Yesterday was a bad day.
I was home, not feeling well, dealing with work stuff, pushed publish on that adoption manifesto, and was having these crazy panic attacks all day long. I haven't had panic attacks like that in years.
Of course, like most anxiety, it was over very little.
But it was consuming me, making me ill, freaking me out.
When it came time to get Little Bug from school, I spent the whole drive over swearing that I would not let our evening be consumed by my distraction. I didn't want Little Bug to feel my stress. Honestly, I wasn't sure I could actually do it, but I wanted to try for him.
As super cheesy as it sounds, seeing him was like a balm to me. His smile and laughter over the flute section of "Hello, Everybody" as it played in the car CD player broke something in me that was wound really tight. We ended up having a fabulous box-cooked and steamed veggies meal and enjoyed spending time outside on a glorious Fall evening.
Occasionally it would creep back into my thoughts, this anxiety I was feeling, but it was surprisingly easy to fall right back into step with my boy.
We rounded out the evening by cuddling together and reading four books (something that hasn't happened in a while) and a charmed and unicorn/kitten/rainbow early bedtime. I even allowed myself to drop the sleep training nazi hat and cuddle him all the way to sleep.
I needed him last night.
Being a mama is stressful. We give and give and give, but I usually forget how much Little Bug gives, too. His toddler antics might increase my anxiety sometimes, but his toddler adoration is also one of my biggest stress relievers.
My baby woke up in a fantastic mood this morning, and I agreed to his request of "up on Mama." We watched cartoons for a couple minutes together, my hair dripping wet as my brain wound up for today. I found that, although so many of the stressors were still there, I'd pushed passed the silly panic portion and gotten a handle on things. Thanks in no small part to my awesome son.
Today has actually been a stressful, but pleasant day.
Suck on that, anxiety.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Reality and My Reality
This topic makes me cringe. I'm hoping by writing some of it down I can get it to stop rattling around in my head.
Lately I've been doing a lot of reading on adoption issues, specifically the idea that adoption is morally reprehensible because women are trapped in low economic or social situations with no way out except to relinquish their children to people of higher economic or social situations.
This situation isn't an opinion. This is a fact. I look to the women in Korea, women who are stigmatized and shunned for having a child. I would venture that many, many, many of these women want desperately to be able to parent their babes, and yet, their societies offers them no support. Their children are practically forced out of their hands.
That is a fact.
It's like that in countries all over the world. The majority of children who are available to be adopted around the world are victims of economic and social problems, not a lack of love or caring arms.
To a slightly different extent, it is that way in this country, too.
I don't like reading about it, to be honest, but I am compelled to. I've been lurking on some first mother sites and some adoptee sites. I've read in depth some of the advocates who consider adoptive parents to be akin to kidnappers, and I've read some pretty close minded stuff from advocates who think adoptive parents are the heroes of the world. Both leave my stomach turning.
Then I sit in the middle ground and look up at the nursery door and wonder if I'm part of the problem or the solution. Or either.
Both my children were not able to live with their birth family for reasons FAR from a lack of love. Both my children have mothers in Korea who expressed sadness at not being able to keep them.
That is how my children came to my waiting arms. Not because I could love them more or better, but because I am randomly luckier than their birth mothers in my circumstances.
And that makes me uncomfortable.
But where does that leave me? Where does that leave my children? How can I fix a problem so global?
The reality is that both my children were relinquished and needed homes. They were unable to have a home found for them in Korea. I'm the 3rd best option, and I understand that. But some would argue by being an option at all, I'm still perpetrating the problem.
This is where I struggle. By adopting my sons, I am participating in a cycle that is clearly destructive to mothers and children. But then again, these two children are not hypothetical spokes in this cycle, they are living, breathing children who need and deserve a family....and there was no family in Korea for them at the time when they needed one. I don't believe they would have been better off in an orphanage. I want to think by raising them with as much exposure to their Korean culture and an openness for any type of communication with their birth families that the might possibly have, coupled with a loving home, will be enough to make this 3rd best option better than an orphanage. My sons might some day feel differently...I hope not, though.
But how do I become part of the solution for these yet-to-be-born babies and their mothers? It seems from my research that no one is exactly sure of that. Extremes seem so....extreme, and yet, it stands to reason that only an extreme will force any sort of change.
This isn't about me. Of that, I am sure. I don't have a right to be a mother. I can't give birth to a child, but that does not give me a right to parent someone elses.
But at some point, children will suffer from lack of families if adoption is ended. There will be a gap between the problem and the solution, and children will be caught in the middle. How do we determine which children get the be the martyrs for the future?
That's what I can't riddle out. How can we solve a problem by hurting the very people we are trying to save? But how can we continue to happily pretend that women all over the world have babies and choose to give them up for completely personal reasons and are happier for their choices? How can we pretend that the competent, loving (albeit perhaps poor and young) birth mother and the child's lives are best served by allowing or even encouraging a separation?
I don't know.
I don't know if this even makes sense. I doubt it does. I lay in bed at night and my head does circles as I think about my children and their mothers and myself and how we all fit together.
Ultimately, this is where I am at.
I can't change the past. I can't and won't contact my Little Bug's birth mother and apologize and offer to let her parent Little Bug while I pay her the money I would have spent parenting him myself (which isn't a legal option anyway, no matter what some advocates suggest). It is selfish, but I love my sons and I am glad to be their mother. That's a reality, too.
And until something happens on a larger scale, there will still be children, especially children with special needs, that will need a home. Our wished for Little Sis will, mark my words, be one of those little children. I don't believe us choosing not to adopt again would make any different in the current climate, except to deny a child who legitimately needs a home a family. Individual boycotts are not nearly as effective as other methods of change.
I can't change a global climate. I can't change the way a country supports unwed mothers or their children. I can help by supporting causes and organizations that are working on a bigger scale to make change. One of our new annual donations this year is to an organization that supports unwed mother's rights in Korea. We make our donation in honor of Little Bug's mother.
I can help by continuing to be aware of issues and talking about them. I can help by not putting on my rose colored glasses and reading books about how baby, we were meant for each other, as if everything and everyone beforehand was only a means to our end.
I love my sons. I love my family. I love the way our family bonds are created. I don't love the reason for adoption to be necessary. I don't love the hurt of two families that has resulted from it. I don't love the gaping hole in my sons' hearts that I will never be able to fill.
But even after it all, I come back to the thought that I am grateful for my children. I am grateful for my reality. God, I love Little Bug so painfully much. I know I will feel the same about Little Bro.
I owe it to everyone involved to try to make our blessings count, to pay it forward. I think that starts with having some hard conversations with myself and using my lucky circumstances to advocate for those who have less resources.
Lately I've been doing a lot of reading on adoption issues, specifically the idea that adoption is morally reprehensible because women are trapped in low economic or social situations with no way out except to relinquish their children to people of higher economic or social situations.
This situation isn't an opinion. This is a fact. I look to the women in Korea, women who are stigmatized and shunned for having a child. I would venture that many, many, many of these women want desperately to be able to parent their babes, and yet, their societies offers them no support. Their children are practically forced out of their hands.
That is a fact.
It's like that in countries all over the world. The majority of children who are available to be adopted around the world are victims of economic and social problems, not a lack of love or caring arms.
To a slightly different extent, it is that way in this country, too.
I don't like reading about it, to be honest, but I am compelled to. I've been lurking on some first mother sites and some adoptee sites. I've read in depth some of the advocates who consider adoptive parents to be akin to kidnappers, and I've read some pretty close minded stuff from advocates who think adoptive parents are the heroes of the world. Both leave my stomach turning.
Then I sit in the middle ground and look up at the nursery door and wonder if I'm part of the problem or the solution. Or either.
Both my children were not able to live with their birth family for reasons FAR from a lack of love. Both my children have mothers in Korea who expressed sadness at not being able to keep them.
That is how my children came to my waiting arms. Not because I could love them more or better, but because I am randomly luckier than their birth mothers in my circumstances.
And that makes me uncomfortable.
But where does that leave me? Where does that leave my children? How can I fix a problem so global?
The reality is that both my children were relinquished and needed homes. They were unable to have a home found for them in Korea. I'm the 3rd best option, and I understand that. But some would argue by being an option at all, I'm still perpetrating the problem.
