Eye of the Tiger

Today is a day I have been dreading and preparing for during the last 2 years. Little Bug is set to lose all his therapists when he turns 3 next month and will be getting his services from our local school district (and we're lucky we had the foresight to move into a good district). I'm completely freaked about him losing his excellent ST and PT, but that is for a different day.

Today he gets evaluated by the schools for what services he qualifies for. Our hope and belief is that he should qualify for the excellent half day, language intensive preschool program where an ST and PT will see him during his time there. It's a good school, perfect for almost all his needs (minus the smaller focus on PT), and it fits with our schedule. He can do mornings there and they will bus him directly to his normal school for the afternoon.

However, based on his PT evaluation of 15-18 months (Little Bug is almost 3), as misleading as it is, they want to put him in this really intense one-on-one program for severely disabled children. I'm against that because I don't think that is what he needs, nor do I think removing his social and independent components would be beneficial. Plus, with the full day schedule (full school day, not full work day), we would have to pull him out completely from his normal school...and I would have to quit my job to be there in the mornings and afternoons.

If this is what he needed, I would be on board in a heartbeat. But as his mother, I know it is not. Last time I checked, the only one who has a PhD in Little Bug was me.

I've been going round and round with them because they only see this one number on his paperwork, not HIM. If they saw him, I know they would see he is not a child who needs these wonderful, but inappropriate resources. To help this process, Appa and I decided to set Little Bug up for complete success. We scheduled an early bedtime and canceled all his therapy today.

Because, did I mention, they scheduled the eval for smack dab in the middle of my schedule-oriented, sleep-loving child's nap time?

Of course, the best laid plans always go to hell. Little Bug was up from 11:30 pm to 3:30 am this morning. He spent most of it showing off his first real tune full song mastery ("Skip to My Lou"), but the fall out is he is going to this important eval with less than half the sleep he needs to function well and without a nap.

I did what I could to minimize the fall out. He is wearing his favorite train shirt and I have an entire bag of M&Ms to bribe him out of sleep and into some semblance of a decent mood. But the reality is that he doesn't do well on no sleep and this evaluation will not be his best foot forward.

Which is fine. I spoke to some of his trusted therapists today and they gave me some ammo to use if things start going in a direction we all know they shouldn't go. I'm prepared to get a little feisty if they take his sleepiness for apathy or inability.

They willingly tell you that their interest in therapy is focused on making sure the child can function in public school....not in life or society or in his best self. That's fine, too.

But my interest in therapy, my focus, is broader than that. This is my kid's life, the future of his therapy. Perhaps I won't have to advocate at all for Little Bug today. That would be awesome.

But I am preparing to, just in case. And they should prepare to because a mama bear hopped up on 2.5 bottles of DDP is nothing to shake a stick at.

One Lucky Mama

The last week (or couple of weeks) has been hard for me. I tried to keep it close to the vest, but really, I did a poor job of it. It has been exactly to the day 4 months since I last saw Little Bro's face. That was almost the entire time we waited for Little Bug. I was feeling unlucky and woe is me and all those other highly unproductive and unattractive feelings.

Today/last night Little Bro was scheduled to go in for a check up. We'd requested pictures and an update, more for my sanity than anything else. Although I knew it would take weeks, even months, for these things to get processed and translated (if they even agreed to our update request), I've been totally preoccupied today.

A little bit ago an e-mail popped up, and I opened it without even seeing who it was from. I made a very unladylike noise and did a full spin in my desk chair as I read that pictures.....LOTS and LOTS of pictures, not even from this check up but from earlier and from his foster mother, were on their way to me.

Unheard of quantities of pictures.

I don't deserve the kind of luck I have been getting with this adoption. I'd consider myself lucky with just a couple of sets of red throne pictures...no matter what they actually looked like. To keep getting blessed BIG TIME with connections to our son humbles me and makes me feel ridiculous for complaining at all.

Oh Little Bro, you're teaching me some huge lessons about hope and faith and expectations and silver linings. I'm already a different person because of your presence in my life.

Good Night, Bee Bim Bop

After showing signs of being the only child on the face on the planet who doesn't love Good Night, Moon, Little Bug has finally discovered and fallen in love with the 60-year-old classic.

