My One and Only Giveaway

I truly try to keep this blog more of a blournal and less of a "blog," but occasionally I feel compelled to use it for less blournaly purposes. Tonight is one of them. Stick with me, to see how you can win something from the awesome Kimchi Keepsakes and these gems.

My friend, Tracy, needs help. Or more accurately, my friend Tracy needs help helping her daughter. You can read her story here, but the short version is Tracy and her family have scrapped and saved and cooked and fund-raised and sacrificed to earn every penny they need to adopt a 3-year-old girl with significant special needs from Korea (a fellow RainbowKid like my Little Bro). A little girl who was just months away from being doomed for a group home. A little girl who needs someone in her corner for the rest of her life. A little girl that most of us could not be brave or strong enough to raise. A girl they desperately have fought for and love with all their hearts. A girl they are naming Emi Faith.

Because of Emi's age and special needs, the agency has told Tracy she cannot travel alone; however, her family cannot fund three tickets (Tracy, Emi, and someone else). Tracy's husband has to stay home to attend to the needs of one of their other children. Tracy hasn't been able to find anyone else who can fund their own ticket and take the full week out of their lives to travel over to help her. She had someone who can travel, but can't afford the ticket. Tracy is traveling in 4 weeks and has no idea how someone is going to be able to come with her. In case you are curious, a ticket is around $1200.

A movement in the forums has been started to help fund a companion ticket. It is as simple as going to her blog and donating whatever strikes your heart by using her secure Donate button. Don't get me wrong, I know how money is for everyone right now. It's right after the holidays, and many people reading this blog are probably saving for their own adoption expenses. But I also know that five or ten people donating a small amount can equal something substantial for Tracy.

For my one and only giveaway, I want to help Tracy by giving away an awesome set of Uncle Goose Korean Character Blocks

AND something of the winner's choice from Kimchi Keepsakes. Perhaps a buckwheat travel pillow for you or your little one; an apron for your budding chef, a custom pendant, or whatever strikes your fancy. I'll draw the winners on Sunday, January 16, which marks 11 months since they committed to adopt Miss Emi.

I've got a couple ways for you to get entered:

1. Go to Tracy's blog and donate through her button (it would be anonymous to everyone but you and Tracy), come back and leave a message here letting me know you donated (I moderate comments, so let me know if you would like me to keep your comment private). I don't care how much you donate and please don't tell me. Even the most humble of donations matter. Truly, they do. I'll give you one entry into the drawing. AND, AS A BONUS, ENTER THE WORDS "DONATION MATCH-LADYBUG" AND A WONDERFUL MAMA WILL MATCH YOUR DONATION!
   
2. Second, if you post something about Tracy's story on your blog, come back and leave me a message, and I will enter you a second time. Same with Facebook or Twitter. Each notation will be one entry. (But please, don't link this blog on Twitter directly...Twitter still creeps me out a bit.)
3. Third, if someone that hasn't already entered via this blog post leaves a note on your blog saying they also donated, I'll give you FIVE entries. (a la, a donation spurred by your post and not mine.)

You don't have to link back to this blog at all. I'm not looking for followers here....I'm looking for donation there. Tell Tracy's story in your own words or link to mine...it makes no difference to me.

But it will make a BIG difference to her. This sweet little girl and this brave mama deserve all the support we can give them.

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

Last night my son was wired in a great way (as best as a child can be wired at bedtime). He was being silly and happy and seriously enjoying being alive. Normally I attempt to squash bedtime sillies to preserve our calm rainbows/unicorns/soft puppies bedtime routine, but last night I couldn't stand to shut him down. He was too happy, and it was infectious.

Seriously, sometimes you have to screw the sleep training ideas.

As I tried to fit Little Bug into his jammies, he stood up on his bed and started jumping fast and hard while holding my hands. (Again, normally something I don't allow, but our calm zone was already demolished at that point.) He would jump a few times while chanting something and then fall down in a heap of laughter, only to get back up and do it again. It took me a couple goes to realize what he was doing.


Ashes, ashes, we all fall doooooooooown.

My baby was singing. A song that he was pulling the words and tune from memory. Yes, the words were in his own special garble, but they were as fully formed as he could get and very intentional. The tune was spot on.