This is where I struggle. By adopting my sons, I am participating in a cycle that is clearly destructive to mothers and children. But then again, these two children are not hypothetical spokes in this cycle, they are living, breathing children who need and deserve a family....and there was no family in Korea for them at the time when they needed one. I don't believe they would have been better off in an orphanage. I want to think by raising them with as much exposure to their Korean culture and an openness for any type of communication with their birth families that the might possibly have, coupled with a loving home, will be enough to make this 3rd best option better than an orphanage. My sons might some day feel differently...I hope not, though.
But how do I become part of the solution for these yet-to-be-born babies and their mothers? It seems from my research that no one is exactly sure of that. Extremes seem so....extreme, and yet, it stands to reason that only an extreme will force any sort of change.
This isn't about me. Of that, I am sure. I don't have a right to be a mother. I can't give birth to a child, but that does not give me a right to parent someone elses.
But at some point, children will suffer from lack of families if adoption is ended. There will be a gap between the problem and the solution, and children will be caught in the middle. How do we determine which children get the be the martyrs for the future?
That's what I can't riddle out. How can we solve a problem by hurting the very people we are trying to save? But how can we continue to happily pretend that women all over the world have babies and choose to give them up for completely personal reasons and are happier for their choices? How can we pretend that the competent, loving (albeit perhaps poor and young) birth mother and the child's lives are best served by allowing or even encouraging a separation?
I don't know.
I don't know if this even makes sense. I doubt it does. I lay in bed at night and my head does circles as I think about my children and their mothers and myself and how we all fit together.
Ultimately, this is where I am at.
I can't change the past. I can't and won't contact my Little Bug's birth mother and apologize and offer to let her parent Little Bug while I pay her the money I would have spent parenting him myself (which isn't a legal option anyway, no matter what some advocates suggest). It is selfish, but I love my sons and I am glad to be their mother. That's a reality, too.
And until something happens on a larger scale, there will still be children, especially children with special needs, that will need a home. Our wished for Little Sis will, mark my words, be one of those little children. I don't believe us choosing not to adopt again would make any different in the current climate, except to deny a child who legitimately needs a home a family. Individual boycotts are not nearly as effective as other methods of change.
I can't change a global climate. I can't change the way a country supports unwed mothers or their children. I can help by supporting causes and organizations that are working on a bigger scale to make change. One of our new annual donations this year is to an organization that supports unwed mother's rights in Korea. We make our donation in honor of Little Bug's mother.
I can help by continuing to be aware of issues and talking about them. I can help by not putting on my rose colored glasses and reading books about how baby, we were meant for each other, as if everything and everyone beforehand was only a means to our end.
I love my sons. I love my family. I love the way our family bonds are created. I don't love the reason for adoption to be necessary. I don't love the hurt of two families that has resulted from it. I don't love the gaping hole in my sons' hearts that I will never be able to fill.
But even after it all, I come back to the thought that I am grateful for my children. I am grateful for my reality. God, I love Little Bug so painfully much. I know I will feel the same about Little Bro.
I owe it to everyone involved to try to make our blessings count, to pay it forward. I think that starts with having some hard conversations with myself and using my lucky circumstances to advocate for those who have less resources.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Eye on the Prize
For 3 months I have had my eye trained on today, Little Bro's 15 month birthday. We had been told that after his first birthday he would only go in every 3 months. Although we have been super lucky to get pictures from traveling friends on his 11 and 12 month birthdays, we've not actually received a development update or official pictures since he was 8.5 months old.
So really, all we know is that he can stand without support, has at least 5 teeth, wasn't walking on his first birthday, and is ridiculously cute.
The secret truth is that I am a little gun shy after what happened with Little Bug. I need a development update telling me he is still on track and hasn't plateaued. I need my faith in our agency to be reaffirmed over and over this time around.
We had a care package waiting for him, and I was sure that he would have official pictures and an update done this month. Sure of it. I've spent the last 3 months mentally crossing off the days waiting for today so I could start stalking my e-mail in the hopes of an update popping up.
Earlier this week, just as I was really keyed up for the week, I found out our information was wrong, and the children go in every other month, not every 3 months.
Which means Little Bro went in for a check up last month.
And we didn't hear boo.
The good news is that he will be going in more often, which means we will have a greater chance at updates and a more robust medical history when he comes home.
The bad news is my heart has to wait another month to even begin to hope for an update. I'm so not a patient person when it comes right down to it.
We've decided to burn one of our two update requests on the check-up next month. I've literally got to hear something. Even if we don't get pictures (which would be such a bummer but is possible because I most likely won't have his next care package there in time for the check up), I just want to know he is walking and talking and playing age appropriately. And if he isn't, I want to know that, too.
Someday soon this will all be a distant memory. New pictures will come from the agency and then old pictures from the foster family and finally new pictures from my own camera. In the grand scheme of things, these updates don't matter, don't change the course of our lives or how we are living them.
But it sure would be nice to be able to add a couple more pages to my brag book.
Happy 15 months, my baby big star. I hope you enjoy a day of not having to go to the agency and be poked and prodded.
So really, all we know is that he can stand without support, has at least 5 teeth, wasn't walking on his first birthday, and is ridiculously cute.
The secret truth is that I am a little gun shy after what happened with Little Bug. I need a development update telling me he is still on track and hasn't plateaued. I need my faith in our agency to be reaffirmed over and over this time around.
We had a care package waiting for him, and I was sure that he would have official pictures and an update done this month. Sure of it. I've spent the last 3 months mentally crossing off the days waiting for today so I could start stalking my e-mail in the hopes of an update popping up.
Earlier this week, just as I was really keyed up for the week, I found out our information was wrong, and the children go in every other month, not every 3 months.
Which means Little Bro went in for a check up last month.
And we didn't hear boo.
The good news is that he will be going in more often, which means we will have a greater chance at updates and a more robust medical history when he comes home.
The bad news is my heart has to wait another month to even begin to hope for an update. I'm so not a patient person when it comes right down to it.
We've decided to burn one of our two update requests on the check-up next month. I've literally got to hear something. Even if we don't get pictures (which would be such a bummer but is possible because I most likely won't have his next care package there in time for the check up), I just want to know he is walking and talking and playing age appropriately. And if he isn't, I want to know that, too.
Someday soon this will all be a distant memory. New pictures will come from the agency and then old pictures from the foster family and finally new pictures from my own camera. In the grand scheme of things, these updates don't matter, don't change the course of our lives or how we are living them.
But it sure would be nice to be able to add a couple more pages to my brag book.
Happy 15 months, my baby big star. I hope you enjoy a day of not having to go to the agency and be poked and prodded.
Monday, September 27, 2010
The Real World Sucks
This morning when I dropped Little Bug off at school, a small group of boys noticed he was heading over to play with them.
En mass, they all started chanting, "No, Little Bug, No" and hiding all the toys from him.
Little Bug stood there at the edge of the "friendship carpet" with a sad look on his face while these four boys chanted their cruel taunt. I know he probably doesn't get the full social implications of what they were saying (nor do these other little 2 years olds who are chanting it), but he gets "No, Little Bug, No" and he gets when kids don't want to share with him.
And it makes him sad.
I started to bend down to the little boys and nicely tell them we play with all our friends when the teacher swooped in to set them right.
Just in time because I was near tears. My heart was hurting so badly for my baby in that moment.
I gave Little Bug a light kiss and blew out of there, desperate to keep the tears from falling until I reached the car. The cool Fall air was the only thing that saved me. The minute I got in the car, I began to cry.
How will I ever be able to do this?
How can I spend the rest of my life waking up and letting my children leave my side when I know they might face teasing or taunting or bullying or hurt feelings. How can I bear knowing they might be sad or feel bad about themselves?
The plight of a parent, I suppose.
I know I can't protect my kids from this childhood reality. Every child will encounter it in some form. Every child will probably be the perpetrator at some point, too. Even mine.
All I can do it give Little Bug the best self esteem possible and hopefully teach him how to push past these incidents in a positive manner. How I will do that....I'm not sure.
I do know that me crying won't help.
So I've gotten it out of my system. I'm truly aware now that no matter how nice of a school or how experienced a teacher or how cushy the room, Little Bug is going to experience times where he is the odd one out. That's the nature of childhood.
I cannot protect him from the real world.
And the real world is going to suck at times for him.
But OH how it hurts my heart to think of it.
En mass, they all started chanting, "No, Little Bug, No" and hiding all the toys from him.