I'll admit, the book has grown on me, too.

Our favorite part of the book is the bowl full of mush...or as Little Bug calls it, "bee bim bop." Each time we get to a page with the bowl full of mush on it, he points to it and says "bye bye, bee bim bop." Sometimes he kisses the picture. Sometimes he makes pretend eating sounds. But it is always, ALWAYS "bee bim bop."

I hope he never learns to read the word "mush" and grows up reading it as "bee bim bop" to his children.

The Perks

One of the best perks about motherhood is the right and ability to dress your child up in ridiculous outfits and feel justified in attempting to force them to keep the costume on....and enjoy wearing it.

You're dressed head to toe in Elmo, you might not think so, but you actually like it, I insist! Now, stand still and smile at my camera, damn it.

Motherhood is oh-so-fun sometimes!

Six

6 months ago today we made the decision to adopt Little Bro.

In comparison, 6 months from the day we said yes to Little Bug's referral, I was just going back to work after finishing my maternity leave, our moratorium on house guests had been lifted, and I was so comfortable with my son that I was posting his constipation face pictures on our family blog.

The fact that I actively went back to my family blog to verify this information is slightly pathetic.

Honestly, although I have (really) bad days, the wait isn't killing me. Resigning myself from the beginning that the wait will be overly long has oddly helped tremendously....it allows me feel like I have some control over this process....like I CHOSE to endure this wait. Having Little Bug home takes the sting off the wait. I can't go sit morosely in an empty nursery and pout. I don't fixate on mothers in the grocery story, creepily stalking them with my eyes.

Although realistically we're going to be waiting 14-15 months from the moment we said "yes" to bring our son home, and as I type that I acknowledge how ridiculous that is, I don't feel so miserable as I look forward.

Instead I'll just say:

"Here's to the next 6 weeks, 6 months, and 6 years, Little Bro. I love that you are in my life."

More than Words

Last week we finally sent Little Bug's birth mother a letter; or rather, we sent Little Bug's birth mother's file a letter. We were told that if the agency could contact her, they will. Whether she goes to get the letter is her choice, and one we won't know anything about unless she chooses to contact us.

We've sent pictures for her file before, and even written other letters, but none of those letters ever made it over to her file. I'm pretty ashamed of that. Knowing representatives from our Korean agency were in town, we recently sat down to pen and send a letter they would take back with them.

There will never be enough words to express our measure of gratitude and heartbreak for the decision she made, so we kept that to the point and heart felt. Besides, I tried to put myself in her shoes; if I got a letter from the parents of my child almost 3 years after I last laid eyes no him, their feelings would not be what I wanted to focus on.

If it was me, I would want to soak up every word about my boy, every detail I could glean. I'd want to know him.

So we wrote paragraph after paragraph about Little Bug. We wrote about his laugh and social nature. We wrote about his favorite foods and the things he refuses to eat. We wrote about his love of music and dancing. We wrote about his raggies and love for "choo choos." We wrote about his height and weight and his impish need to turn all the lights in our house on and off...just because he can.

We wanted her to have something tangible to hold onto.

I have this hope that perhaps the little details will give her something to anchor her to him. When she sees Elmo or Phung Phungie she can connect with him on some level. She can strip away one tiny bit amount of the unknown.

We also wrote about his spirit. I don't believe she knows that he has any special needs, and we debated mentioning it at all, but ultimately we wanted her to know what a fighter her son is...a trait I truly believe he must have gotten from her. We want her to be proud of him.

And I sent 30+ pictures. Screw the 7-10 pictures they suggest. I know they won't throw the other 25 away. I included candids with genuine smiles and posed pictures with obligatory smiles. I included pictures that reinforced his personality: happy, joyful, silly, loving, sweet, calm, and determined. I included family pictures and picture with Appa and I interacting with him. I included pictures of our daily lives: picnics to the botanical gardens, vacations, camping, celebrations, and down time.

I hope she looks at the pictures and is happy to see him happy.

We also asked for contact. We offered to receive letters or even visit her when we go to Seoul. I have no idea if anything will ever come from that, but I wanted to make sure there was no doubt in her mind that if she wanted contact, we wanted it, too.