It was so developmentally appropriate that it made my heart nearly burst.

Little Bug has always loved music. Since the moment he was born, music has been his trigger of joy and peace. I love the fact that he is finally able to participate in the music, not just experience it.

Making a Home in 2011

I'm not being dramatic when I admit that I kind of suck at being a homemaker. Despite being raised by a wonderful stay-at-home-mom who cooked every night and made our Halloween costumes; having a sister who feels guilty if her floors are not spotless and actually studies a homemaker's guide that was published at the turn of the century; and being raised in a culture where every Tuesday night from ages 12-18 I spent an hour or two in an organized class learning some sort of housekeeping skill like ironing dress shirts, sewing, scrap booking, knitting, and cooking; I am a horrible homemaker.

Appa totally got hoodwinked when he signed up for this domestic goddess.

I don't have good cleaning skills. I'm like a binge and purge cleaner. Dishes will sometimes sit in my sink for days or my dust bunnies will earn the right to register to vote in their corner precincts, but when I do clean, I am all over every little detail, from the baseboards to the inside of the stove vent. That just doesn't happen very often, and even less now that Little Bug is around. I'm a good, but inconsistent cleaner.

Last year I made a lot of New Year's resolutions that I thought were simple and manageable. Turns out, my single resolution should have been to keep my resolutions. I made decent progress on about half my goals (and considering that I am typing this while drinking a DDP, failed miserably with others).

This year I decided to try a new approach.

New Month Resolutions.

My theme for the year will be, to steal a phrase from a brilliant friend of mine, home care. Each month I will select a very small detail of home care that I can focus on. Conventional wisdom and inspirational posters tell me that 21 days will be all I need to make that small change in home care a habit.

My NMRs will be small because I know myself, and lofty goals just aren't working for this working mama. I'm still trying to think about which habit I will undertake for January, but I plan to document it on my blournal so I can hold myself accountable.

I'll tell you what it won't be....this giving up DDP completely crazy talk.

Baby Bird

When I am sleepy I either get sassy or sappy. Last night it was sappy.

As I laid in bed last night with Little Bug (after he had ended up back in our bed) nestled in between Appa and I, I got to thinking about nests.

Yes, like a bird's nest. Because when I am sleepy and sassy or sappy, I am also mildly delusional.

Little Bug is the sweetest, most horrible bed mate. He flips and turns and burrows into you. He wants nothing more than to be cuddled up against you and will usually push Appa off the bed at night from attempting to get closer and closer to him. Last night, though, he seemed pretty peaceful in his little dinosaur jammies. He alternated between spooning me while his hand rested on his dada and resting his head in the crook of Appa's arm while his little toes burrowed into my side.

In my sleepy/sappy state I imagined him protected safely in a little nest we had made for him, protected from cold and monsters and everything else in the world. Then I started thinking about all the other times I make a "nest" for him. The way I wrap my arms around him as he sits in my lap, the way his beloved raggies nest around him each night as he sleeps, each one touching some part of his face or hands or feet. The whole thing seemed so warm and cozy and idealic. Such a lovely thing for a child to experience.

Such a lovely thing for me to experience him experiencing.

I love being a mama bird.

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve is one of those days where the past, the present, and the future all seem to blend together. (Dickens seriously knew his stuff.) Every year I find myself reminiscing with such clarity of Christmas Eve's in my past.

The first year I got up the guts to peek out of my room before my parents gave the okay and saw the exciting outline of what was a Strawberry Shortcake Dream House (23 years ago tonight). The year "Santa" announced we were having another baby by leaving a fifth stocking out and my sister's furious reaction (16 years ago tonight). The night my dad booby trapped the stairs with a bucket of buttons that fell on my head, only to have me scream bloody murder and wake the whole house up (include above mentioned new baby) because I was convinced it was a bucket of nails (18 years ago tonight). The 20+ nights my sister and I called a truce on our hatred and came together for a "sleep over" and night spent sitting next to the Christmas tree. Christmas Eve has produced many of my favorite memories, and tonight, as I sit here alone by my Christmas tree, those memories decades old seem so close.