Little Bug stood there at the edge of the "friendship carpet" with a sad look on his face while these four boys chanted their cruel taunt. I know he probably doesn't get the full social implications of what they were saying (nor do these other little 2 years olds who are chanting it), but he gets "No, Little Bug, No" and he gets when kids don't want to share with him.
And it makes him sad.
I started to bend down to the little boys and nicely tell them we play with all our friends when the teacher swooped in to set them right.
Just in time because I was near tears. My heart was hurting so badly for my baby in that moment.
I gave Little Bug a light kiss and blew out of there, desperate to keep the tears from falling until I reached the car. The cool Fall air was the only thing that saved me. The minute I got in the car, I began to cry.
How will I ever be able to do this?
How can I spend the rest of my life waking up and letting my children leave my side when I know they might face teasing or taunting or bullying or hurt feelings. How can I bear knowing they might be sad or feel bad about themselves?
The plight of a parent, I suppose.
I know I can't protect my kids from this childhood reality. Every child will encounter it in some form. Every child will probably be the perpetrator at some point, too. Even mine.
All I can do it give Little Bug the best self esteem possible and hopefully teach him how to push past these incidents in a positive manner. How I will do that....I'm not sure.
I do know that me crying won't help.
So I've gotten it out of my system. I'm truly aware now that no matter how nice of a school or how experienced a teacher or how cushy the room, Little Bug is going to experience times where he is the odd one out. That's the nature of childhood.
I cannot protect him from the real world.
And the real world is going to suck at times for him.
But OH how it hurts my heart to think of it.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Unicorn Fluff
So this sleep book...the one about unicorns and kittens and rainbows and slumbering babes....it's still annoyingly upbeat and positive while our nights are not so much.But it's actually really illuminating.
In the grand scheme of sleep issues, ours are minimal. To be frank, the reason I even started modifying the routine is because I want to be able to deal with the sleep-issues surrounding the upcoming (HA!) arrival of our second son without dealing with Little Bug, but I wanted to give myself months to deal with this transition to avoid having him just cry it out and keep me up more than he is. My selfish goal is to be able to have him go to sleep by himself and stay there all night long. I want that for him, of course, but even more, I don't want to be dealing with two crying babies on my own. I'd like to be able to deal with them at night in an orderly and smooth way.
Rainbows, unicorns, dancing fairies.
And as much as I like the warmth of my baby in my bed, my husband's chest is pretty warm the 3 nights a week I get to share a bed with him....and yeah.......I'd like that back, too.
Ahem.
So this sleep book. It claims that there is a certain amount of sleep most children inherently need each night. It states that if your child is getting wiggy around bedtime, instead of saying "Oh, poor Little Bug is starting to get tired" and going on with your evening, you should just put your kid to bed.
Kid is tired = parent should put kid to bed. No matter when the botanical garden closes.
Rocket . Science.
Sadly, this no brainer statement really hit home for me. Little Bug's 8 pm bedtime was arbitrarily chosen because it worked for my schedule and he seemed to do fine with it.....minus the 30 minutes beforehand when he would start sucking him thumb and whining. I just thought that was what kids did in the evening; it never connected with me that I might be keeping him up past the time his body inherently wanted to be up.
Another instance of "I'm a first time mama and have no idea what I am doing" with a healthy dose of "I'm being unintentionally selfish and inflexible."
Sigh. I hate you, book.
So this week I've been watching Little Bug in the evenings to monitor his mood and when he starts to go down. A few nights ago, when he started to get fussy and whiny, I just started his bedtime routine early and put him to bed.
He was deeply asleep 30 minutes before his "bedtime."
And mama is a believer.
It's going to be an adjustment for us all. As a working mama, my evenings are so precious with my son, and I am going to be giving some of that up. We've still not even attempted anything serious with the going to sleep alone or staying in bed during the night or the waking up during my morning showers and pounding on the door while sobbing "baf, Baf, BAFFFFFFFF" pieces of our life, but those will come. I also know that every kid is different and that what is working for my kid would never work for another kid, including Little Bro.
Kids are lame and awesome like that.
So although this book is just a big pile of unicorn fluff, it is giving me a new way to view my child and how much of his routine I can attempt to control, which has been very illuminating.
And possibly the stuff of unicorns, kitten, and rainbows....we shall see.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Campaign for a Television-Enjoying Child
I think I might be the only parent in the world who is actively trying to teach my kid to watch television.As part of some therapy, we've been asked to start trying to get Seth to sit still for periods of time. He doesn't have ADHD or anything like that, but after almost 3 years of a constant, almost-every-minute movement therapy-lifestyle, coupled with the fact that he is a toddler, Little Bug has a problem being able to sit and focus for periods of time. Television was suggested as a way to get him comfortable with just being still.
However, Little Bug has never shown a preference for the TV. He has a set of musical DVDs that he will watch religiously, and one 8-minute animated version of "Wheels on the Bus" that we had to hide for fear the DVD would break, but other than those programs and the 3-minute part of the Glee episode where they cover Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance", he's not really interested.
For a long time, that was okay, good even. He was sitting still and listening to music, which is his biggest sensory stimulator.
But he's not learning much.
So it was determined we needed to switch it up and add some shows that have....words...into the mix. We tried all sorts of things, but nothing seemed to stick.
Wiggles...so, so. Thomas the Train....only when the trains are moving and not talking. Everything else...totally not interested. Even the shows that have a high singing:talking ratio.
You're killing me, Little Bug. Stop being such a perfect, anti-TV child, already!
Little Bug's godmother recently bought him the Thomas movie, and we've been trying to add that into our evening once a week or so. The most we have managed is about 3-5 minutes...basically until the trains stop moving and the plot starts.
Last night we had a pretty ominous storm roll through. Ever since an admittedly scary camping storm incident, Little Bug gets very nervous when storm clouds roll in, scared when thunder hits, and petrified when lightning lights up the sky. Little Bug made it clear last night that he was planning on riding this one out from the safety of my lap with my arms locked around him, courtesy of his baby death grip.
I'm only mildly ashamed to admit I used his fear to my advantage.
Knowing he was more likely than normal to stay close to me, I turned on our new movie and hoped for the best.
1.5 hours later, Little Bug was clapping as the credits rolled.
Do I think this means he will sit angelically through a movie whenever I need to turn one on in a pinch? No. Do I recognize that the storm has a huge impact on his choice to sit still? Yes.
But he did stay engaged with the show the whole time, "choo chooing," "ohh ohhing," and clapping in all the right spots.
So I'm declaring a small step forward in our quest to commercialize our son.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Mhnk, Mhnk, Mhnk
And thus ended Adoptivus.
Last night we were working on some sleep training. I've selected a program that is meant to "gently" ease my child over the course of months into wanting to sleep like a champion in his own bed.
How lovely and charming and idealistic. Rainbows, kittens, unicorns, slumbering babies, blah, blah, blah.
This book makes it seem so easy.
Stupid book.
Last night was bad. Like, very bad for our normal. Little Bug woke up at 11 pm and was seriously ready to play until 3 am. Appa and I got about 3 hours of sleep between us.
It was bad.
I was mad.
Forget this "gentle" crap....at about 1:45 I shut Little Bug in his room and held the door shut, hoping he would sob and pound and tug on the door enough to tire the umph right out of him.
Instead, he pitter pattered quickly to the door and did the last thing I expected.
He knocked.
He knocked over and over again, occasionally saying "mhnk, mhnk, mhnk" for emphasis. For about 3 minutes.
It only stopped when Appa and I could no longer suppress our laughter, and we let him out to come lay in our bed.
The rest of the night sucked, but those 3 minutes were enough to remind us that we actually liked him enough to want to try the "gentle" approach.
Last night we were working on some sleep training. I've selected a program that is meant to "gently" ease my child over the course of months into wanting to sleep like a champion in his own bed.
How lovely and charming and idealistic. Rainbows, kittens, unicorns, slumbering babies, blah, blah, blah.
This book makes it seem so easy.
Stupid book.
Last night was bad. Like, very bad for our normal. Little Bug woke up at 11 pm and was seriously ready to play until 3 am. Appa and I got about 3 hours of sleep between us.
It was bad.
I was mad.
Forget this "gentle" crap....at about 1:45 I shut Little Bug in his room and held the door shut, hoping he would sob and pound and tug on the door enough to tire the umph right out of him.