She is the mother of our son, of course we do.

And even if she isn't able to contact us or even access the letters and pictures we will continue to send, someday Little Bug might go back to Korea and open her file. And he'll not only see proof of our love for him and the woman who gave him life, but he'll see our absolute, unwavering faith in her love for him.

Misery Loves Company

Last night was horrible.

Little Bug woke up at 10:30 pm and proceeded to be awake until 4:30 am. Most of the time he was babbling or singing or kissing my shoulder and begging to be "up on mama," things that would melt my heart during any other time of day.

I struggle with these nights. Beyond sleep deprivation, my patience is very low and I often have mama moments I'm not proud of. I raise my voice sternly, I don't always count to 10, etc. I'm not the mama I want to be on these nights.

Last night was worse because Little Bug has suddenly developed this belligerent toddler attitude...he willfully disobeys, sticks his tongue out in response to direction, and LAUGHS at me when he is scolded.

My mom once told me a story about a time when she spanked me, and I turned and looked her in the eye and laughed. She had to lock herself in her room until she could calm down because her other option was to become a mama she didn't want to be.

Last night, the scene, substituting the spanking for stern words, repeated itself. Little Bug snapped my last thread by hitting me in the face and then laughing about it. I put him in his bedroom and baby gated him in to let him cry himself into exhaustion. We did this horrible cycle for a while.

The next few hours were not pleasant, most likely for anyone in our neighborhood.

This morning I was 20 minutes late getting out of the house, only to hit freak traffic and construction that added a solid 40 minutes to my 7 minute drive (I take locals, for Pete's sake!) . Little Bug was late for breakfast. I won't even begin to go into how late I was for work.

The whole time I was trying to keep a positive attitude on the morning. I made sure to smile and sing to Little Bug, forgiving him even when I wasn't particularly feeling like it. I breezed into work with an air of "let's do this awesome day," even though I was secretly trying to invent ways to call in sick. I even took a moment to marvel at some of my favorite fall wild flowers.

But yeah, today was blowing.

Almost immediately I connected with two of my Internet-turned-real-life friends who have it much harder than I do in the sleep department. I felt bad complaining about my one-off night, but my wise friend noted that "misery loves company."

And it's true. Because after commiserating a bit with them and having some morning chatter with other mama friends, I was feeling much more myself and willing to face the day with a positive attitude.

And two DDPs and a Red Bull, but the friends have helped a lot, too.

Boo Yah

Let it be remembered for all the ages that after waking up and sobbing "Mama, Mama" for 20 minutes while the beloved Appa tried to calm Little Bug, Mama (me!!) came to the rescue. Less than a minute after I crawled into bed with my baby, spooned him close, and started humming into his hair, he had calmed down and was peacefully resting once again.

Little Bug is the World.Biggest. Daddy's.Boy, so this was a nice little victory for me.

Thanks for throwing me a bone, baby boy.

The Legality and Emotional Investment of Holiday Cards

As I was waiting in line for zone 4 to board (I'm so spoiled when I travel with priority-seating Appa), I struck up a conversation with another off-duty mama heading home to her three kids. It was pretty superficial, but when she asked how many kids I had, my deliberate response was "Two. An almost-3-year-old and a 1 year old."

Usually I qualify this statement to avoid the confusion that results when I am found to only be parenting one child, but this time, with this stranger, I just tested it out on my tongue, the idea of being a two-boy mama. I let her believe that I was heading home to a rambunctious pair of brothers.

It was fun.

Granted, there was a bit truth stretching involved. Oh yes, I totally get the way brothers fight and make up. Oh yes, there isn't anything better than two little boys snuggling on their mama. Mmm humm, mmm humm, mmm humm. However, I consider Little Bro my son, and see little harm in role playing my upcoming reality.

Yet, when I started designing our holiday cards last night, I was stumped as to whether or not to include Little Bro in the signature. He isn't really a member of our family yet, not fully. Something could happen. I'm not really his mama and Appa isn't really his father and Little Bro is decidedly not wishing our 80 friends and family warmest holiday wishes for this holiday season and the new year.