Of course, the Christmas Present is pretty amazing, too. I spent the evening surrounded by family in my home, with my decorations, and my traditions. I cheered my son on as he unwrapped a gift all by himself for the first time ever. As I laid next to him tonight while he feel asleep, I silently prayed a Christmas prayer of thanks for allowing my the privilege of having such a beautiful family.

And Christmas Future: As close as past memories feel to me tonight, the looming present feels equally as real. In just 365 days I'll be right here again, in this room, with these decorations adorning a tree. This moment will be one of those Christmas Past moments I look back on with fondness. Instead of one little boy slumbering away upstairs, there will be two. Seriously, how lucky am I? And the year after that and the year after that and the year after that. Train tables will give way to bikes and video games that will give way to iPods and computers. The one thing that won't change will be this moment, after they go to sleep, when it's just me and the tree and my grateful heart.

So, although I should be in bed preparing for a long day, I'm instead tucked away with my thoughts on my favorite night of the year.

A Peek Inside at 2:45

What does a 3 year old think about at 2:45 in the morning when he doesn't feel like sleeping?

Santa, reindeer, choo choos, bounce houses, school, mama and dada's bed, Good Night Moon, Bee Bim Bop (the book and the food), Obama (grandma), his brother, an elephant, Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, fire trucks, buses, and an advent calendar with M&Ms.

It was fascinating and horrible all at once to listen to my son jabber happily away about whatever was on his mind....for 5 hours in the middle of the night.

Joyful Christmas

I've been searching for over a month for an ornament for Little Bro. It's a tradition that each child gets a special ornament each year, and although he isn't here with us, he is part of our family, and I desperately needed to prove that in the form of an ornament.

Unfortunately, most everything I found was painfully cheesy. I wanted something classy, whimsical, and representative of him. A tall order for a small object.

Coming to the end of the rope, I purchased a small bulb painted with Little Bro's name and the phrase "waiting for...." It incorporated his "Big Star" name, and I liked that. But as cute as it is, I look at it hanging on our tree, and it makes me sad. The "waiting for" part always jumps out at me, and I find myself frowning in self pity as I read it.

How merry of me.

A sweet and talented friend of mine also has a second son in Korea who won't be home for this holiday. She had mentioned that they were designing a special ornament to represent his place in their family and offered to make one for me, too. I accepted without seeing the design she had in mind.

When I opened the e-mail a couple nights ago to see the mock up, I was blown away. It was completely unlike anything I had expected or envisioned. The design was classy and whimsical and prominently displaying a favorite recent picture of Little Bro. But the thing that really stood out to me was the simple phrase beneath his picture.

"Joyful Christmas" in Hangul and English.

That was it. No waiting for this or missing him that. Just a picture of my son and a reminder that the fact he is my son makes for a very joyful Christmas. Because at the very root of the matter, that is what matters. His presence in our lives during this Christmas.

And yep, that makes this holiday really joyous.

That ornament is now hanging prominently in the front of our tree where I can see it from across the room. Instead of looking at it and frowning in self pity, I look at it and am so ridiculously happy.

It's also been an eye-opening reminder to me about this process in general. I can choose to focus on the sad parts (the waaaaaaait), or I can choose to focus on the joyful parts (the anticipation, the future). So even though it's just an ornament, it's taken on a big meaning for me this Christmas. I know for years to come when I hang it on the tree I will tell Little Bro about how loved he was this Christmas and how happy we were that he was joining our family.

Thanks, S (and B), for the gentle and unintentional reminder I needed as we head into the home stretch of the holidays.

Although I try not to link to things, I wanted to share the link to this ornament with others who might be in the same spot I am. There might still be time to get it on your tree this holiday.

Because no matter how long we have to wait, the fact that we get the chance to one day be the parents to these children is so incredibly amazing.

Mea Culpa

To all the mothers that I secretly cursed at when they told me "3 is way worse than 2":

I'm sorry. You were right; I was wrong.

If the twos are terrible, the threes are terrorizing, traumatic, and way too thought out. It's so much worse when the whining and disobedience is coupled with clever manipulation and an actual thought process that results in planning....planning to thwart me in the most creative and annoying ways.

It's so bad that even Appa is scared of our tiny treasure. 11 months to go and counting!