Instead, he pitter pattered quickly to the door and did the last thing I expected.
He knocked.
He knocked over and over again, occasionally saying "mhnk, mhnk, mhnk" for emphasis. For about 3 minutes.
It only stopped when Appa and I could no longer suppress our laughter, and we let him out to come lay in our bed.
The rest of the night sucked, but those 3 minutes were enough to remind us that we actually liked him enough to want to try the "gentle" approach.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Adoptivus: The Prayer
My son was honored to have the founder of his Korean agency and one of the most amazing souls ever to grace this planet privately pray over him before he joined our family and left the only family and culture he had ever known."Precious lives, our angels, we send away these lives to foreign countries, with scarred memories of their homeland.
Please forgive our sins and allow Korea to be a better country, so that we will be adopting children from other countries, instead of us always sending ours away.
We send them for care. So please protect these lives and help them lead a happy life in their new homes. Always provide them with grace and intelligence, lead them to live by the rules of Jesus Christ, to have luck, to help benefit others, and to return the glory to our Lord.
It is our sincere wish that these lives will not forget their home country and the love of the people who took care of them.
Father, please remember the foster families who worked hard whether it is favorable or unfavorable conditions to protect these lives, and give them blessings for the benefits they provided with. By your blessings, these adoptive families will be full of love and be under your protection.
Now the children are leaving: Please make their way as easy as possible, lead them to the most pleasant life.
In the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen. "
I wonder if Dr. Kim knows just how much his own humble life has changed the course of so many others' lives forever.
Like mine.
감사함니다, Dr. Kim, for loving my son.
Adoptivus: Little Bug
Before we met Little Bug, we used to refer to him as a monkey (because all children must have an animal moniker, of course). Two years ago today, on the most intense day of my life that is too sacred and private to blog about in any meaningful way, I finally got the chance to begin to get to know my son.
Two things we immediately apparent as we began to parent this small child.
1. He was not going to be climbing about "monkey-style" anytime soon.
2. The kid was a serious cuddler.
During the 30 minute drive from our agency to our hotel, Little Bug fell asleep on me after looking around confused for a while. He nestled in and was so warm and darling. His foster mother had told us he liked close contact, and that was clearly obvious. As Appa and I were marveling over his sleeping form, I mused that he was a "little cuddle bug."
Besides a very sad 20 minute freak out, Little Bug earned that reputation throughout our first night together, allowing us (or more like allowing Baby-Hog Appa) constant cuddling opportunities. It was a night that went better and more joyful that we ever could have imagined (although the nights would soon turn more grim).
Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean the word "cuddle" was dropped, and by the time we hit American soil he was just a little bug. Over the next few weeks that turned into a nickname. Now, not a day goes by that our son isn't called "Little Bug" or "Bugs" or "Buggy" to his face.
And that is how, in a hotel room in Seoul on the day our son became our son, he also became Little Bug.
Two things we immediately apparent as we began to parent this small child.
1. He was not going to be climbing about "monkey-style" anytime soon.
2. The kid was a serious cuddler.
During the 30 minute drive from our agency to our hotel, Little Bug fell asleep on me after looking around confused for a while. He nestled in and was so warm and darling. His foster mother had told us he liked close contact, and that was clearly obvious. As Appa and I were marveling over his sleeping form, I mused that he was a "little cuddle bug."
Besides a very sad 20 minute freak out, Little Bug earned that reputation throughout our first night together, allowing us (or more like allowing Baby-Hog Appa) constant cuddling opportunities. It was a night that went better and more joyful that we ever could have imagined (although the nights would soon turn more grim).
Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean the word "cuddle" was dropped, and by the time we hit American soil he was just a little bug. Over the next few weeks that turned into a nickname. Now, not a day goes by that our son isn't called "Little Bug" or "Bugs" or "Buggy" to his face.
And that is how, in a hotel room in Seoul on the day our son became our son, he also became Little Bug.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Adoptivus: The Hills
2 years ago today we set out on a mini adventure (complete with hijinks) to the city of Suwon, an hour or two outside Seoul. I've written a lot about our escapades on the bus ride and the history and freedom we enjoyed in the fortress. I've written about how we got back to Seoul courtesy of my handy flash cards.
But I've not written about the in between.
Once we got out of Seoul and before we started panicking about how we would get off the bus, Appa and I sat in total silence and watched the scenery change outside the window. It went from busy, trendy Seoul to very industrial areas. For some reason, this is what I expected the outside of Seoul to look like.
Eventually the landscape turned greener, softer, prettier. We passed through what seemed like valleys filled with meadows and streams. We passed a bright blue lake right off the side of the road, and I remember having the intense urge to go camping there. Surrounding us were what my Midwest head called "mountains" and my Western heart called "hills." Either way, they were covered in trees and moss. They were absolutely lovely and calming and natural and wild.
As I visualize it in my head now, everything has this hazy, soft blur to it, like a picture over treated. It was such a departure from everything else we saw on our trip, and coming after the day when we met Little Bug, my heart and head were in a happy place.
Seoul is amazingly advanced and sexy, and Suwon is a historical wonder, but the wild in between is worth remembering, too.
But I've not written about the in between.
Once we got out of Seoul and before we started panicking about how we would get off the bus, Appa and I sat in total silence and watched the scenery change outside the window. It went from busy, trendy Seoul to very industrial areas. For some reason, this is what I expected the outside of Seoul to look like.
Eventually the landscape turned greener, softer, prettier. We passed through what seemed like valleys filled with meadows and streams. We passed a bright blue lake right off the side of the road, and I remember having the intense urge to go camping there. Surrounding us were what my Midwest head called "mountains" and my Western heart called "hills." Either way, they were covered in trees and moss. They were absolutely lovely and calming and natural and wild.
As I visualize it in my head now, everything has this hazy, soft blur to it, like a picture over treated. It was such a departure from everything else we saw on our trip, and coming after the day when we met Little Bug, my heart and head were in a happy place.
Seoul is amazingly advanced and sexy, and Suwon is a historical wonder, but the wild in between is worth remembering, too.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The Unintended Road (a little father along)
A brief break from Adoptivus memories because there is another memory I wanted to write about...this one just 1 year old.
One year ago I wrote a post on this blournal that has always stuck with me. As we celebrated our first Family Day, I was privately coming to terms with the reality that Little Bug's special needs were not going to be a quick fix like I had hoped. I was in a bad place, although I think I handled it pretty well outwardly. It was hard for me to come to accept the reality of Little Bug's limitations and my challenges because of them. I was worried about the future. I was tired. I was scared. I was a little mad.
Now, being in some part of that future, I reflect back on the mother who wrote that post and how things have changed.
Obviously Little Bug has made some huge strides in the last year. The physical challenges that exhausted me then are mainly a thing of the past. He's communicating more and more. He's happy and healthy. Those pesky braces are gone. He's a joy to be around. I'm ridiculously proud of him.
Yet, just two days ago, during a particularly sour afternoon that started with me having to take off work to clean my house for a therapy meeting, his PT officially assessed his gross motor at 15-18 months....Little Bug is 34 months old.
A year ago that would have ruined my week. Instead, I held back the tears and rallied. I thought about all the progress he has made and reminded myself that he would continue to make more. Within a few hours, I wasn't even thinking about it anymore.
That's what the future that I couldn't see a year ago is. It's not about a "cure" or "catching up." It's about being at peace with wherever he is...wherever we are.
It's about walking the road with the conviction that we can, not just the conviction that we must.
The unintended road. The road I never would have chosen for myself. The road that is leading me to discover an ability to find beauty in the smallest details, like a smile, a muscle compression, a step, a gentle touch. The road that is leading me to discover patience and the ability the grieve without bitterness. The road that is leading me to discover acceptance.
The road that led us to discover a bravery that led us to our big star and another unintended road that I cannot wait to travel.
Just like a year ago, I reflect on my time as Little Bug's mother, and I know I would not change it for the world. Every scoot, every crawl, every step, every trot, every 2-word combination. Last year the bad days (emotionally) often outweighed the good days, but now, a bit further along the road, the good days FAR outweigh the bad. Some days I am still scared or sad, but the truth is I'm really happy.
I'm thankful this is the road that was chosen for me when I didn't know any better. I see the road stretch out for years ahead of us and know for our family, there will be more "unintended roads" to come....intentionally.