It's okay to role play with a stranger in an out-of-state airport, but it's different when it comes to serious business like holiday cards.

I take my holiday cards VERY seriously.

I asked Appa to weigh in on the subject, and he immediately responded that Little Bro should be in the signature. When pressed why, his response was "why not?"

Appa does not take my our holiday cards VERY seriously.

This period post referral/pre travel is such an ambiguous period. You fall in love with a picture, the idea of a child, but can't truly love the child as your own until you meet him or her. Because legally, the child isn't yours. And beyond that, you don't know what to love about that child. I love the idea and future possibility of Little Bro. I love the way his mouth quirks up and his mad drumming skills. But what else is there that I can love about a child who I only have pictures and some basic eating and bowel movement information on?

Do I love him....YES, not in the same way I love Little Bug.

Not yet, but I have no doubt I will.

To people involved in the adoption process, these conflicting feelings make sense. You can love and claim that child as your own without actually having met him. You can declare your position as his mama even though that position currently belongs legally and physically to two other women. It's all good. It's how we roll in the adoption world. It's our version of bonding with a huge swollen tummy.

To the 60 other people on our holiday list, that might not make as much sense. It might seem more final that it actually is. It might seem more delusional than it actually is.

And yes, I am over thinking this, but holiday cards are basically legal documents to me, so they bring up strong emotions.

Anyway, bottom line is that Little Bro is going on the signature line. Not because we are pretending that he's home and not because he gives two hoots about anyone's holiday season, but because in Appa, Mama, and Little Bug's hearts, right now his name belongs there with ours.

Off Duty Mama

I've been away on business for the last few days. When I haven't been talking about Appa and Little Bug, I've been thinking about them, and when I haven't been thinking about them, I'll suddenly find ways to start thinking about them again.

In short, I've missed my boys.

However

I just got done with fancy dinner where I drank wine and ate silly looking appetizers and didn't see a single beverage with a straw. I immediately went back to my room and took an hour long shower without anyone pounding on the door while screaming "baffffffff!" I hummed and sat on the floor of the tub and let the water spray over my body.

For an hour. Without feeling guilt.

My hotel room, even after a couple days, is still clean and tidy. I've barely turned on the TV, opting instead to read in my king sized bed.

And the sleep

OH, the sleep!

Granted, I have been working like 15 hour days, but the few precious hours in the evening more than make up for the punishing daylight hours. I've thoroughly enjoyed taking care of just me for a couple days.

Yet, as much as I love having six super soft pillows all to myself, I've purposely left a little toy train in my purse the entire time, as a little reminder of who I really am.

A mama...who just happens to be off duty for one more night.

Brown Eyed Boy

My son has impossibly dark brown eyes. I've always marveled at how strikingly dark and deep they are. So deep in fact, that I have trouble seeing his pupils. (I even told a nurse once during a my first post-tumble/possible concussion call that his pupils were not visible because his eyes were so dark.) His expressive eyes are one of my favorite things about him. I have spent hours, probably equating to full days at this point, staring into them.

Recently, when I was strapping him into his car seat after a productive outing at the big-box store, the late afternoon light hit his eyes just right....and my breath caught in my throat.

His eyes are not actually dark. I mean, they are because they look that way 99% of the time, but the actual eyes themselves are not. They are the most amazing, rich color of hot chocolate with milk. They are a leathery brown color. They are smooth and evenly saturated all the way around his little black pupils.

His eyes are beautiful in a way I never expected.

I sat there, marveling at this color I had never seen in the 2+ years I'd been staring into his eyes. He seemed amused by my open mouth gaping. We probably sat that way, a mama and son staring deeply into each others eyes in the parking lot of T2rget, for close to a minute.

You know, the most sentimental of places.

Since then, I've been trying to catch another glimpse of his true eye color, but it hasn't happened yet. Maybe it won't for a while more. But I've been thinking about that color, rolling it around in my head, since that moment.

Just one more reason Little Bug is such a beautiful child and one more reason I feel lucky to get to experience the hidden joys of being a mama.

