. Little Bug was sick....VERY sick. I was surprised at how desperate our lives had become. Literally, it was like everything we knew and held dear was thrown out the window.
Parenting? Nah. Survival was our game.
Little Bug was spoon fed on our lap. He had liquid poured down his throat like a baby bird. He went to bed in our bed hours past his bedtime. He got a bath at 11 pm (after an unfortunate incident that could have warranted a "Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids" post). He watched Classical Baby on repeat and was introduced to The Wiggles. He has possibly memorized the Dr. Seuss classic, Hop on Pop; I know I have. He got not one, but two balloons. He slept all the time. He didn't even have to look at a fork or spoon. (I'll admit, I liked that one a bit.)
It felt like this surreal world we were living in. Taking days off work and staying home, we all started to feel a bit nuts. With no schedule to latch on to, I felt very adrift. It didn't help that the exhustion from the bad nights was slowly killing us.
Little Bug has only been really sick twice before. Once was only a 24 hour thing and once was more prolonged, but while we were on vacation, so there were other people there and a different vibe. This was like being locked in a germ prison where no one sleeps or eats with any regularity.
I'll be blunt. It was HELL. Hell for us and Hell for Little Bug.
H
E
Double
Hockey
Sticks.
I know I am still lucky that my kid rarely gets sick, and I will be able to commiserate more now with some of my other mama friends who more often deal with illnesses, but it's honestly going to take me a while to dig out from this. Our schedule is falling back into place, although we now have to work hard at night to get Little Bug to stay in his bed, so sleep is still eluding us.
Little Bug is back to being his charming and stubborn self. I've never been so glad to fight a fork fight in my life!
Parenting? Nah. Survival was our game.
Little Bug was spoon fed on our lap. He had liquid poured down his throat like a baby bird. He went to bed in our bed hours past his bedtime. He got a bath at 11 pm (after an unfortunate incident that could have warranted a "Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids" post). He watched Classical Baby on repeat and was introduced to The Wiggles. He has possibly memorized the Dr. Seuss classic, Hop on Pop; I know I have. He got not one, but two balloons. He slept all the time. He didn't even have to look at a fork or spoon. (I'll admit, I liked that one a bit.)
It felt like this surreal world we were living in. Taking days off work and staying home, we all started to feel a bit nuts. With no schedule to latch on to, I felt very adrift. It didn't help that the exhustion from the bad nights was slowly killing us.
Little Bug has only been really sick twice before. Once was only a 24 hour thing and once was more prolonged, but while we were on vacation, so there were other people there and a different vibe. This was like being locked in a germ prison where no one sleeps or eats with any regularity.
I'll be blunt. It was HELL. Hell for us and Hell for Little Bug.
H
E
Double
Hockey
Sticks.
I know I am still lucky that my kid rarely gets sick, and I will be able to commiserate more now with some of my other mama friends who more often deal with illnesses, but it's honestly going to take me a while to dig out from this. Our schedule is falling back into place, although we now have to work hard at night to get Little Bug to stay in his bed, so sleep is still eluding us.
Little Bug is back to being his charming and stubborn self. I've never been so glad to fight a fork fight in my life!
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