I can't wait.
One year ago I wrote a post on this blournal that has always stuck with me. As we celebrated our first Family Day, I was privately coming to terms with the reality that Little Bug's special needs were not going to be a quick fix like I had hoped. I was in a bad place, although I think I handled it pretty well outwardly. It was hard for me to come to accept the reality of Little Bug's limitations and my challenges because of them. I was worried about the future. I was tired. I was scared. I was a little mad.
Now, being in some part of that future, I reflect back on the mother who wrote that post and how things have changed.
Obviously Little Bug has made some huge strides in the last year. The physical challenges that exhausted me then are mainly a thing of the past. He's communicating more and more. He's happy and healthy. Those pesky braces are gone. He's a joy to be around. I'm ridiculously proud of him.
Yet, just two days ago, during a particularly sour afternoon that started with me having to take off work to clean my house for a therapy meeting, his PT officially assessed his gross motor at 15-18 months....Little Bug is 34 months old.
A year ago that would have ruined my week. Instead, I held back the tears and rallied. I thought about all the progress he has made and reminded myself that he would continue to make more. Within a few hours, I wasn't even thinking about it anymore.
That's what the future that I couldn't see a year ago is. It's not about a "cure" or "catching up." It's about being at peace with wherever he is...wherever we are.
It's about walking the road with the conviction that we can, not just the conviction that we must.
The unintended road. The road I never would have chosen for myself. The road that is leading me to discover an ability to find beauty in the smallest details, like a smile, a muscle compression, a step, a gentle touch. The road that is leading me to discover patience and the ability the grieve without bitterness. The road that is leading me to discover acceptance.
The road that led us to discover a bravery that led us to our big star and another unintended road that I cannot wait to travel.
Just like a year ago, I reflect on my time as Little Bug's mother, and I know I would not change it for the world. Every scoot, every crawl, every step, every trot, every 2-word combination. Last year the bad days (emotionally) often outweighed the good days, but now, a bit further along the road, the good days FAR outweigh the bad. Some days I am still scared or sad, but the truth is I'm really happy.
I'm thankful this is the road that was chosen for me when I didn't know any better. I see the road stretch out for years ahead of us and know for our family, there will be more "unintended roads" to come....intentionally.
I can't wait.
Adoptivus: The Smile
September 16, 2008. The day we met our son. I could not pick which memory to preserve, so I chose three.
Appa is a pretty reserved man, and the honest truth is that he doesn't love kids, at least other people's kids. I knew he would love our son, but there was a part of me that worried that he would be an unintentionally distant parent.
Somehow in the midst of loving on my baby for the first time, I knew that I needed to offer Appa a chance to hold his son. When I asked him if he wanted a turn, the sureness and excitement in his voice caught me off guard.
When I handed him our son, Appa flashed the most brilliant, authentic smile I have ever (and I mean that sincerely) seen on his face. I knew, without a doubt, that I was witnessing him fall head-over-heels in love with Little Bug. His eyes glazed over and it seemed he would now forever be at this child's whim (and he is).
That made me fall in love with Appa on a whole new level. To watch him claim, instantaneously, this child as his own and show him such tender and true love was one of the most moving moments of my entire trip and a memory I will always hold very dear in my heart.
Appa is a pretty reserved man, and the honest truth is that he doesn't love kids, at least other people's kids. I knew he would love our son, but there was a part of me that worried that he would be an unintentionally distant parent.
Somehow in the midst of loving on my baby for the first time, I knew that I needed to offer Appa a chance to hold his son. When I asked him if he wanted a turn, the sureness and excitement in his voice caught me off guard.
When I handed him our son, Appa flashed the most brilliant, authentic smile I have ever (and I mean that sincerely) seen on his face. I knew, without a doubt, that I was witnessing him fall head-over-heels in love with Little Bug. His eyes glazed over and it seemed he would now forever be at this child's whim (and he is).
That made me fall in love with Appa on a whole new level. To watch him claim, instantaneously, this child as his own and show him such tender and true love was one of the most moving moments of my entire trip and a memory I will always hold very dear in my heart.
Adoptivus: "Hi"
For months I had fantasied about the first moment holding my son, what I would say, what I would do, and how he would react. It all boiled down to the same phrase, "there you are." I was sure, practically insistent that I would utter it to him.
But when his beautiful foster mother handed him to me, I couldn't find any words for a moment. I had thought all along that I was looking for him...that I would recognize him in some way on some emotional level.
But I didn't. This child was a stranger to me....in the best way possible. He was not the child of my imagination; he was so much better.
She placed him in my arms and he stared directly into my eyes. His deep, impossibly big and thoughtful (and slightly sleepy) eyes studied me, waiting for me to make the first move. To introduce myself to him, because he was most definitely not thinking "there you are."
"Hi."
That, out of all the eloquent (or Korean) things I could of said, was how I chose to start our lives together.
But it worked for us. Little Bug studied me for a bit more and then tentatively reached out to touch my colorful earring that I had worn especially in the hopes he might find it interesting.
I know what I said after that; the whole thing is on video. I cooed and tried to make him say hi to the camera and asked about teeth. All completely pointless things because I was actually just making my lips move.
Inside my mind was going a mile a minute. I was thinking about how heavy and floppy he was and trying to determine what that meant. I was thinking about how hard it was going to be to be gracious and offer Jeff a chance to hold him....like, EVER. And most of all, I was blown away by his beauty, how my heart suddenly knew without a doubt that he was the most beautiful child I had ever seen.
I distinctly remember thinking to myself that we had made the right choice to get on the plane, that no matter what lay ahead of us, I was sure that this would be the child would be the best part of each day of the rest of our lives.
And then I did it, in my head, at least. I thought to myself as I felt my role as a mother start to take form,"there you are."
The road has not been easy, but Little Bug, you had me at hello.
But when his beautiful foster mother handed him to me, I couldn't find any words for a moment. I had thought all along that I was looking for him...that I would recognize him in some way on some emotional level.
But I didn't. This child was a stranger to me....in the best way possible. He was not the child of my imagination; he was so much better.
She placed him in my arms and he stared directly into my eyes. His deep, impossibly big and thoughtful (and slightly sleepy) eyes studied me, waiting for me to make the first move. To introduce myself to him, because he was most definitely not thinking "there you are."
"Hi."
That, out of all the eloquent (or Korean) things I could of said, was how I chose to start our lives together.
But it worked for us. Little Bug studied me for a bit more and then tentatively reached out to touch my colorful earring that I had worn especially in the hopes he might find it interesting.
I know what I said after that; the whole thing is on video. I cooed and tried to make him say hi to the camera and asked about teeth. All completely pointless things because I was actually just making my lips move.
Inside my mind was going a mile a minute. I was thinking about how heavy and floppy he was and trying to determine what that meant. I was thinking about how hard it was going to be to be gracious and offer Jeff a chance to hold him....like, EVER. And most of all, I was blown away by his beauty, how my heart suddenly knew without a doubt that he was the most beautiful child I had ever seen.
I distinctly remember thinking to myself that we had made the right choice to get on the plane, that no matter what lay ahead of us, I was sure that this would be the child would be the best part of each day of the rest of our lives.
And then I did it, in my head, at least. I thought to myself as I felt my role as a mother start to take form,"there you are."
The road has not been easy, but Little Bug, you had me at hello.
Adoptivus: Baby Gap
September 16, 2008. Our eyes and hands and hearts were finally, truly filled with our first memories of Little Bug.After meeting our son and having our world rocked, we felt the need to be low key and process what had just happened. We were so emotionally drained.
So clearly the best idea was to go to a super mall and shop for unidentified items.
Shopping in major malls in a foreign country for nothing in particular....totally calming. (?)
The mall we went to was multiple stories and although our house was jammed packed with everything we could possibly need for a child, our new parenthood auras were screaming to buy our kid something.
We made our way to the baby floor and decided an outfit would be a good choice. Unfortunately, this floor wasn't exactly like the baby clothing sections I was expecting. Baby Armani and other designers flowed through the store, in some cases using displays so swanky I was afraid to even walk up to them to browse the items. I ended up gravitating to Baby Gap, for surely I could find a reasonably priced polo that my child could wear somewhere other than to Fashion Week.
Apparently polos are not popular in Korea....not even in Baby Gap.