Sincerely,
A battle-worn mama

Fire Bus

This morning Little Bug held up a toy ambulance and called it a bus. Appa countered with emergency medical vehicle, which for our child is like asking him to repeat the Pledge of Allegiance...not going to happen.

Little Bug countered with a new word (that I am super proud of): fire truck.

We probably should have left it at that for this morning. After all, we were sitting on the floor in the middle of our hallway (because Little Bug insisted on looking at the holiday lights that lined our banister) attempting to put on Little Bug's inserts and shoes while our wet hair dripped onto our half ironed work clothes and the clock ticked away. But Little Bug was clearly intent on learning more about this toy, and I can't say no to a learning opportunity.

So, to recap. Little Bug is holding an ambulance. We've ruled out bus and fire truck and offered the impossible emergency medical vehicle option.

You'd think this shouldn't be so hard. You'd think we'd look our 3-year-old in the eye and tell him the toy he was holding was an ambulance. It's not that hard of a word. I'm fairly confident Little Bug could have repeated some sort of sound combination resembling it.

It is an ambulance.

But NO, the actual name for the toy didn't even cross my mind to share with my sponge of a child. Instead I spit out some total nonsense and told him the toy in his hand was a fire bus.

A fire bus. A mythical thing that goes. A noun that does not appear in any reputable dictionary and probably not in any urban one, either.

And of course, that is the name he latched onto and now calls that toy.

Fighting the Skeletons

When I was very young, I had a dream that my dad and grandpa were outside my bedroom window fighting skeletons. The dream was so vivid that I can still, some 25+ years later, recall in detail everything from the thin but strong look of the skeleton bones to the color of my bedroom carpet and the way the moon shone into the window.

Ever since that dream, I have had a nervous twitch at night. Even as a high school student, I would be comforted by the sounds of my parents still awake in our home as I fell asleep. (My dad has stress-induced insomnia like I do, so he would often be up very late). It's silly, I know, but hearing the TV or couch shift was the tiny trigger I needed to release my tension and feel safe. My parents were my protectors simply by being there.

Last night as I laid in bed with Little Bug, I realized that I have somehow become the protector. It's me that his hand is seeking out for a single confirmation stroke as he drifts in and out of sleep. I'm the one whose touch can ease his moans. My presence in a room is what he wants and needs when he wakes up scared in the middle of the night after what could have been a truly cracked out dream about skeletons.

Just by being there and being me, I'm protecting him.

That so much responsibility that it humbles me and makes me want to be stronger and smarter and better for him. It makes me feel like a superhero who could totally kick skeleton butt (if they had butts, which they don't).

It makes me feel so lucky to be his mom.

First Day of School

This morning I snapped the first of many "first day of school" pictures of my Little Bug. Decked out in a Rocky-profile tshirt and a sweet Elmo backpack, he was ready to face the unknown (because he knew it contained buses and bubbles) of his new half-day developmental preschool.

Little Bug goes to school all day already, so this isn't some life-altering thing for us, but it is the first time he has gone somewhere new. His current school (where he will still go early in the morning and in the afternoon) was hand picked by me. I know his teachers and the administration. I see the teachers and students and classroom each day. I have my finger on the pulse. I can see and feel how much they love my boy and how happy he is there.

His new school is probably pretty awesome, too, and one where he will receive many of the therapies he continues to need. We took great pains to move into a district where we would be happy with the education system, and that gamble is most likely going to pay off even earlier than we had anticipated. I'm not anticipating Little Bug have much trouble (no more than is normal) transitioning into this new routine. He'll still have his normal school in the afternoon to keep his routine familiar.

My biggest problem is the oddness of this moment. The way that I drop him off somewhere I know and then some stranger comes and takes him on a bus, drives him to a school that I've only been inside once. He'll do this whole thing on his own, without Appa or I there to ease him into it. I'll pick him up at his normal school this afternoon, none the wiser to a huge part of his day.

It's so stinkin grown up and scary.