My Mommy Voted for Obama

Little Bug is exploding with language. It's so fun to listen to him explore using words to share his thoughts. As his mama, I think I, better than anyone else in the world, can speak Little Bugese. Many of his words are the same grouping of sounds with just slight differences. We often run into situations where Little Bug tries talk to someone less familiar with his words and I need to act as a translator.

This weekend, I was tempted to just let people go it alone, just for giggles.

Little Bug's newest word is "grandma." He started mimicking it on Friday afternoon with a garbled "abamama," but soon found his groove and settled into a very defined version:

"Obama."

I can honestly see how "grandma" sounds like "obama" to a little child. It's definitely not as big of a stretch as "uhduh" is for "balloon" or "uhzuh" is for "raggie." To us, it was just a really great (and cute) execution of a long word.

To the people at the botanical gardens and the store who watched my son scream "OBAMA" with joy and wail "OBAMA" with sadness (depending on the situation and the crazy mood swings of a 2 year old), it was probably a little surprising to see this small child so passionate about our president.

Don't get me wrong, I'll go on record saying I was *this close* to buying a "Babies for Obama" shirt for Little Bug during the election. He actually owned and wore a shirt to his first voting experience with a donkey on it. A while ago, when I thought it was cute and funny to use kids as billboards for their parents, I would have been all over teaching him to chant "Obama" and busting it out as a party trick.

But I wised up over the last 2 years and realized it doesn't do Little Bug any good to be the vehicle for his mama's causes. He's got about 14-16 years before he needs to start thinking politics.

Anyway....

When people were doing double takes and giving us stink eyes or winks and nods as Little Bug chanted "obama, obama, obama" over and over, I didn't feel amused as much as I felt a little weird. (One woman gave me a scathing look and harrumphed her kids away from Little Bug...) Even though he wasn't actually saying anything political, I felt this urge to scream out

"I'm not stealing my kid's childhood by forcing him to be a political puppet!"

Because the truth is, I'd probably judge someone else a tiny bit, too, no matter how cute it was.

On the other hand, I'm so stoked that Little Bug conquered another word. He's perfected his version of it and has started pairing it with other words to make simple sentences. He's got another word to add to his growing arsenal. To me, it's cute and awesome and worth every ounce of pride I have.

Yes. He. Can.

For Every Few Jacobs, There is a Sasha

The chanting of "No, Little Buggie, No" in the morning hasn't stopped completely. Some days the three boys just ignore Little Bug by enthusiastically welcoming every child except Little Bug. Little Bug's excellent teacher has total control of the situation, but it still makes my heart very sad to know and see that Little Bug is being actively shunned. There is nothing more as a mother that I can do.

It's up to the "Sashas" of the world, now.

Little Bug's special friend aged into the 3-year-old room a couple months ago. Although they rarely see each other now, Little Bug still talks about Sasha and keeps a special place in his heart for his first best friend. Yesterday as Little Bug and I were walking past the 3-year-old class, Andrew, a little boy who never showed preference toward Little Bug one way or the other but always followed Sasha's lead, spotted Little Bug walking by. Andrew, completely unprovoked, ran to the window and started banging on it, screaming "Hi, Little Bug; hi, Little Bug!"

My son got a big smile on his face and got right up against the window. The two of them stood like that, pointing and waving and yelling hi, for about 2 minutes. I finally dragged Little Bug away and out to the car, only to see Andrew pounding on the outside window to continue to say good bye to my boy.

The smile on my son's face was mega watt; I am sure mine matched.

The chanting Jacobs of the world are always going to be there. They are probably going to be, in some form, the norm rather than the exception. But, for every few chanting Jacobs there will be a Sasha or Andrew.

And the Sashas and Andrews of the world are worth a million of the chanting Jacobs.

Macho, Macho Man

A couple days ago Appa and I had the chance to pick Little Bug up from school together. Whenever Appa surprises Little Bug at school he gets *really* excited. Me, I'm no big thang, but Appa....it's like Christmas.

Little Bug was in the potty room when we walked in. The other little kids started chanting "Little Bug's Mommy and Daddy." THAT got his attention. His little head poked up over the swinging door and his eyes lit up.

"DadDDDDDDDDDDa!"