Instead I found a $120 canvas coat with some nautical theme, which was one of the least expensive items. My mind was a fog between having JUST MET MY SON and being assaulted by sticker shock from the other baby clothes selections (and possibly not having ate anything for almost 24 hours, as my time line reconstruction is now suggesting), so I held that coat for close to 10 minutes wandering around the small rack trying to talk myself in or out of buying it.
In: My baby deserves it. I deserve to buy it for my baby. It's a coat...babies need coats.
Out: It's $120 for a fall coat. It's not my style. It's $120 for a fall coat.
The best testament to how much meeting Little Bug rocked us, Appa didn't even attempt to talk some fiscal sense into me.
Finally reason won out and the coat was placed back on the rack. We continued to wander around the baby floor browsing bottles and cups and all sorts of other items we didn't actually need.
Instead, in the basement, we found a Build-A-Bear, book store, and music store where we could seal our new roles are parents by buying our kid random stuff without breaking the bank.
Ahh, the beginning of a beautiful tradition.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Adoptivus: The Door
Our first day in Seoul was the third day of the Chuseok holiday, which meant our agency was closed. After being politely told by the helpful concierge that the mountain we had intended to hike was about 8 hours away, we hopped a subway train to the first major site we saw on our Seoul city map, Changdeokgung Palace.I had never been to a place as different from my own culture as Korea, and the palaces were like they were plucked from my dreams of what Korea would be like. Long courtyards, open, historic, sacred, and beautifully intricate.
However, I couldn't have dreamed the vibrant colors. OH, the colors! I couldn't have imagined the way in which history and tradition could flourish amidst busy streets and towering mountains.
I took hundred of pictures. I took pictures of ceilings and trees and roofs. I took pictures of secret ponds and monkey-shaped tree roots and ancient bridges.
And a door. I took a picture of a door.
I don't recall what this door was to. I only vaguely recall where the door was located. I just remember stopping while the rest of the tour went on and snapping a picture of this door. I stood there for a minute or two, "alone," and just contemplated it. Something about it spoke to me.
Maybe it was the color. Maybe it was the rust and age. Maybe it was the history.
Maybe it was my metaphor obsession that loved the idea of this beautiful door on my first day in Seoul. This whole trip was a door I was opening....a door to a new life. We, even more than some, were going into our first meeting blind, without a real inkling of what lay in store for us.
It should be noted that I love this sort of stuff on the best of days, so in my emotionally charged state I was practically floating on symbolism and deeper meaning and significance talk. Poor, literal Appa was good sport while I wandered about musing about life in the abstract.
This picture still speaks to me, 2 years later. It is, out of hundreds, the picture I chose for the front cover of the book we had published for Little Bug commemorating our personal trip. No explanation, just that door on the front cover. I'm printing it out and framing it as a piece of art for our home, too.
To me, it was beautiful.
I also want to add that I have really enjoyed going through my travel pictures and videos and reliving moments and writing some of them down. I need to do more of this, not just for adoptivus. Eventually, and especially once we experience Seoul again for Little Bro, my memories and emotions will fade or meld. Case in point already: I can not, if my life depended on it, tell you anything about what we did past the hour of about 4 pm on this day 2 years ago. No recollection of where we ate dinner or how we past the night away. Memories gone. Wild.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Adoptivus: The Light of My Life
14 hours after our feet left our hometown ground, we landed in Seoul, South Korea. It was twilight as we flew in. We could see a lot of water and some green hills, but everything was this hazy yellow. It felt very "right" to me that it looked this way, although I can't pinpoint why.
Stepping off the plane was less exciting than I thought it would be. I imagined bursting off the plane with this crazy energy, suddenly connected to my son by solid ground.
And I was excited, but not in a crazy way. More in a sleep deprived way.
The Incheon airport is probably very large, but it felt really small to me. Honestly, both times I was there my mind was sleep-deprived and a million miles away, so I consider it a victory that I remember anything at all. We waited around one carousel that felt like the only one in the whole airport, although I am sure this was not true. We finally got our luggage (that was quite wet on the outside from spending the trip with the mud-dragged, drenched luggage of our companions). My most vivid emotion from that entire evening is simple relief that our luggage made it.
It was really hard for me to perk up.
We took a hotel bus from the airport to our hotel, which is about an hour away. Playing on an old TV was a Korean game show and that background noise was the soundtrack to our introduction to Seoul.
The drive is a lot like the country. Industrial turns to rural nature turns to beautiful metropolitan city.
I love city lights; I always have. As a child, I would strain my neck for the first glimpse of a big city at night and it would give me this jolt. So much beauty. So much possibility.
Seeing Seoul loom ahead of us was exhilarating. I tried to take pictures; I tried to take video, but in the end, I put the camera away and just took it all in. Each light. Each building. Each bit of art. Each large dark patch of water breaking up the lights and spreading the city out as far as I could see. In that moment, it was the best, most brightest skyline I had ever seen.
The city of my light.
There is no other way I would have wanted to be introduced to Seoul.
Stepping off the plane was less exciting than I thought it would be. I imagined bursting off the plane with this crazy energy, suddenly connected to my son by solid ground.
And I was excited, but not in a crazy way. More in a sleep deprived way.
The Incheon airport is probably very large, but it felt really small to me. Honestly, both times I was there my mind was sleep-deprived and a million miles away, so I consider it a victory that I remember anything at all. We waited around one carousel that felt like the only one in the whole airport, although I am sure this was not true. We finally got our luggage (that was quite wet on the outside from spending the trip with the mud-dragged, drenched luggage of our companions). My most vivid emotion from that entire evening is simple relief that our luggage made it.
It was really hard for me to perk up.
We took a hotel bus from the airport to our hotel, which is about an hour away. Playing on an old TV was a Korean game show and that background noise was the soundtrack to our introduction to Seoul.
The drive is a lot like the country. Industrial turns to rural nature turns to beautiful metropolitan city.
I love city lights; I always have. As a child, I would strain my neck for the first glimpse of a big city at night and it would give me this jolt. So much beauty. So much possibility.
Seeing Seoul loom ahead of us was exhilarating. I tried to take pictures; I tried to take video, but in the end, I put the camera away and just took it all in. Each light. Each building. Each bit of art. Each large dark patch of water breaking up the lights and spreading the city out as far as I could see. In that moment, it was the best, most brightest skyline I had ever seen.
The city of my light.
There is no other way I would have wanted to be introduced to Seoul.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Adoptivus: The Flood
I've dorkily started a personal celebration called "Adoptivus" that leads up to Family Day. The only person who celebrates it is me, but I love reminiscing about that amazing and surreal time in our lives.
Where do I get to have my personal celebration? On my blournal! I thought it would be fun to preserve one memory from each of our days, something we hadn't blogged about or put in a video diary.
On September 13, 2008, Appa and I "woke up" (I use the term loosely because I remember getting very little sleep) to a torrential rainstorm. I hate flying and usually am an internal mess before flights, but I was so keyed up I barely cared about the rain. We had planned to get there 3 hours early....plenty of time.
It was clear before we even got out of our neighborhood that this was no ordinary storm. Water was pooling in the roadways. Less than a mile from our house a major road was already flooded and closed.
What did I do? I whipped out my camera and started taking pictures for the novelty of it all. Nothing was going to rain on this almost-a-mama's airport parade!
Then the radio announced that our major airport was flooding and closed. Even the off ramps from the interstate were closing.
CLOSED. As in, we could not get within a mile of the place.
Oh, flights were still leaving, especially the international ones, but unless you were already there....there was no way for you to get in.
The next 2 HOURS were a navigational feat to behold. Appa's aunt was getting on and off any open ramp she could just to keep us circling in the vicinity of the airport. We had our laptop open and people on the phone trying to figure out mass transit ways for us to get into the airport (those were all closed, too).
The whole time the Korean Air representative kept telling us that the plane would have to take off due to international regulations. Hell, it was even on time.
I went into shock. White lips and nauseous and all.
Oh, and I made a video diary to show the seriousness of the situation, because it totally made sense to do at the time, and Appa wanted me to stop whimpering in the back seat.
Then I got frantic.
And I did not video diary this part.
We started seeing people dragging their luggage through the pouring rain and muddy fields to the terminals. That looked like a fantastic idea to me, and I was loud and insistent that we get out of the van and start trudging the mile through the rain and mud.
Rain was not going to stop me from getting to my baby.