Obviously his new teacher and I plan to touch base and keep in contact and after an adjustment period I am welcome to come into the classroom (but not encouraged, which I get). It's not like my 3 year old is being left to wander the couple miles between schools alone and in the snow. Quite frankly, he is such an easy going child he won't be nervous at all so long as buses or bubbles are involved. I'm proud of how easy he adjusts to new things, and I know that is a strength of his that will serve him well.

And this is an exciting new part of his life. Real school! Real Bus! Real backpack!

Edited to add: As if the universe knew we all needed a little more of a gradual transition, the bus service was messed up and Appa, who happened to not be traveling today, was able to take Little Bug to school. He told me Little Bug was apprehensive to walk into the classroom, so I am so grateful Appa was there to hold his hand and show him that it is okay.

A Lump of Coal

This weekend we made two attempts with Little Bug and Santa. The last two years have resulted in tearful pictures of the nanosecond Little Bug was on Santa's lap.

This year, we tried twice more. The result, two more tearful pictures. Which, I admit, I think are sort of endearing in the memory/tradition aspect. But he's old enough now to have more of a say in these sorts of things, so after attempting to get him comfortable with Santa like we successfully did with Disney characters, we're letting him take the reigns from here on out.

But here's the thing

The backhanded comments I have received regarding these pictures sort of shock me. It's one thing to not agree with someone and mentally cluck, but to make some thinly-veiled critique about how selfish it is as a parent or some nonsense like that....I think people should save it for things that really matter.

I'm not saying I don't judge. I do...all the time. But unless someone is doing something unsafe, I keep my self righteousness to myself. I don't post my comment and then congratulate myself on what a better parent I am.

This has reminded me to take more time before judging other parents. I don't know their circumstances, just like people don't know that Little Bug is obsessed with Santa (he even carries a small Santa around our home). It wasn't selfishness, but rather an earnest attempt to allow him more access to someone he shows great interest in. He was interested and curious up until the moment he got right next to Santa. One camera snap later and he was outta there and happy again. But people don't know that...nor do I know what is going on behind the snap shots in their lives.

My child is happy and healthy and loved, despite meeting Santa four times. That's what matters to me.

Hung with Care

We're in full holiday swing in our home, but with that has come some unexpected feelings. I don't want to belabor the point, which is probably why I haven't felt like blournaling lately, but the fact is, I've been a bit blue this holiday.

I honestly (naively) wasn't expecting to be so sad. I've really felt at peace during the wait, but for some reason, as soon as the decorations came out, my heart started to hurt. But, I've continued to celebrate our growing family with joy, and I am trying exceptionally hard not to let my sadness affect Little Bug's holiday joy (I'll leave that to his nemesis, Santa Claus). The stockings are hung with care, including one for our sweet big star that will be filled Christmas morning with the things that will be sent in his next care package.

Usually looking at those stockings makes me excited, thrilled, grateful; but sometimes, especially in the evenings when I'm the only one up (like now), the sadness comes back.

So that's where I am at....exactly where every mama in my position is this holiday season. I don't know why I thought I would be different, why it would affect me less.

But it has. And it will pass.

The Cool Kid

Little Bug has taken to choosing an item each morning to bring to school to show his teacher. Usually it's a raggie or his ferret ball, but today it was his train book, a prized possession of his. He proudly walked it the entire way into school, clutching the over sized book with both his hands (not an easy feat even now for my little guy), and showed it to his teacher in the hall, who ohhhed and awwed enough to make Little Bug drunk on joy to be sharing and praised.

We're not supposed to bring toys from home into school because kids fight over them, but I allowed Little Bug to bring the book into his classroom to show his friends. Little Bug is fiercely protective over this book, but he held it out in front of him like something out of the Lion King, proudly showing the book to all his friends. The clustered around him (including the boys who like to exclude Little Bug), and Little Bug sat the book on the table so everyone could see.

God, I wish I had a camera in that moment.

It's a rare sight for me to see Little Bug truly, truly, truly interacting with a larger group of kids in such a positive way for an extended period of time (and I think it happens more often than I think, I just don't get to see it), but there he was, with friends clustered tight around him on other side as he turned the pages of this train book. They all exclaimed over the pictures, pointing and laughing. Little Bug looked up at me and met my eye for just a moment, with the most genuine, happy smile on his face.

For that one moment, he was the.coolest.kid. in that room.