He kept chanting excitedly as his teacher tried to wrangle a diaper on him. He was chattering away to his teacher and would randomly yell "DadDDDa" in joy. Nothing could rain on this kid's joy parade.

Until he got a touch too excited and pushed the swinging door out too fast. In the blink of an eye, he was on his hands and knees as the door swung harmlessly away.

The moment suspended for a second until it became clear nothing had actually happened other than Little Bug clumsily falling as the door opened. He was fine.

He looked up from his hands and knees into the eyes of his friends and his teacher and his mama and dada.

And then he wailed.

His teachers were shocked. I was shocked. Little Bug was busting out his serious, I.AM.INJURED tears and lip quiver and wails. Not because he was hurt; he wasn't.

He was surprised, a little scared, and embarrassed. Emotions that are never fun to feel.

I've been noticing more and more of this lately, a social awareness, a desire not to be the object of laughter unless it is on his terms. It has been fascinating to watch develop. It's also very age appropriate, which is always a huge bonus in our book.

So when the tears dried and the hiccups stopped we gave him a chance to show off some of the new skills he is pretty proud of. He was back to feeling like a king in no time.

My little macho man.

Hope

Hope is a funny thing. As a mother, I feel like it is my job to have hope and optimism for my child and my family. However, as a person, I worry that hope will ultimately lead to having my heart crushed.

It's happened before. Infertility makes hope a pretty dirty word. I still cringe when I hear it.

Faith is different. I am getting pretty good at keeping faith for my family. I have faith that Little Bug will continue to grow and develop and be the best he can be. I have faith our family will weather whatever storms we face (not that we are currently really facing any). I have faith in Appa and I as parents. I have faith in our choice to adopt Little Bro.

But hope....hope scares me. I don't have total faith in hope.

Hope can buffer your heart from so much pain and sadness, but that buffer isn't based on anything other than abstract hope. There will come a time when the thing that is hoped for either does or doesn't materialize, and when that time comes, if it doesn't swing hope's way, the blow is devastating.

I never want to feel it again if I can help it.

Adoption is all about faith and hope. I'm really good at one and really crappy at the other. I've found myself feeling alienated by those who chose to hope for the impossible. I find myself unable to even entertain the idea of hope, even when it is dangled before me in a precarious half-official way.

I'm not better off for it, but it's the only way my mind works now.

So I struggle to pair my faith that things will work out, even if I don't like the way they go about working out, with my lack of hope in anything extraordinary. I try to remember that many of the extraordinary things I chose not to hope for actually DO happen. Hope would have been rewarded.

I want to raise my children to have faith and hope. I can only do that through example.

So today I am trying something new. A teeny bit of hope has sprouted in my heart. Hope that something extraordinary could possibly, just maybe happen. I'll only share this secret hope with Appa, and he can nurture it to.

And we'll see....

The Best Part of Adoption is _________

The best thing about my adoption journey: my sons.
The second best thing about my adoption journey: the friends I've made.

When I brought my son home for Korea, I thought my little Korean cupcake was going to be the only real "addition" to my life. I had no idea that the other mothers I would meet through adoption would becomes such a special, important part of my life.

I'm grateful that the biggest blessing in my life has ushered in so many others.

A Freaking Awesome Hyung

Someone very wise reminded me last night, somewhat out of the blue, that less than a year ago Little Bug was still almost 2 months away from even being able to stand up by himself. She reminded me that he's only been walking independently for 9 months.

IN FACT, 8 days from today will be the anniversary of his first step ever.

I've been thinking a lot lately about having two little boys and a part-time gig as a "single mother". I get a little nervous when I think about some of the challenges it will bring, especially with Little Bug's needs.

And then, thanks to someone wise, I remember that we still have a while yet before that time comes. A while that will see all of us growing and changing.

In my heart, I don't believe we'll meet Little Bro in less than 7-8 months from now. I just truly don't see it being possible.

So I look to how much has changed with Little Bug in less than a year and I know the big brother who will welcome Little Bro home in May or June will be leaps and bounds more amazing than he is now.

And he's pretty freaking amazing right now, so I'm thinking I don't have much to worry about on that front.