At the last minute, right before Appa and I were going to go for it, his aunt spied a frontage road that seemed passable and wasn't being guarded by cops. That road took us right up to the international terminal, where, surprise, surprise, there was no traffic. We checked in and made it to our gates only slightly damp and with 20 minutes to spare before the flight took off.
Just 8 minutes late.
Many of the people on the plane were soaked to the bone from their trudge through the mud and the plane was only half full because of all the people who could not make it into the airport. As we taxied down the runaway, a huge lake of water sprayed next to us, and I finally started crashing out of the adrenaline into a heap of messy laughter.
Appa and I simply sat and laughed at the remarkable, amazing, and totally surreal experience we found ourselves in.
Freak flooding. Major overseas travel. No sleep. Teal everything. Baby.
Baby.
Baby.
Baby.
Where do I get to have my personal celebration? On my blournal! I thought it would be fun to preserve one memory from each of our days, something we hadn't blogged about or put in a video diary.
On September 13, 2008, Appa and I "woke up" (I use the term loosely because I remember getting very little sleep) to a torrential rainstorm. I hate flying and usually am an internal mess before flights, but I was so keyed up I barely cared about the rain. We had planned to get there 3 hours early....plenty of time.
It was clear before we even got out of our neighborhood that this was no ordinary storm. Water was pooling in the roadways. Less than a mile from our house a major road was already flooded and closed.
What did I do? I whipped out my camera and started taking pictures for the novelty of it all. Nothing was going to rain on this almost-a-mama's airport parade!
Then the radio announced that our major airport was flooding and closed. Even the off ramps from the interstate were closing.
CLOSED. As in, we could not get within a mile of the place.
Oh, flights were still leaving, especially the international ones, but unless you were already there....there was no way for you to get in.
The next 2 HOURS were a navigational feat to behold. Appa's aunt was getting on and off any open ramp she could just to keep us circling in the vicinity of the airport. We had our laptop open and people on the phone trying to figure out mass transit ways for us to get into the airport (those were all closed, too).
The whole time the Korean Air representative kept telling us that the plane would have to take off due to international regulations. Hell, it was even on time.
I went into shock. White lips and nauseous and all.
Oh, and I made a video diary to show the seriousness of the situation, because it totally made sense to do at the time, and Appa wanted me to stop whimpering in the back seat.
Then I got frantic.
And I did not video diary this part.
We started seeing people dragging their luggage through the pouring rain and muddy fields to the terminals. That looked like a fantastic idea to me, and I was loud and insistent that we get out of the van and start trudging the mile through the rain and mud.
Rain was not going to stop me from getting to my baby.
At the last minute, right before Appa and I were going to go for it, his aunt spied a frontage road that seemed passable and wasn't being guarded by cops. That road took us right up to the international terminal, where, surprise, surprise, there was no traffic. We checked in and made it to our gates only slightly damp and with 20 minutes to spare before the flight took off.
Just 8 minutes late.
Many of the people on the plane were soaked to the bone from their trudge through the mud and the plane was only half full because of all the people who could not make it into the airport. As we taxied down the runaway, a huge lake of water sprayed next to us, and I finally started crashing out of the adrenaline into a heap of messy laughter.
Appa and I simply sat and laughed at the remarkable, amazing, and totally surreal experience we found ourselves in.
Freak flooding. Major overseas travel. No sleep. Teal everything. Baby.
Baby.
Baby.
Baby.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Happy Trails
Appa and I love to travel. We're not crazy travelers, by any means, but between having most of our family and friends live on the other side of the country, having a fondness for teal blue water, and having children born in a country across the world, we've developed into a couple who isn't afraid to book a flight and GO somewhere, even just for a weekend.When Little Bug came home, I wondered how that part of our life would change. Ironically, for all our traveling, we NEVER travel for major holidays. It seems like most families with kid almost exclusively plan travel around those times. We decided that as hard as it would be, we would not limit ourselves to Turkey-Time in Spudland. Both Grandmas probably hate this about us.
And we've done it. Little Bug has dipped his toes in both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. He's seen mountains and plains. He's been kissed by showgirls and winked at by Lady Liberty. We've continued to spend time with family and friends and enabled our child to develop a healthy love for those people...and for traveling.
I want our children to grow up with an appreciation that memories matter, family matters, friends matter. I want them to see the world, even and including their country, and to be blunt, I want to keep living my life and making my own memories and cultivating my own relationships.
Does it suck teaching them this lesson at such a young age? Heck yes. It's a bitter pill to swallow when you pay full price for things your half-sized human will barely use (hello, second airline seat) and traveling with said half-sized humans is less fun than it is stressful. But it's so worth it when you are finally in the moment.
Today we booked a trip to the happiest place on earth for a couple months from now. It's a trip that is solely for Little Bug, with absolutely zero agenda for Appa and I. It was a spur of the moment thing, but I'm so looking forward to hoofing if around and around and around and around just for my little baby's enjoyment. It will, barring any major life events like weddings or funerals, be our last plane ride before we board the pretty teal one that will take us across the world.
I'm really excited to give this to our son, even if he won't remember much of it.
With that being said, we've been traveling a lot lately. Too much, in my opinion. We already canceled one trip this month and just canceled one for this weekend. Honestly, I am relieved. We need a weekend of pajamas and home-cooked food and lounging. The only traveling we'll be doing is to the video store.
Traveling is good, but home is good, too.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Coming Out of the Closet
I . like . cosleeping .
I spend 3 nights a week without my husband, and the honest truth is my perfect little hot pretzel stick son is a fantastic spooner. Most of the time, I really enjoy having him share my bed with me. I absolutely cherish the time I get in the morning when he is still nuzzled up to me while I watch him sleep.
However, I've determined that, for our family and my son, it's not the healthiest choice, physically or emotionally. So, starting next Monday, after our last vacation for a while is finally complete, I'm going to be retraining all three of us away from cosleeping.
Appa is not happy about it, I'm a little bummed about it, and I can guarantee Little Bug won't be on board. But it is the right thing to do for us, and what is right isn't always what is easy.
I've started looking into sleep training books and methods and there are so many to choose from. I'm considering just blindly picking one and going with it. Seriously, I assume they all are just different methods to the same end, right?
I hate the fact that Little Bug is going to be sad and put up a good fight. I hate the fact that I'm going to be the enforcer because Appa is such a push over when it comes to this. I hate the fact that I'm going to need a lot more DDP to make it through the day. I hate the fact my little boy won't be spooning me for much longer and mumbling "choo choo" in my ear.
But I love the fact that my family is growing and changing and that this is in preparation for one son to grow up a little so our next son can assume his position as our baby.
I spend 3 nights a week without my husband, and the honest truth is my perfect little hot pretzel stick son is a fantastic spooner. Most of the time, I really enjoy having him share my bed with me. I absolutely cherish the time I get in the morning when he is still nuzzled up to me while I watch him sleep.
However, I've determined that, for our family and my son, it's not the healthiest choice, physically or emotionally. So, starting next Monday, after our last vacation for a while is finally complete, I'm going to be retraining all three of us away from cosleeping.
Appa is not happy about it, I'm a little bummed about it, and I can guarantee Little Bug won't be on board. But it is the right thing to do for us, and what is right isn't always what is easy.
I've started looking into sleep training books and methods and there are so many to choose from. I'm considering just blindly picking one and going with it. Seriously, I assume they all are just different methods to the same end, right?
I hate the fact that Little Bug is going to be sad and put up a good fight. I hate the fact that I'm going to be the enforcer because Appa is such a push over when it comes to this. I hate the fact that I'm going to need a lot more DDP to make it through the day. I hate the fact my little boy won't be spooning me for much longer and mumbling "choo choo" in my ear.
But I love the fact that my family is growing and changing and that this is in preparation for one son to grow up a little so our next son can assume his position as our baby.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Shoes Enshrined
Yesterday the decision was made that Little Bug would never wear his big braces again. Sure, he'll eventually have small inserts, but those braces that were casually thrown on our couch a couple days ago will never be placed on his feet again. This morning I put normal shoes (in his actual shoe size) and socks on his feet, and he walked out the door like any other kid in the world.
So normal.
It was weird.
Is it wrong of me to want some sort of way to mark this moment? Is it weird I have this urge to throw a party or burn the braces in some celebratory bonfire while people dance around and chant or enshrine them in some glass case with a little plaque?
It just seems so anticlimactic to pick the braces up from the couch and store them away forever like that HUGE part of our lives was just a discarded toy nobody wants to play with anymore. As much as I would like to donate them, I'm not sure I can part with them, either.
Those braces have defined so much of who Little Bug was as a child and who I was as a mother and who we were as a family. They have been a blessing and a curse and essential to the last 1.5 years of our lives.
Am I being dramatic, sure, but the fact is, I'm just a little overwhelmed by how quick and unexpected this all happened. Even good changes still require a little processing time....
...and perhaps a bonfire chanting session.
So normal.
It was weird.
Is it wrong of me to want some sort of way to mark this moment? Is it weird I have this urge to throw a party or burn the braces in some celebratory bonfire while people dance around and chant or enshrine them in some glass case with a little plaque?
It just seems so anticlimactic to pick the braces up from the couch and store them away forever like that HUGE part of our lives was just a discarded toy nobody wants to play with anymore. As much as I would like to donate them, I'm not sure I can part with them, either.
Those braces have defined so much of who Little Bug was as a child and who I was as a mother and who we were as a family. They have been a blessing and a curse and essential to the last 1.5 years of our lives.
Am I being dramatic, sure, but the fact is, I'm just a little overwhelmed by how quick and unexpected this all happened. Even good changes still require a little processing time....
...and perhaps a bonfire chanting session.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Here's a Tip
On Friday morning I got on a 6 am flight with my 2.5 year old son. I was running on about 3 hours of sleep, but I had my act together.
Snacks, check.
New toys to stagger as distractions, check.
Favorite books, check.
Extra seat, check.
But let me repeat, 6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child.
Little Bug was, I'll admit, whiny. BUT, in the grand scheme of aggravating baby/plane experiences, this was nothing. His whining was intermittent and not very loud. I was doing a diligent job keeping him from standing on the seats or bothering anyone else.
Apparently I do a crappy job.
About 30 minutes into the flight the woman behind me said, very loudly, "Excuse me, is he going to take a nap sometime soon? I was hoping to get some sleep on this flight."
I was blown away. Her tone was completely hostile and I was mortified, on top of already being frustrated with my kid on my own. I stammered an profuse and humble apology.
Apparently I do a crappy job at apologizing, too.
She went on to ask if I had any medication I could give him (I had heard her telling a stranger before the flight started that she always medicated her step kids and never once had them bother other people on the flight) and told me "he hasn't stopped talking since we stepped on board."
Let's recap.
6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child (in speech therapy).
Instead of the second, even more mortified apology, I should have said, "F You, lady."
But I didn't. Instead, I apologized a couple more times and turned around and burst into quiet tears. And I cried, on and off depending on Little Bug's volume level (which, for the record, was never really loud, but pretty consistent for the 4-hour flight). The mean woman drank three mini bottles of vodka (recap: 6 am flight) and made sure everyone knew it was because she was being driven to drink.
Here's the thing. I HATE imposing on others. I get that little kids can be annoying. I try my very hardest to make sure my family isn't causing other people discomfort. I was alone and trying SO hard. This woman's comments, especially so freaking early into the flight, terrified me. And truly, my kid wasn't that annoying to anyone but myself.
When the flight ended the woman told me "Honey, I'm sorry. I am just really tired. You're a great mom and didn't lose your cool the whole flight."
I just stared at her and gave a mumbled thanks. What did she expect me to do? Scream at him? Drink myself into a stupor. Give up and let him throw stuff at her (as tempting as that was).
Yes, I am a good mom, and I worked hard and did a really good job on that flight. It wasn't easy or fun, but I am proud of the way I handled it. I did not, however, need her to tell me that.
Little Bug wasn't the only one on that flight who needs to learn to keep their mouth shut.
Snacks, check.
New toys to stagger as distractions, check.
Favorite books, check.
Extra seat, check.
But let me repeat, 6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child.
Little Bug was, I'll admit, whiny. BUT, in the grand scheme of aggravating baby/plane experiences, this was nothing. His whining was intermittent and not very loud. I was doing a diligent job keeping him from standing on the seats or bothering anyone else.
Apparently I do a crappy job.
About 30 minutes into the flight the woman behind me said, very loudly, "Excuse me, is he going to take a nap sometime soon? I was hoping to get some sleep on this flight."
I was blown away. Her tone was completely hostile and I was mortified, on top of already being frustrated with my kid on my own. I stammered an profuse and humble apology.
Apparently I do a crappy job at apologizing, too.
She went on to ask if I had any medication I could give him (I had heard her telling a stranger before the flight started that she always medicated her step kids and never once had them bother other people on the flight) and told me "he hasn't stopped talking since we stepped on board."
Let's recap.
6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child (in speech therapy).
Instead of the second, even more mortified apology, I should have said, "F You, lady."
But I didn't. Instead, I apologized a couple more times and turned around and burst into quiet tears. And I cried, on and off depending on Little Bug's volume level (which, for the record, was never really loud, but pretty consistent for the 4-hour flight). The mean woman drank three mini bottles of vodka (recap: 6 am flight) and made sure everyone knew it was because she was being driven to drink.
Here's the thing. I HATE imposing on others. I get that little kids can be annoying. I try my very hardest to make sure my family isn't causing other people discomfort. I was alone and trying SO hard. This woman's comments, especially so freaking early into the flight, terrified me. And truly, my kid wasn't that annoying to anyone but myself.
When the flight ended the woman told me "Honey, I'm sorry. I am just really tired. You're a great mom and didn't lose your cool the whole flight."
I just stared at her and gave a mumbled thanks. What did she expect me to do? Scream at him? Drink myself into a stupor. Give up and let him throw stuff at her (as tempting as that was).
Yes, I am a good mom, and I worked hard and did a really good job on that flight. It wasn't easy or fun, but I am proud of the way I handled it. I did not, however, need her to tell me that.
Little Bug wasn't the only one on that flight who needs to learn to keep their mouth shut.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
This is the Moment
Sometimes a moment hits me square in the face, and I have this intense need to preserve it.
Last night Little Bug was taking a bath ("bubba baff", a two-word combo with some hard sounds that I am ridiculously proud of). It was past his bedtime, and I was anxious to get him to sleep. I wasn't completely, totally, 100% in the moment.
Little Bug has a nasty new trick where he likes to turn the faucet on and off. We're being very strict about this for a number of boundary and water temperature safety reasons, but my boy is stubborn and patient, making bath time one of vigilance and lameness on my part. Usually he gets his little fingers onto the faucet handle but is denied turning it. Sadness ensues. Regroup. Repeat attack.
Last night, after about 5 minutes of this dance (and after I had turned the water off for good), he finally found a moment of my weakness and quick as a flash, turned the faucet on.
Quick as it happened, I turned it off to preserve the boundary, but Little Bug, oh my baby boy......
The moment the water turned on he reeled back in total stunned elation. He let out this CRAZY triumphant laugh that was a mix between a surprised yelp and a victorious battle cry. The sound was one of the most hilarious things I have ever heard.
As I ducked my head in my shoulder to hid my laughter from a "should-be-getting-a-stern-looking-at Little Bug" all I could think was
This is the moment I want to blournal.
Last night Little Bug was taking a bath ("bubba baff", a two-word combo with some hard sounds that I am ridiculously proud of). It was past his bedtime, and I was anxious to get him to sleep. I wasn't completely, totally, 100% in the moment.
Little Bug has a nasty new trick where he likes to turn the faucet on and off. We're being very strict about this for a number of boundary and water temperature safety reasons, but my boy is stubborn and patient, making bath time one of vigilance and lameness on my part. Usually he gets his little fingers onto the faucet handle but is denied turning it. Sadness ensues. Regroup. Repeat attack.
Last night, after about 5 minutes of this dance (and after I had turned the water off for good), he finally found a moment of my weakness and quick as a flash, turned the faucet on.
Quick as it happened, I turned it off to preserve the boundary, but Little Bug, oh my baby boy......
The moment the water turned on he reeled back in total stunned elation. He let out this CRAZY triumphant laugh that was a mix between a surprised yelp and a victorious battle cry. The sound was one of the most hilarious things I have ever heard.
As I ducked my head in my shoulder to hid my laughter from a "should-be-getting-a-stern-looking-at Little Bug" all I could think was
This is the moment I want to blournal.
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